We had another sick chicken. Sometimes it happens. They get injured, old, or catch something from the wild birds around. And, unlike dogs, or cats, or larger animals, there is often nothing you can do with a sick chicken.
We have antibiotics we can use for some things, but getting a hen to take its meds is a tricky thing, and often by the time you realize they are sick, it is just too far.
So, you ease their suffering.
This past week we have had this sick little chicken. We tried to medicate, and nurture, but the little doll wasn’t improving. It caused me physical pain to know she was suffering. My mind would stray to her at various times in the day, it broke my concentration and lay a cloud over my mood.
I was worried, and I was sad.
Hubby has taken it upon himself to “end” the suffering of a few of our hens. It is always done as a last resort and as a solution to releasing their pain. We don’t put a chicken under the axe because it is broody, or not laying, or a even if it is rooster #6. It is only done when the options are death, or suffering.
We talked about this little one, me bringing up the fact that the “time was near”, him crossing his fingers that it would perish on its own.
See, it isn’t easy, not for him at least. Every time he does it, it changes him for a bit. He is sad, and affected. There is no pride in him in being able to take a life, even a little sick chickens.
So, he always holds out hope.
And it is messy. And horrible. Taking an axe to any living creature is not a clean and easy thing. And doing it by yourself, having to hold the struggling animal AND swing the axe.. well sometimes that it too much to bear.
I suggested drowning to him, saying that perhaps by holding the animal in both hands he can stroke it, and it would be less violent? Or, at least there would be less blood.
Last night, as the last hen was tucked in and we were making our way up with the kids, I held back with him, and asked him if he wouldn’t mind releasing this little one…
He stayed behind as I went up with the kids, getting snacks and turing on a movie. I heard him come in 20 minutes later.
He was washing his hands, and his shoulders hung. He body told me that no matter what the reason, it doesn’t get any easy.
And this is where MY pride comes in. Even though it pains me that it pains him, it makes me exceptionally happy that it DOES affect him. That it is not in his instinct to kill, even when it is necessary.
I am also desperately proud that he can, and that I have grown up enough to support him when he needs to. that after 3 years, I am at the stage of accepting death where I can be part of the conversation.
It is a powerful thing to make the decision to choose to take a life, something that we humans need to respect and appreciate. I am immensely grateful that my husband and I can both make the right choice when it comes to these animals, and that, if even for a short time, we carry the grief of their passing.
Death should not be a frivolous thing, and it should not be ignored, nor hidden away. Through this process of living among these animals, we are becoming more and more appreciative of days lived, and a life lived well.
And that is a truly wonderful thing about the whole painful situation.