Tag: death on the farm

I hate this part…

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Our ducks turned seven this May, and I knew this would be coming, that we would start to lose them. Still, I hate this part more than I can say.

Four nights ago, one of the hens didn’t come for the nightly bowl of peas and the duck game. I knew that was a bad sign, and when I went to pick her up, she was so thin.

I examined her and saw she had a minor bumble on a toe, so I wrapped it but had a very bad feeling. I put her back outside and decided the next morning to bring her in the house to examine her more thoroughly.

I don’t for sure which duck she is. I know Anna Sophia and Luna because they lived in the house for some months, but I can’t tell the other two ducks apart. Of course, there’s Anna Maria, our blind duck, but she is a chocolate runner. The two remaining fawn runners look a lot alike. This duck is either Carmen or Isabella. Those are the other two left.

I brought her into the guest bathroom where I have soaked and bandaged and treated and healed many things over the last seven years with our ducks. She had definitely been in the house before because she wanted in the tub. I took the bandage off of her toe and ran some cool water for her. I put her in the tub and got her all the favorite treats of ducks, and she wasn’t having any of them. I sat with her a bit, and then I saw it.

She pooped in the water a poop that I have seen before. It’s the poop of ovarian cancer. I saw it with Poe, with Broody Hen. I read about it online. I broke down because I knew, for sure, this duck was about to die.

She still had some strength and acted like she wanted to go back outside with her people when they would quack, so I decided to let her stay outside until she just couldn’t.

This is my little duck tonight. I am going to miss her.

Tonight, I decided she just couldn’t.

I have been checking on her many times a day the last couple of days, but today, I just couldn’t find her. In between meetings at work, I would look and never found her. I figured she was probably going off alone to die.

I finally found her in the corner of the turkey house, and tonight after dinner, I decided to scoop her up, bring her in, and go into hospice care.

I really, really hate this part.

She leaned into me so hard when I picked her up. I made up a bin for her with fresh straw and put a bowl of water and peas in for her. I know she won’t eat the peas, but I have been giving her peas every single night of her life for seven years. I wanted her to at least have them.

And then I remembered that ducks love cello. I found a piece my son played, a meditation on Tom Petty’s “Wild Flowers,” and I played it for her on my phone. It is has that beautiful, deep cello sound, so I knew she would love it. She did. She watched the video and just closed her eyes to relax. It was the best final gift I could give her.

I cried the gross kind of cry and held the phone for her, so she could listen to it twice. I kissed her goodnight and told her goodbye in case she passes tonight. I hope she passes tonight. Please say a little prayer that she passes tonight. She has had a good, very long life. I know this. I wish for her passing to be easy.

Also, Tuesday, Ruby’s daughter, is gone again. I think it’s been nearly two weeks since she’s been gone. I have looked and looked. She went off broody, as she has done before.

I deeply understand there is nothing I can do about her at this point. She has either passed or will come home in a few weeks with babies. I know the odds are that she will never come home. I hate writing that sentence.

There is much heartbreak to this life. Sometimes, I am not sure I am cut out for it.

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.

Good News and Bad News

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

I am going to start with the good news because it’s really good news. On Saturday, Mary Jane celebrated her 7th birthday! Mary Jane is a giant Freedom Ranger meat chicken who was pardoned the day Tom Petty died in 2017. There were so many times I thought I was going to lose her, but mostly, I thought she was surely going to pass when the entire flock came down with a terrible respiratory illness in the fall of 2019, but she just keeps going and is doing quite well overall right now.

This is Mary Jane front and center with Kate next to her and then Hector on the left. That’s Eleanor on the right.

In fact, I just the other day saw her settle down a rowdy broody hen. The broody hen (it was Marshmallow) tried to attack her because broody hens attack anyone who accidentally comes near them, and Mary Jane just bonked her on the head and gobbled a bunch at her. When Mary Jane talks, she really does kind of “gobble” like a turkey. I wish so badly I could get it on video because it’s so cute. I am so glad to know that bird, and I am so glad she made it to 7. I am pretty sure that has to be some kind of record for a bird with her genetics.

Sadly, I have some really bad news too.

The morning of Mary Jane’s birthday this Saturday, when I went to the coop to open the little door to let the flock out into the big chicken yard, I thought people were acting a little strange. Rooster seemed upset, but I think he’s getting some senility in his old age, so I didn’t think too much about it. However, when I went around to open the big coop door, I walked in to find Poe Jr. Jr. had passed away fairly recently. I was heartbroken on this one.

Poe Jr. Jr. was Poe’s grand baby and was such a great girl. She didn’t fit in too well with the flock and had struggled with her lack of feathers because she didn’t molt for two years, which was really strange. I have never seen it happen to another hen. But, finally, last fall, she molted and grew the most beautiful feathers. She was mostly black, but there were brown and green feathers in there. I remember how proud she was when she final molted and grew her feathers. You could tell she knew. She let me take so many pictures of her even though she had always been so shy.

This was little Poe Jr. Jr. right after she grew her new feathers finally. She was so proud of them. She knew she was beautiful, and I was so happy for that little hen.

It feels like such a tragedy that she passed away. She just seemed to get things figured out, so I am devastated by her loss. I thought I wasn’t going to cry very much anymore about the loss of our girls, but I cried hard for Poe Jr. Jr.. I couldn’t even understand why I was so broken down over losing her. She was not sick and so did not suffer. I checked her over carefully when I picked up her little body. She was a good weight, looked healthy, had no sign of mites. She just passed. She was only 3. It happens sometimes. It just happens. Her father was Poe’s son Edgar, but I do not know her mother, as she came to me in a hatching egg from the farm where Edgar lived.

I think I cried extra because my younger brother is very sick. Very sick. I am very worried about him. Very worried. But I haven’t been able to cry. Maybe it came with some with the loss of Poe Jr. Jr. I am crying again as I write about her. Catharsis, right? The only good thing about it was that, I swear, she looked so peaceful, like unusually so.

There is more bad news though.

Last week, I noticed Silver was sleeping in the nest boxes instead of on the perches, but I thought she was maybe just going broody. She tends to go broody every summer. I just did a health and mite check last Wednesday, and she was on the perch then and seemed fine.

But, this morning when I was leaving for my cello lessons, I saw her standing in the sick chicken pose. When I got home, I found her, and I knew things were bad because she just let me catch her.

She is in very, very bad shape. Very bad. Her crop is bad, and her belly is swollen. I was barely able to give her a bath and get her cleaned up. I ran to the store to get her some medicine, though I wasn’t hopeful.

When I got home, I couldn’t get her to take it, and I thought I had better research and get more information about this, as I have never had a hen be this sick. It was as bad as I thought, and it seems she has ascites or some kind of tumor blockage. Either way, there is nothing to be done. Silver is going to pass, and because she is struggling so much, if she doesn’t pass by tomorrow morning, Ron will have to cull her. I hate for Ron to have to do this, but he knows how to do it quick, very quick and with no stress to the bird. This is the hardest part of keeping chickens, and I can’t believe we are dealing with this. But we do not want Silver to suffer more than she already is.

I have been pretty good in my breeding program here on the farm to make sure we don’t have to deal with ascites. I haven’t seen it in some years, though it was common in our first flock we got from a production bird line. Silver’s father is Rooster, who obviously has the best genes, and her mother was Schubert. I got Schubert from a very reputable breeder her in Maine, but she ended up passing last year when she was just 5 years old, which is not bad at all but not great. This is a hard day.

Silver has such unique coloring. She is Welsummer in the front, like her dad, and gray in the back like her mom. In the sunlight, she just always looked gold in the front and silver in the back. You just knew she might lay a golden egg. She didn’t, but it was a beautiful green.

Silver is like her father and so noble. She has never liked to be touched but has always been smart and curious. She has always been more serious, anxious for treats when I bring them–but never too anxious. She would never get into a fray over anything. She just kept her distance if necessary.

I am going to miss her terribly. When she was born, she was so shiny and silver. I wished so badly for her to be a girl, and she was. Now I wish for more time with her, but unless some kind of miracle happens tonight, this will be her last night.

I didn’t know what to do but drop everything and just sit with her this afternoon. I played Tom Petty’s Time to Move On for her. I couldn’t even hold her. She is too swollen for it. So I just held her little foot while we listened to the words. We love this song around here. My son, the musician, says it’s magnificent because the music sounds like it’s time to move on before you even hear the words. It’s a good one. It’s the best I could think of for a magnificent bird like Silver.

I hope she moves on to something great, something magnificent like she deserves.

Which way to love land?
Which way to something better?
Which way to forgiveness?
Which way do I go?

Yeah, it’s time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, time to get going

~Tom Petty

The Letting Go

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

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.

Schumann is the white hen in this picture. She loved, loved, loved helping Ron in the garden, and he came to count on her as one of his best helpers. Not all chickens can be trusted in the garden, but Schumann was one.

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.

A loss…

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 12 of 21

TW: Below, I write about the death of one our chickens.

I missed Day 11. I was having the best evening. Our son had a cello performance, and it was wonderful. Last night was one of those nights where you just want it burned into your memory forever. It was so lovely.

Sadly, tonight was a really bad night. We lost Schubert. I am heartbroken.

I went to the coop late this evening to collect the eggs, and I looked over to find Schubert on the roost for the night, just gasping terribly for air. I thought she was choking. I scooped her up to take her into some light, so I could try to help, when she flew out of my arms and landed on the ground with a thud. This never happens. First, they rarely fly out of my arms. Second, when they do, they fly down.

I was shocked. I got down to pick her back up. I was checking her legs to make sure she could walk when she started convulsing. It took me a bit to realize what was happening, but thankfully, once I realized it, I just held her through the death throws and did my best to speak calmly and pet her head and tell her goodbye.

What a terrible sadness.

I think she was having a heart attack when I came upon her in the coop, and I didn’t realize it and got myself involved. I surely made things worse for her, and I feel terrible. But at least she knew me as a friend throughout her life and knew I was sad for her in the end.

I cried so hard when she passed that Ron came outside to see what had happened. When I looked up to explain what had happened, that’s when I saw Rooster. He was off of his roost and watching me from the coop. He was very, very upset too, making all kinds of stress noises. I don’t know how much he saw, but I was worried he might think I was to blame for her death.

He didn’t seem to though. When I went to see him to make sure we were cool, he let me touch him and didn’t act upset. I am grateful for him to know I am a friend.

I wanted to wrap up tonight’s post by sharing a little bit about who Schubert was, in her honor. She was an Easter Egger who I drove across the state to get. She was the special, sweet gray chick that was held out for me by the breeder because she was her favorite of the hatch, couldn’t keep her, and wanted her to go to a great home. The breeder knew I would do well by her baby chick. I picked another chicken randomly to go with Schubert that day–Schumann. I’m worried how Schumann is going to be without her. They were not as close as they used to be in recent years, but last summer, one night, I went to close up the coop when I heard sweet, snuggly noises coming from the chickens. I looked up to find Schumann and Schubert snuggling and talking. They stayed together every night for a long time, but, eventually, they drifted apart again.

Schubert was five years old and is genetically the mama of Juliet and Bianca and is the grandma to Ruby and Arwen. I bred a whole line from her because she was so smart and sweet and laid such a beautiful blue-green egg. She was a part of the original “composers group” that we raised by hand–Bach, Saint-Saens, Schumann, Schubert, Beethoven, and Vivaldi.

Ron buried her for me in the side yard while I had to finish checking the eggs and moving all of the broody hens out of the nests. We now have four broody hens, and Ruby stole some eggs, which means she has extra.

I will have to candle the eggs again in a day or two. Life will go on, as it does, but I am going to miss Schubert a lot.