The Letting Go

Last night, I saw an owl up close. It was about 20 feet from me, and it was huge and magnificent. I heard a screeching when I went out to close the little door on the chicken coop, and there, sitting on one of our garden posts, was a huge Barred Owl. I shined my flashlight right into its face, and it looked right at me.

I felt badly for shining a flashlight right in its face, but when it screeched again, I had to take another look. This time, I held the light just a little longer to get a better look. It was beautiful, fairly big, and I could see its feathers blowing in the strong breeze. It was like something from a dream.

It didn’t move. It was hunting in our garden, and I was thankful. I should have walked away, but I stood there, wishing for it to make another sound. It did, and then it took off toward the front of our property. Right over my head! Then, a second owl flew from my Maple tree, which is near the ducks, who were still out, so instead of admiring the second owl, I made haste for the duck area. As the owls flew by, I heard a third owl in the trees at the front of our house. Who cooks for you? Both owls I could see were flying toward the third owl’s call.

When I made sure the ducks were safe and sound, I remembered my experience with an owl before Gus died, and I wondered if we were going to lose Lucy in the morning. Schumann and Little Brown Hen were also struggling with different health issues, but I thought Lucy would be the first to pass. She really took a turn for the worse while I was away all week. I wasn’t there to pamper her, and I don’t think she ate well enough on her own. It’s a sign it was time for her, but I am still heartbroken. Lucy was the last of my original hens, and I will have to write more about her this week.

But Lucy wasn’t the only hen I would lose today.

When I went to check on Lucy this morning, I could see that, indeed, today was the day. She was no longer able to walk or feed herself at all. If she didn’t pass today, we would have to help her pass, but I didn’t think it would come to that. I was correct. This morning, after morning chores, Ron and I both said goodbye to her and gave her ear rubs. She passed while we were having morning tea. I hate that she’s gone. She made it a lot longer than I thought she might, but I still hate that she’s not out there anymore. We got really close in the last two months. It has been an honor to be her hospice care.

Shortly after, I had to meet a friend to deliver eggs. I also picked up a few things at the grocery store. By the time I got home, Schumann had passed. I was not really prepared to lose her.

Two months ago, when Schubert died of a heart attack suddenly, I was really worried. Schubert and Schumann loved each other a lot. They were sisters, which also made me worry about Schumann’s genetics. I don’t know if it was the genetics or the broken heart, but Schumann also started struggling while I was gone this week. I kept checking her for any issues, but it seemed like her heart was giving out. She was five years old. She was a very good friend to me. She was also close to Ron and was one of his garden helpers.

Losing Schumann was a blow. It was all too much, and I cried myself into a terrible headache.

But I had to also take care of Little Brown Hen. She has no real name because she was in a big batch of babies that Broody Hen raised several years ago, and she is plain brown. She is so sweet and, sadly, has had ovarian cancer for a bit. A few months ago, I saw her doing all of the things Poe did toward the end. I’ve been treating her extra special in the last few weeks, and she moved out of the chicken yard and into the front yard to have peace at the end. She got to run around the front yard and be first to get all of the good treats.

This afternoon, when I went to check on her, she wasn’t walking and had flies bothering her, so I scooped her up and gave her a very gentle, very warm bath. Then, for about two hours, I just held her in the towel in my lap. I got very little work done today. I tried to tell Little Brown Hen it was okay to let go. I don’t think she’ll make it through the night.

When I was holding her this afternoon, my teenage son walked by and asked why I was holding a chicken in the house. I told him how I found her. “Nobody deserves to be bothered by darn flies when they pass away,” I said.

My son thought for a second and then said, “You’re right.”

And then, after another pause, he said, “I love you, mom.”

I hope he is learning to respect all life and treat it well because it is all a gift. All of it. We just have forgotten. And, oh my goodness, isn’t that wild about the owls?

One. Two. And then three. My girls let go. I am weary from this grief tonight.