We lost a chicken today. To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t my favorite but she was a good girl. She was a solid layer until recently when chicken menopause struck and she became a lady of leisure. I have already become comfortable with the fact that I could not cull these first birds; the ones that I raised from day old chicks (well, truthfully, Pippa came a few weeks later as a 3 month old and for that reason never quite warmed up to being held), the ones I named and watched grow. They would have a place in our little urban farm until they went peacefully (hopefully); this is dumb in a town where I am only permitted to have 5 chickens at a time, but truthfully, it is part of the commitment I made to these girls. Someday, when we have enough land to actually have a large number of chickens, I will not name them. Hopefully, when the time comes, I will be gritty enough to cull the herd as necessary. But that day is not today.
Today, Pippa died peacefully. My husband buried her in the backyard with the others that have gone before her. We are down to three chickens for the time being and I think it will stay that way for a bit. It’s always sad to lose an animal; and you will always wonder if there was something you could have done.
There is only one left from those original day old birds; the first girls. The ones that made us feel like real farmers. She is my favorite and still comes running towards me whenever she sees me coming. Believe it or not she still lays almost everyday (well, in the Summer at least). The chickens crack me up with their antics, and anyone who has ever had chickens knows they are better than TV. So, right now, I think I’m going to go hug a chicken.