Tag: animal death

Last Dance with Mary Jane

~ Crystal Sands ~ 6 Comments

To the many of you who have followed Mary Jane’s story over the last nearly 8 years, I wanted to let you know that she passed the night before last. I found her in the coop yesterday morning, and my heart is broken, of course.

The night before, we had been out pretty late because our son had a performance in Portland. When we got home, I went out to close up the chickens and put away the food and found that Mary Jane was not in her usual spot. I went to her and touched her. She got up and was moving slowly, but she went to the food dish and started eating and eating. I thought this was unusual.

I went about doing everything else for the evening chores–closing up the ducks, dumping waters, busting ice, etc.–and came back and told her I was going to have to take away the food dish because it was bed time. Because she was so old and so wise, she understood a lot of language and understood I had to take the bowl. I gave her some pets and kept the flashlight on, so she could make her way over to her usual spot in the coop. She was moving so very slowly heading to her spot, but she has slow been all winter. At some point, I just quit worrying about her quite so much. I think I just thought she might live forever.

I said good night to her and told her she was a good girl. I wish I would have hugged her, though she was only sometimes in the mood for hugs. I keep thinking about seeing her slowly making her way in the coop in the light of the flashlight. That’s the last time I got to see her. I wish I would have said more, but I know in my bones she knew I loved her. I made it clear so, so many times.

When I went to the coop yesterday morning, she was in her spot and had passed sometime during the night. The flock wasn’t acting weird at all, as they sometimes will when someone dies in the coop, and Mary Jane just looked like she passed in her sleep. She looked peaceful. I think it must have been a quiet death, as the flock was not disturbed until later when I was holding her and crying. .

I held her for the longest time and angry cried a lot, though I do not know why I was angry–other than I am just angry at the world, I guess.

When I went to get Ron and let him know, Boudica found me. She had heard me crying and was so worried about me. She did all she could to make me feel better–and I did feel better. I was reminded that I still have Boudica, and that, as much as losing Mary Jane hurts, it will pale in comparison to losing Boudica. So I had better treasure my time with that amazing girl.

I picked a feather from Mary Jane to save forever. Ron said he took her by the coop to say goodbye to the flocks, and Rooster was visibly upset. That old boy is also moving very, very slowly himself. Ron took her about a half mile into the woods to feed a hungry someone, maybe a fox, maybe a hawk. He lay her at the base of a big, beautiful Ash tree and told her how much he loved her and how thankful he was to know her. He told her the story of the day she was pardoned from processing and why she stood out from the others. That trauma was a part of her story, and she always carried herself with the wisdom of having seen some things.

There are so many lessons there that I don’t know if I will ever learn them all in this lifetime, but I will try.

I am going to miss her terribly. It feels like the end of an era.

She would have been 8 years old at the first of June. She was a Freedom Ranger meat chicken and one of the most intelligent creatures I have ever met. And one of my dear friends reminded me of this important lyric in Tom Petty’s song:

“She said, ‘I dig you, baby, but I got to keep movin’ on, keep movin’ on'”

But I’ll see her again. I know I will.

In Memory of a Mean Girl

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Warning: This post discusses the death of an animal.

If you follow my blog, you know that after we rehabilitated Luna’s broken leg this winter, we had a hard time re-integrating her with the flock because she was being abused to the point of having a broken bill. Luna spent another six weeks or so in the house as we healed her bill, and when we were able to finally move her back outside, we had to take our duck bully, Carmelita, also known as “mean girl,” and isolate her for a week to allow Luna time to adjust to the flock without being being abused.

This was Carmelita way back in 2019 when she was just in her second year here on the farm. She was always our biggest duck and was so beautiful. It was only in the last couple of years that she became so mean. I think she got grumpy with age.

I was angry with our mean girl. I did start to feel terrible for her after having to be isolated for a week, but the plan worked. Carmelita quit bullying Luna for the most part, and harmony was restored to the flock. Still, I am ashamed to admit, during the middle of all this process, we noticed one of our ducks was laying an abnormal egg. I knew something was wrong with someone, and at six years of age, I figured we would lose one of our ducks within the year. It would be our first loss. We have kept all of those hens safe all of these years, but loss always comes. I said out loud, “I hope it’s mean girl.”

I wish I had not said those words.

The night before I had to leave our farm and fly to Oklahoma because my little brother is so ill, I went out to give the ducks their peas, and only six ducks came. With Ferdinand, our male, we should have seven ducks, so I went looking. It was pouring rain, and I searched and searched and couldn’t find her. I realized it was our mean girl who was missing.

The night before, she had been slow to come to the peas, but she did come. She ate peas and went to bed like normal, so I didn’t think anything was really wrong. I just thought she was maybe busy hunting bugs and didn’t come to the peas. Still, on this night, I knew things were bad because I couldn’t find her anywhere. The peas were long finished, and everyone else was going to bed. Something was definitely wrong.

After about half an hour, it stopped raining, and I could see a little better. When I shined my flashlight behind the woodpile in the back of the fenced area, I could see her. When I went to her, she just came to me, so I knew things were serious. At first, in the dark, I thought she had a broken egg stuck in her vent, but I had to bring her inside to get a better look.

What I saw was devastating. Her vent had prolapsed, and the tissue was damaged, like she had drug it across the wood of the woodpile or something along those lines. There is a slim chance you can heal a prolapsed vent, but with this kind of damage, I knew we were at the end.

I researched to see the best way to cull a duck. I had always heard to use the broomstick method, but I read as I was researching that the broomstick method only works for chickens, that it can lead to suffering in a duck because their necks are stronger. I could tell she was in pain. I went to Ron.

It was so late into the evening, but I am so thankful to report that Ron didn’t hesitate. He got dressed and went to get his tools. After years of research and talking to both a vet and scientist, the best way to cull a chicken is with a clean cut with a hatchet, and Ron is masterful at it. He says, when he has to cull, it’s like the universe guides his hand to make it quick and clean. I needed him to end our mean girl’s suffering.

While he got everything ready, I sat with our girl in the bathroom, saying goodbye to her. I apologized for having to isolate her that week some months ago. I knew it was hard on her. I touched her and leaned into her, and she leaned right back. She had some tremble but not much, she seemed so ready. I wish I had found her sooner. She must have been suffering for at least a couple of hours.

Death had been very much on my mind anyway due to circumstances with my brother, and I thought so much about the ends we all come to as I sat with Carmelita. There she was–the biggest duck, the boss of the flock, the duck who had bullied Luna until Luna could have died–only now she was fragile, tired, worn, ready. Humbled by the reality that humbles all of us I suppose–even the bullies among us–and my heart ached for her. I told her over and over I loved her. I reminded her of all the good times when she was a baby and lived in the house, of all the peas, of the rain, the bugs, the duck games. I swear she understood it.

When Ron came to get her, I asked him if he needed help, as he had never culled a duck, but he said no. He wasn’t gone long.

When he came back in the house, he said it was the easiest cull he had ever done. He said he probably didn’t even have to use the tiny rope to hold her head, though he did just in case. He said she laid her head down voluntarily and was ready. He said he felt her acknowledge what had to be done. He said he prayed for her to have a good journey.

And just like that, she was gone.

I am going to miss that duck, but the next day, when I let the flock out in the morning, they didn’t skip a beat. In fact, there was maybe a little more peace in the flock. Our mean girl was gone, and life goes on.

Life on the farm goes on, but I have thought about her every day and the life lessons I learned from her that night as we sat together in her last moments.

What a profound thing all of this is.