The Grave Digger

This morning when I opened up the coop door I saw the stiff body of Popcorn on the floor.  Unlike certain chicken deaths, this one was not all that surprising.  For months and months the hen was on a rollercoaster of health.  For weeks at a time she would seem pretty normal and then for several days she would be very lethargic, often throwing up liquid from her mouth, however she always bounced back.

Up until early this week she was acting normal, aggressively contending for food like she normally would, despite being low bird on the pecking order.  She got picked on by all of the other birds.  One thing that had changed in the last couple weeks was she lacked the strength to jump from the coop floor straight onto the perch as she did her entire life.  Either I would help her or she would use the ladder to get up there a rung at a time.

Since she had recovered from similar symptoms so many times before it was my expectation she would do it again, I was wrong.  I got a trash bag to wrap her body in while I cleaned the coop.  Once I was done I had another cold, tearful, and solemn burial in the back of the property, beyond the fence line, where all of the other hens have been buried in recent years.

Popcorn was never a real affectionate bird although she was always front and center when food or treats were involved.  I remember just last week laughing as I gave the girls blueberries.  If the other hens were not quick enough, Popcorn would steal the berry right from their beaks.  She also was probably the most athletic chicken we ever had.  She could jump very high and routinely would snag flowers mid-air as I tossed them her direction.  You may recall she was also the bird that I probed with my finger, checking to see if she was egg bound, the only time that ever happened.

Even though she wasn’t friendly, we sort of bonded over the various times I would try to soak her and clean her vent, another side effect of her health issues.  Last night she was too weak to get up on the perch herself.  She stood there and looked at me, waiting for help.   When I placed her up top Fiona tried to be her normal bitchy self and stop Popcorn from getting to her normal spot.  I took my hand and blocked Fiona, Popcorn seemed to understand what I was doing and slowly moved to her spot for the night.  As I do every night when I close their door, I told the chickens I loved them, as if they understand.

In the big picture I know Popcorn was sick for awhile and I knew this was coming sooner rather than later.  Still there is no avoiding the emotion that is triggered for me when a bird dies.  I only have three hens left.  Kathy and Cutie are the older hens, two years older than Fiona.  Fiona is the healthiest of the bunch.  Kathy has been at death’s door once before and recovered but has been losing some weight.  Cutie Pie is one of my all time favorites but has had leg/mobility issues for at least a year.  I carry her around the yard when possible to make it easier on her.  With only three chickens remaining I see my days as a chicken farmer winding down, never to be repeated again.

This weekend is a long one for me thanks to MLK day.  There is a major project going on at our main office where the building UPS is being replaced.  If things go as I hope my involvement should be minimal but there are always risks with powering down a data center that is typically up and running 24/7 for years at a time.

I do look forward to seeing if the Eagles can shock the world and beat the Buccaneers in the first round of the playoffs on Sunday.