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Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Death on the Farm

R.I.P. Lucretia 
The Madame, trying to lay an egg ...


It was bound to happen, really.  With all the stray cats running around my neighborhood because shitty fucking pet owners can't fix their fucking animals, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. Yes, one of my birds got taken this AM.  Drug into the bushes by a faggotcat.  

I heard them squawking around 6:30 this morning, which is a bit early but I just figured it was due to the mornings getting lighter.  It wasn't the type of sounds you'd expect an animal to make if it was in danger, more like just general "Ok I'm up now" noises.  Though they did sound closer to my room than before ...

Finally I look out the window and see Butterworth just walking around on the grass, with a shitty fucking stray cat right next to it!  I run outside in my bare feets and my boxers - the cat rips out of there and Butterworth is just chilling out, looking at me as if this happend every day for her.  I pick her up and take her to the coop, and then I saw the Trail of Feathers ...

Somehow the coop door had been opened - unlatched and opened - and starting from the front door there was a good 3 foot trail of large feathers, probably wing or tail, then a little break, then another trail of smaller feathers leading to the bushes.  Oh shit ...

A quick examination shows me two chicken feet lying in the dead leaves, obscured by branches and matted feathers.  Fuck.  

Anyway, I buried her by our Japanese Maple tree, and put a clay Fox statue our friends left as a sort of grave marker for her.  Even though she was just a chicken, I had her for about a year, and she was my pet.  I paused to say a few words, but the only thing I could do was tell her I was sorry over and over.  

I don't handle death well.  After my Mom died suddenly, not a day goes by that I don't think of my own mortality and when my ride will end.  When things around me die it's even worse.  I know it's only a chicken, and that things die and blah blah blah, but she was our chicken.  I held that bird every day it was a chick.  When I'd go buy her worms I was exited to get home and feed them to her.  It's sad to have to bury a pet that you brought up like that.  Especially one that got it's back ripped out by a fucking faggotcat.  

Even though Lucretia was the loudest of the two birds, and the one that laid the smallest eggs, she was part of the team, and I feel bad for Butterworth now, as she's the only one left. I'm the first to say that we, as humans, anthropomorphizes animals too much, but I have always been a believer in having two of the same animal so they have a companion.  And I can't help but feel that even a chicken can realize when they are the only one left.  

I'm fucking sad.  And I hate that.  I hate being sad about a bird - it's a bird, a chicken!  Fuck, man, get a hold of yourself!  But in reality, she had more personality than that.  She was a pet of the house, and I will miss her shitty squawks and small eggs.  Her stupid darting head and her knocking over their water feeder because she liked to eat wet dirt.  She was an idiot, but she was my idiot.  

I'm sorry, Lucretia.  I'm really very sorry.  



9 comments:

  1. We kept chickens for about 3 years and I was always told that one inevitable feature of the hobby was that at some point a fox will get in and kill all of your hens. It happened to my neighbours but for some reason we seemed to avoid it. Then one night I got back late and so wasn't around to lock up the hen house at dusk. When I went to shut them up I discovered that three had been taken by the fox(es) and the other three had just been killed - beheaded and the bodies left. It was gruesome to say the least. I felt awful because I thought that if I had got back in time and shut the hen house they'd still be around. Fact is, Mr Fox came, and Mr Fox would have gotten into the hen house whether I'd locked it or not. Foxes are a nightmare as far as chicken keepers are concerned and they have a remarkable knack of getting past any barriers you might put in their way. I've heard the same recently about cats as fewer owners neuter their pets, the population increases and more of them go wild.

    Don't worry about it. There's nothing you could have done to stop it, and there's probably nothing you'll be able to do in the future if some cat or fox decides that dinner has been served in your yard. Unfortunately it's just one of those things. Get Butterworth a new friend and carry on.

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  2. Sad man... I believe they need/want companions too. But with it getting warmer you could get a couple more chicks and have a big ole family again.... also a padlock, and a pellet gun.

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  3. It's not just a bird. It was your fucking bird and that just makes it feel like a violation. I gotta agree with Bub on this one. Give Butterworth more family and get that pellet gun locked and loaded.

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  4. I've murdered more chickens than I can remember. Tasty.

    Sorry for your lost.

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  5. I understand. I felt the same way when I found the front half of my best friend; budweiser the cat. Keep yer chin up and your stick on the ice bud.

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  6. is it odd to be sad about this? after all, it was just a chicken. bazillions of them exist. there is one in me right now which came in the shape of a burrito and not a creature with a personality. I don't care about that chicken. I can only say, "it was good."

    and then there is death. it's the part that none of us consider when we start something. it's amazing to see the eggs crack open revealing not a yellow yoke and clear goo but a fuzzy bird. one that knows how to walk, eat and cheep without any help. next it grows. eventually it learns to make eggs. but nothing about the end is learned. it happens without trying. or in this case because something else learned to want chicken.

    I am sad for this chicken. I'd never seen the bird in real life. but it was oddly part of mine. I watched the chicken cam a few times along with the stories about the birds getting bigger. even if it was just a peripheral event getting just a flicker of my attention I read with interest. like the excitement about the first egg. but like all things new fascination fades into the day to day in a way that is almost forgotten. but I knew about these chickens. and now chicken.

    JP, thanks for sharing otherwise I would have never known.

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  7. Damn, JP. Sorry for your loss. You may need to get a guard dog AND pellet gun.
    Now, go get somemore chickens!

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