I learned again that life makes its plans. Yesterday, we were surprised and delighted to see the White Hen walking around, and even sitting in her old favorite spot by the apple tree. It seemed like a miracle; she was waiting by the barn door when we got up, and she and Maria went for a walk about the farm, fending off the other two hens, who were not accepting her.
This morning, we held her and broke her neck.
(Above, we were surprised to see her out walking yesterday, for the first time in memory. She wanted to sit in the sun.)
She was covered in mites, and the maggots were not far behind, a clear signal that she was finally dying.
Maria and I share the primary obligation of the animal steward – we don’t let them suffer, then we end their life quickly and humanely.
We don’t keep them alive and suffering for us. We’re going to let her die an awful death, getting picked by the cruel side of nature.
The farm is a great teacher. Death is a part of life. If you want the one, you must accept the other.
The most humane way to kill a chicken is to hold it, pull at its neck, and twist it. They die instantly and painlessly. Maria held her; I broke her neck. Maria took her out into the woods; she wanted the animals out there to be able to get some food. Her last gift.
On her last time outside of her stall, she went right to the base of the apple tree, her favorite place to sit and soak up the sun.
We became very attached to the White Hen; she had a good month to leave peacefully without suffering. Yesterday, I saw a beautiful thing.
For me, the beauty and meaning were in watching the extraordinary relationship between Maria and the White Hen. When the other hens came after her yesterday, chickens don’t like to be around sick chickens, it draws predators – the White Hen ran to Maria and hid between her ankles. The trust and connection between them were powerful; I won’t forget it. She knew where to go to be safe.
Maria has an extraordinary connection to animals. I am in awe of it. It was a dance of love and kindness. She trusted Maria to the end.
I loved watching them sing to each other; I’ve never seen a chicken trust a person that way.
Seeing her walking around the farm yesterday was a miracle; it helped her leave the world in peace and without further suffering. We never thought she would come out of the barn again. She was a gift all around.
The White Hen became a hero to us and a symbol of enduring grace. She taught us acceptance and empathy in a sometimes cruel world. I won’t forget that when people tell me how bad things are.
She wanted to live to the very end. But we draw the line at suffering for dogs, donkeys, cats, and chickens.
These days, it feels very good to do good for the White Hen. She had a good death. This felt good.
I won’t mourn the White Hen, as connected as we were. I will give thanks for her time with us, and for the chance to give her a peaceful and comfortable death. There is nothing to mourn, only to give thanks for. She had a great life and a good death.
You had a significant presence, old bird. Godspeed.
