For Everything There is a Season
June 30th, 2009It’s been a tough week on the homestead. I’ve struggled with posting on this blog and exactly what I was going to write about. I still don’t know. But that’s never stopped me from posting before, so I guess we’re all going to figure it out together as I write this.
A week ago Monday I noticed one of my White Faced Black Spanish hens walking and running a little funny. I didn’t give it too much thought. She ran right up to me for her treats when I headed out in the afternoon, and even if she had an odd gait, she made it to me just fine and gobbled up her treats. But in the late evening, I spotted her laying down outside the coop - something that is very unusual for her. When I stepped outside to check on her, she tried to get up and come to me and kept rolling on her side. I helped her up and watched her a few minutes. She could not stay on her legs and kept falling over.
I brought her in the house and put her in a pen in the spare bathroom. I was hoping some rest and special attention would help heal what ever was wrong with her. Her appetite was great. She ate, drank, and pooped normally. She even laid two eggs during the week. She had no symptoms of illness - she just couldn’t stand on her legs. She didn’t act as though she was in pain - in fact she spent most of her time trying to figure out how to get out of the pen the first day. I finally had to leave her in the dark so she would stay off her legs.
As the week progressed, her legs seemed to become more and more useless and she became more and more restless. I gave her 1/4 aspirin each day in the hopes that it might help with any swelling or discomfort. Bernie scrambled her an egg each morning and I added yogurt and cheese to it. I hand fed her each meal on my lap and she seemed to love the attention. But she was getting no better and I knew it was unfair to keep her in a pen the rest of her life. I knew I was going to have to put her down, but I kept praying things would get better. Finally, by Sunday, I had no doubt what needed to be done. And I knew I was going to have to do it.
Bernie never really wanted to get chickens. He grew up working on farms and he never cared for chickens. He doesn’t even care to eat chicken. But he knew I wanted chickens, so he acquiesced - with one stipulation. These were going to be my chickens and I was going to take care of them.
So even though Bernie had worked on farms as a kid and was the “axe man” when it came time to cull chickens (and I thought my summer job working as my dad’s secretary was the worse job ever!), I knew I could not ask him to put my chicken down. I knew I was going to have to do this on my own.
So I didn’t say a word to Bernie. I took my beloved Black Spanish into my shed, where I had driven two nails in my work bench. I gently laid her down and slid her neck between the nails. She was amazingly calm. I grabbed her legs, stretched her out, held the cleaver above her neck, and then stood exactly in that position for a full five minutes. Is this cleaver sharp enough? Is my aim going to be good enough? What is that awful pounding noise? Oh, that’s my heart. I wonder how hard I have to come down with the cleaver? Why am I so light headed? Oh Lordy, I forgot to keep breathing. I wonder if I should even be using this cleaver? Maybe I should go ask Bernie if it’s sharp enough.
So I picked up my Black Spanish and cleaver and headed to the back yard to find Bernie. And as soon as I laid eyes on him, I burst into tears. Between sobs I asked him if my cleaver was sharp enough. I could tell by the look on his face that he was about to tell me he would take care of this issue, but for some utterly stupid reason I blurted out “I’m going to do it! I really am. I just need to know if that blade is sharp enough”.
Bernie went into his shed, got a hatchet, and sharpened it on his bench grinder. He walked to a tree stump in the back yard and hammered two nails in it for me. He asked if I was ok and I said yes. He handed me the hatchet and went back into his shed.
When he looked outside at me 10 minutes later and I was still standing there with the axe poised over my poor chicken’s neck, he walked over to us.
I looked up at him. “She’s asleep. I think she passed out from boredom.”
“I can see that”, he replied.
“I think if you will hold her legs, I can use both my arms and chop her head off.” I was trying to convince myself as much as him.
Bernie grabbed her legs and I grabbed the hatchet with both hands raised it above my head, and then began hyperventilating. After several minutes Bernie said “Penny, do you want me to do this?” I felt a rush of relief. “I’ll hold her legs” I quickly answered.
I grabbed my little hen’s legs and turned my head. And with one loud thud, it was over. My White Faced Black Spanish never felt a thing. I, on the other hand, felt everything. I was relieved that it was over. I was sad that this had to happen to my Black Spanish. I was happy that Bernie rescued me. I was disappointed that I didn’t see this thing through by myself. I burst into tears and Bernie held me as I sobbed my heart out.
Later Bernie said to me, “Well, we both learned something today.”
“Yea, we learned that I’m a wimp”
“No, I already knew that. I learned it was unfair of me to expect you to kill your pets. I’m sorry.”
We talked for a good long while about the whole experience. And we agreed that when it comes time to cull all the cockerels I ended up with from the hatches this year, he will be the “axe man”, and I will hold their legs. In the end we’ll have several chickens in the freezer, I won’t have a nervous break down, and Bernie won’t have to see me cry. Not a bad deal.
Bee Free,
Penny
Tags: culling a chicken
June 30th, 2009 at 1:57 pm
Oh Penny!! I’m so sorry to hear your news.
I cried too….but I’m not sure if I cried more for the chicken, you or Bernie and his sweet self!!
June 30th, 2009 at 2:55 pm
Penny i’m sorry. we talked some while we pick berries about that.
I know how much you love your chickens.
June 30th, 2009 at 3:10 pm
Jocelyn - thank you for the sweet note. Bernie really is the best husband ever. He has killed a lot of animals over the years - for money, for food, and to put a few out of their misery. And he’s hated it every single time. I hate he ended up having to kill my chicken, but I just could not do it. I loved that little chicken - and I love Bernie for having the courage to do what I could not.
Charlotte - thanks, hon. I know losing chickens is just a fact of life for a homestead. And I know culling them is as well. It doesn’t make it any easier though. By the way - did you make your jam?
June 30th, 2009 at 3:17 pm
I didn’t get to make jam, had to freeze them for now.
Until we get the septic fixed then i can clean jars. So hopefully I can do that this weekend. the pups shore wore Bob O out. He slept all the way home. We shore enjoyed our day.
June 30th, 2009 at 5:47 pm
Penny just got off phone with Tex’s sister. She sayed we are more then welcome to pick grapes. She will let us know when they are ready, and we can have all we want.
June 30th, 2009 at 5:49 pm
Charlotte - those berries will be just fine in the freezer. The pups had a great time with Bobo too, and it took them a full day to recover! It was a great day and I thank y’all for coming out.
June 30th, 2009 at 5:53 pm
Ok I know this is a sad story, but I thought it was the sweetest thing from your husband.
I’m a dork and I know it.
June 30th, 2009 at 6:32 pm
Nicole - I’m happy to find a fellow dork
Bernie truly is the sweetest thing on earth. I don’t know what I did to deserve him.
June 30th, 2009 at 10:15 pm
So sorry you had to face such a difficult situation, but I’m glad your kind husband was there to help. Our pets can bring so much joy into our lives, and can cause us an equal amount of pain. It never gets easier.
July 1st, 2009 at 1:09 am
I don’t think I could have done it either. Thanks for the Bernies of this world. I have a Ted. He works the same way. Some things are just too hard. Im sorry to hear about your hen. We just love the girls so much.
July 1st, 2009 at 5:27 am
Sweet Virginia Breeze - Thank you for your sweet words. And I think you are right. This can never get easier. I do accept that it is something I will be faced with again, and it brings me great comfort to know that Bernie will “handle” it in the future.
Kelly - yes indeed! Thank heavens for the Bernies and Teds of this world! The funny thing is, I honestly believed in my heart that I was going to be able to do it. It was quite an emotional experience for me and you will probably understand when I tell you that it actually took a couple of days for me to recover. And it’s something that will stay with me forever. I’m just not cut out for that.
July 1st, 2009 at 9:11 am
OH PENNY! I am in tears. It has been a bad week for us both, hasn’t it? You are a brave woman for attempting to cull the chicken yourself, and you are most definitely a lucky woman for having Bernie around. I am sure if it came down to an animal suffering, Neal would put it out of its misery, but if given the choice, he’d rather not be an axe man. He doesn’t even like to hunt.
I know how much you love your chickens and I am sure this was heart-breaking for you. I am sorry for your loss.
July 1st, 2009 at 9:31 am
Thank you, Lilla. I had tears when I read you lost little Tabitha too. Putting down an animal is tough - whether it’s by your own hand or not. It takes a lot of love to make that decision when the time comes. It would have been easier for me to let nature run it’s course - but she would have died a miserable death. She would have lived her life locked in a cage, or returned to the flock and unable to function within it, or get to food/water/shelter.
Bernie really hates being the axe man too - but he hated seeing me go through that even more. I’m very disappointed I couldn’t see it through and had to turn to him for that unpleasant task. But it’s over now. Thank heavens.
July 1st, 2009 at 2:12 pm
Such a great post, Penny, even though it was sad. It made me think of a couple of things.
First, that no matter how old we get (not that you’re old !), we never stop learning about ourselves. That is a good thing, I think, because it can happen not only in a real-life situation like this, but also surrounding our ideals and values. We mere humans kind of stumble through life, constantly discovering ourselves, and that is what makes life worth living.
Secondly, this story kind of reinforces the idea around division of labor. Some people are just better at some things than others; in an efficient society we discover our strengths and know our weaknesses and work together for the best possible result. When you discover you’re a “wuss” at one thing, you just do another thing that much better.
Third, it’s not a bad love story either :))).
Happy 4th to you, Bernie, your family, and all of your menagerie !
July 1st, 2009 at 2:49 pm
Thank you, Shirley. Your comment is better written than my post! I wrote it while full of emotion and wasn’t even sure it would make much sense. But I agree with your thoughts on it. I’ve always considered myself a very strong person and, while I am rather tender hearted, I can usually do some pretty tough things when I set my mind to it. I was actually very surprised to learn there is no way on God’s Green Earth I can cull my chickens. I can help - but I can’t be the “axe man”.
Bernie has always said that he and I work so well together because even when it’s a nasty job, we will each do the thing that we at least hate the least. Thankfully, that’s usually two different things!
Thanks for your sweet comments. Happy 4th to you and Chainsaw as well!
July 1st, 2009 at 3:25 pm
I’m so sorry - you told your painful story so well and I’m sitting here in tears…for your sweet hen…for your incredible strength…and for your sweet weakness. You’re a good chicken mama.
Take care.
danni
July 1st, 2009 at 3:59 pm
Oh Danni - your sweet words mean an awful lot to me. Thank you. I struggled with posting it at all. I was so worried I’d get a bunch of “it’s just a chicken for heaven’s sake” comments. But I could not have been more wrong. Thank you for your compassion.
July 2nd, 2009 at 8:15 am
Penny I am so sorry to hear about the losing of one of your chickens. I cried and my son came out and asked me what was the matter. I told him i just read something so sad. I am like you I know that I could never ever kill one of my pets. I even cry when I accidently hit a bird or anything else for that matter. I hope you are feeling better.
July 2nd, 2009 at 8:48 am
Lisa - thank you so much for the sweet note. Many years ago, when we lived in town, I was using an electric hedger to trim a bush. As I came down with it, I accidentally cut a praying mantis in half that I did not see until it was over with. I cried all day about that - and I STILL feel really bad about it.
I guess we’re just softies. And you know what? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
July 2nd, 2009 at 3:37 pm
Bless your poor, sweet heart ! And bless Bernie’s sweet heart, too.
July 2nd, 2009 at 10:25 pm
Oh my goodness. I am late to the post. Im so sorry, Penny. This would have been a hard story for anyone to read, Im sure. But for this sap(meaning me)….good lord. I was in tears. That whole thing just made me cry. I could literally see you thru the whole thing. And Bernie, too. Wondering just how much he should offer to help…knowing that you really wanted to be able to do it on your own, but him really wanting to reach out and help you.
Youre a good chicken mama. And Bernie is a good husband to a good chicken mama.
Sigh.
July 2nd, 2009 at 11:40 pm
you sweet thing….
**hugs**
July 3rd, 2009 at 5:57 am
Debbie and Momzoo - thank you both for stopping by and your kind words. They mean a lot to me. And Momzoo - I actually felt that hug.
Frugalmom - Thanks you for being so sweet. It was an incredibly difficult experience and I felt worse for Bernie than I did for myself, or my sweet little chicken. She was amazingly calm throughout the entire ordeal. But you are so right that Bernie was very distraught at my anguish, and it was compounded by the fact that he knew he needed to let me work through it. He’s since told me he will do anything to NOT see me go through anything like that again. Poor fella. I’m not sure either of us will ever get over that awful day.
July 3rd, 2009 at 3:16 pm
I am so sorry, and since she was such a nice hen, I can feel your pain. But her she lived out her life happily and not in a battery cage like some hens are prisoned to. You gave her a great life and you cared for her alot more then most chicken owners would. I had a little chicken a long time ago hatch from an incubator with crooked legs (the reason i HATE incubators) I tried putting rubber bands/bandaids around his little feet, but I hated to see him struggle. he would flop around untill he got to the heat, feed, or water. So once we moved them out to a bigger house, one night my mother turned off the switch that connected to the outside building by mistake. The next morning he was dead along with a runt. The 3 surviving chicks were in the corner huddled together. They lived on… but what im saying is he wouldnt have had a good life, and I just couldnt kill him myself, cause i loved my little chicky…and I guess cause im a wimp as well, so mother nature took his life into her own hands and made sure he wouldnt suffer any more.
July 3rd, 2009 at 3:46 pm
Thanks, JP. And I know you are right. She lived a good life and I loved and spoiled her - just as I do the others. It truly is heartbreaking, but I know that in the end, I made the correct decision. And I was sad to read about your little chicky - he must have made quite an impression on your life. I’m glad you had him - even if just for a short while.
July 5th, 2009 at 10:45 am
Tears are rolling down my face
Im so sorry……. words fail me…..
x
July 5th, 2009 at 11:02 am
Oh Marmitetoasty - I wish I had thought to tell you NOT to read this post while we were emailing earlier. I knew you would likely take it hard. We buried her in our pet cemetery in the back yard, on the edge of the woods. She loved to scratch around out there. (((hugs)))
January 1st, 2010 at 8:03 am
Penny, I feel your pain here… I’ve been in this situation with my dogs before and it’s never easy losing one of our pets. It does tend to take a small chunk of your heart each time. I cried right along with you on this post, even if it is over 6 months later!!
A very Happy New Year to you and Bernie and Diesel and Dolly — oh, and regarding outside dogs. Ringo was an outside ranch dog before I moved here - yeah, I am the culprit when it comes to spoiling. I couldn’t tell you the last time he slept outside in his giant igloo doghouse. In fact, I’ve seen our cats Fluff and Barack come sliding out the door early in the a.m. on several occasions!
I would love to have chickens and/or goats, but then I’d need a Great Pyrenees dog and he would have to stay outside, right? *sigh*
January 1st, 2010 at 8:40 am
Oz Girl - I agree with you - losing a pet, under any circumstances, is just so hard. We’ve lost dogs and cats in the past and each one was heart wrenching, and we still miss each one.
You and I certainly share a love of animals - and pups are just the best! I SO want an outside dog to look after the chickens and yes, a Great Pyranees would be perfect….. but I suspect you and I will never own an outside dog!
(((hugs))) Susan - and I hope you and yours have a wonderful New Year!