Awful

I went out to lock up the chickens after the girls were off to bed and could only find three of the four.

I hunted under the porch, in the nesting boxes, the shed -- nowhere. Chickie Emma, the smallest and nicest of our hens, a little blue-egg-laying Araucana, was not to be found.

Then I noticed the 25-gallon plastic tub turned upside down.

I lifted it.

Underneath was a very dead Chickie Emma, along with a final blue egg.

I knew immediately what had happened: Daphne, my holy terror of a three-year-old, was the rooster of the flock, and when she came walking all the chickens froze in their tracks, let her pick them up, docile for only her. She also, of late, had been experimenting with trapping them in the shed, once even hiding two under the plastic turtle-shell lid of her sandbox. I spoke seriously then, explained that they would die, sent her to her room.

But I must not have been watching closely enough early this morning. In fact I know I wasn't. And then we left the house and were gone most of the day. The hot, sunny day. That poor little hen. What a horrible way to die. Not the humane death I had envisioned for the animals under my care. No, a hot, unpleasant, miserable, protracted death for a sweet little creature I loved best -- we all loved best -- of our chickens.

I dug a hole in the dirt just to do something with my rage. Daphne was asleep already but Sophia wandered out. I showed her Emma's stiff body, let her pet the chicken's feathers, explained what had happened. She was unfazed, and tried to comfort me by suggesting we get another chicken.

I didn't bury Emma. I put her in a trash bag in the freezer. When Daphne wakes up in the morning I will show her, and we will talk about what happened, and we will bury Emma in the yard together. We will plant a tree over the spot. ("An apple tree?" asked Sophia. "With branches to climb on and a tire swing?" [She's been agitating for one lately.])

Not that I expect this to change Daphne's behavior. She's three. Innocent, in that her brain isn't capable of making the connection between her action and the chicken's death, or for that matter of stopping the action even if she DID understand that at the very least she would be in trouble.

Obviously there's one person at fault and that's me. I didn't see what happened, I didn't watch closely enough. Worse still, I was congratulating myself all the while for providing a little wildness for my girls, an unfettered life in the confines of the backyard, with dirt and animals and bare feet and tree climbing.

That wild dirty-footed life includes death as well. Sometimes at the hands of a child.

I'm so sad for that little chicken. 

Comments

[Jo In Utah]

that is really sad. I hope it ends up being a good lesson. Why do the ones we like the best die? I don't get that.

[sarah]

me too.

[Debbie]

:(

[Lara]

Aww, I'm so sorry about your little chicken, that really stinks.

[Lisa]

Oh, I'm so sorry.

[Amy]

I'm sorry. 20-some years ago, when my cousin was a sweet little girl that loved animals, she was hugging and cuddling a duckling. She hugged it a little too hard, realized what had happened, and announced in her innocent little voice "I killed a duck." She was pretty sad about it, but it's interesting how after all this time, that story is one that will ALWAYS stick with her. And in a way, sad as it is, it helps define her childhood as a time filled with abundant love, farm animals, and innocence.

I think your story will end up like that too--crappy things happen, but they wouldn't even be an option if amazing things like raising chickens and playing hide and seek with them and having a little wilderness to explore in the backyard didn't happen.

I've been raising chickens for eggs and meat for a few years now. Of the hundreds of chickens we've raised, we've lost dozens for various reasons (predators, illness, idiotic meat birds that DROWN THEMSELVES IN PUDDLES). It sucks every single time. But the payoff of raising our own food and caring for sweet birds is worth it.

[Kristin]

So very sorry to hear about poor Emma. Good luck tomorrow.

[Jacquie]

I'm sorry, Jo.

[Mandy]

Ouch, that is tough. :(

[DoctorMama]

When I was 3, my brother and I were playing way too roughly with our kittens, and I ran at one *trying to scare it* and stepped on it and broke its leg. The memory still makes me writhe in guilt, even though I probably appeared unconcerned at the time, and I know I lied to my mother about the deliberateness of the act. So I wouldn't rule Daphne out as taking a lesson away from it. (The kitten did well after being casted, though I don't know if her personality suffered, since she was adopted away.)

You can't be checking under every bucket all the time nor can you have your eyes glued to your 3-year-old. This stuff has to happen sometimes.

[Lilian]

oh, I'm so sorry! especially because she was your favorite chicken. :( How did Daphne react in the morning? Did she say anything?

[AussieArnie]

Oh poor Emma! Poor Jo! That must feel so sad, sorry for your loss....

[Foster]

We have chickens and my children watched me purposely kill our young rooster last summer b/c we cannot have roosters & he was terrorizing the new hen. She was supposed to be his replacement, I was going to try and rehome him, but he was being so nasty that first day and dh was out of town, so the task fell to me. My three year old actually pulled up one of her little outdoor chairs to sit and watch. That was pretty bizarre. She mentions it now and then, but was not traumatized & knows it is part of chicken life. She also saw one of the older chicks get killed by a hawk and knows that one adult chicken was almost killed by a hawk. Sad to hear about your chicken, it sucks!

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