Loss

There is a dead hen in the basement waiting for me to do something with her. When I opened the coop this morning, she was on the floor stuck in a place she couldn't get out of, unable to walk or even stand. But somehow she had made her way across the floor about 10 feet from the spot she slept in last night. I carried her to the isolation pen we keep in the basement for sick birds. Her hind quarter was a mess so I cleaned her up with a warm, wet towel, left her water and food and finished feeding the birds, goats and dogs (cats get fed earliest). All morning as I worked through the animals I knew I was going to have to euthanize her. When and how to do that was in the back of my mind throughout morning animal care.

A few months ago she fell climbing up or down on the roosting bars. I don't know which. I found her that morning, again as I was opening the coop, hanging with her foot caught between the lowest roost and the ladder leading to them. That morning I gently untangled her and put her to the side of the coop in an area where she could rest without being in the cross path of the other chickens. I checked on her frequently until she managed to walk to the feeder. She limped and stumbled around for a couple of days, seeming determined to get on with life. I admired her guts. The foot that had been caught was swollen and eventually both feet swelled up some, but walking seemed to get a little easier for her. I checked for bumble foot, but that wasn't it. She was getting around fine, she just didn't go far from the coop. I knew she was eating and drinking, and the other chickens weren't picking at her the way birds sometimes do to a weak one. So I let her go. She was a feisty old broad. More than once I saw her peck at a younger hen getting between her and the food, and she seemed to be avoiding the roosters pretty well.

So this morning I was sad to know that she had reached the end of her happy life (I'm not telling you the full details of why I knew she would not recover. If you want to know you can ask.) It's not like it would be the first time I have killed a chicken. Usually the killing is for meat. But this old girl was one of the 5, one of the last of the 5, that we brought with us from the city to the farm, and she was clearly determined to hang in there as long as she could. But she saved me the trouble. After feeding the dogs and letting them out, I checked on her as I was taking hay to the goats. She was face down in her food, having struggled to the end. I decided I would need breakfast and coffee, lots of coffee, before disposing of her. What I'd like to do is grab a trash bag and toss her in the trash for Friday morning pick-up. But instead I will dig a hole under the long-term compost pile and bury her there. She will continue to be part of the farm.

Then I have a market to harvest for, so no time to dally. Don't be sorry for my loss. It's part of farming. She was an admirable old bird.