It started yesterday. I noticed that “my chicken” Matilda was looking a little sluggish. I noticed her standing a lot in one place, and in the evening when I went to lock the chickens away, she was still outside. That’s when I knew that she was leaving us.
This pattern has happened with a few other chickens, so I’m aware of the outcome.
I picked up my Matilda and put her into a nesting box. I talked to her, assured her, and let her know it would all be over soon. I didn’t expect to see her alive this morning, but she was. This afternoon I found her, and she was gone.
I don’t know if a good farmer would cry over one little old chicken, but I suspect they might. A good farmer would know when they had a special chicken in their midsts. Before Sylvie was born, the rest of the family went to the feed store and picked out chickens. We all picked out one and named it. I adored my chicken, Matilda, and that adoration made her a chicken that could be picked up and interacted with her entire life. I will miss her. I loved her.
Goodbye, sweet Matilda.