No doubt some people reading this will say to themselves: “Hey, she was only a chicken.”
Not to us.
Nala, our lone Barred Rock and one of four hens in our little flock, had to be put down yesterday. As is often the case with sick chickens, it was impossible for the vet to determine, via an examination, what had caused her symptoms.
A necropsy may provide some answers. In the meantime, my wife Liz and I are mourning the loss of a beautiful and feisty bird whom we loved and cared for from the moment she and two other hens moved into our then-new coop in April 2012.
If you have a very small flock of chickens, it’s easier to see them as individuals, and to appreciate their quirks and personalities. They quickly become pets, perhaps not in quite the same way as the cats and dogs who share our homes, but members of the family nonetheless.
So it was with Nala.
Nala was at our near the top of the pecking order from the get-go. Snow, our Plymouth Rock and now the only surviving hen from the original trio, is louder and more boisterous than Nala ever was, but it was Nala who kept our two Rhode Island Reds in line when they arrived as pullets a year ago. And it was Nala who occasionally nipped at whichever unfortunate hen happened to be molting at any given time, although she was never overly aggressive with her “victims.” She just wanted to signal her superior status with a reminder or two.
When Stella, a New Hampshire Red, died suddenly in December 2012, I fussed over Nala and Snow during their first winter in our coop, which they survived with flying feathers, if you will. After we added the Reds to the flock in May 2013, I got Nala and the other three hens through this past winter as well, using whatever tricks I could devise to keep them warm and dry during the worst that severe winter had to offer.
Not to us.
Nala, our lone Barred Rock and one of four hens in our little flock, had to be put down yesterday. As is often the case with sick chickens, it was impossible for the vet to determine, via an examination, what had caused her symptoms.
A necropsy may provide some answers. In the meantime, my wife Liz and I are mourning the loss of a beautiful and feisty bird whom we loved and cared for from the moment she and two other hens moved into our then-new coop in April 2012.
If you have a very small flock of chickens, it’s easier to see them as individuals, and to appreciate their quirks and personalities. They quickly become pets, perhaps not in quite the same way as the cats and dogs who share our homes, but members of the family nonetheless.
So it was with Nala.
Nala was at our near the top of the pecking order from the get-go. Snow, our Plymouth Rock and now the only surviving hen from the original trio, is louder and more boisterous than Nala ever was, but it was Nala who kept our two Rhode Island Reds in line when they arrived as pullets a year ago. And it was Nala who occasionally nipped at whichever unfortunate hen happened to be molting at any given time, although she was never overly aggressive with her “victims.” She just wanted to signal her superior status with a reminder or two.
When Stella, a New Hampshire Red, died suddenly in December 2012, I fussed over Nala and Snow during their first winter in our coop, which they survived with flying feathers, if you will. After we added the Reds to the flock in May 2013, I got Nala and the other three hens through this past winter as well, using whatever tricks I could devise to keep them warm and dry during the worst that severe winter had to offer.
Yesterday, I kissed Nala's head in the vet's examining room as we waited for death to creep in on a spring breeze.
Nala was the most distinctive-looking of our four hens, because she was not monochromatic like the all-white Snow or the Reds, who are, as their name implies, a dark shade of red. With alternating black and white bars on her feathers, Nala was a striking bird, even when seen from a distance. She was a sad specimen by the time she arrived at the vet’s, yet her feathers remained lustrous to the end.
I thought the coop had a diminished look about it when I finally returned home, but Snow, Hope and Nellie were thrilled to see me, hopping around, squawking and flapping their wings in anticipation of some chow. After I gave “the girls” fresh water, a refill on their feed and a late-morning snack of mealworms, I found three still-warm eggs in the coop's nest box.
Carrying those eggs back to the house reminded me that the coop remained full of life yesterday, even as death claimed one of its residents on a gorgeous morning in early June.
I thought the coop had a diminished look about it when I finally returned home, but Snow, Hope and Nellie were thrilled to see me, hopping around, squawking and flapping their wings in anticipation of some chow. After I gave “the girls” fresh water, a refill on their feed and a late-morning snack of mealworms, I found three still-warm eggs in the coop's nest box.
Carrying those eggs back to the house reminded me that the coop remained full of life yesterday, even as death claimed one of its residents on a gorgeous morning in early June.
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| Snow (left) and Nala, with Hope and Nellie partially visible in the background |
