Living on a farm, life and death are immediately closer to everyday life. There is no buffer zone. The easy... we grow vegetables and rip out weeds. We harvest produce and compost (or feed to the ducks and chickens) those that have bolted, eaten by bugs, or just didn't make it. We cut the grass and weeds, and use them as mulch. Life and Death.
Harder is when the animals are involved. We only have chickens and ducks (plus dogs and cats), and we don't process the birds for food- minus the time when we ordered a straight run (farmer talk ... ordering a dozen chicks from a "source farm" (good reputation, sustainable, organic) and all are supposed to be hens) and over half were roosters. We have eaten several rooster dishes... Anyhow, we have 40+ ducks and 120-ish chickens.
Most, chickens and ducks, are indiscriminate... but there are the very few which display personalities that are discriminate. I tend to name them. They tend to not make it. They stand out because they are different. I am sad when any animal dies (unintended), but these very special few bring sadness.
First there was Funky Foot- a rooster with a deformity- he lived under the coop so evaded the rooster grab. He was a loner, and yet liked people. An animal of some sorts got him... after a few days of not seeing him, I looked and found his body. We buried him under one of the fruit trees- why buy bone meal...
Then there was one chick- a runt, I donned Chicken Little... he wouldn't grow! When we moved the rest of chicks in his cohort, he was still to small, so he lived with the ducks.. and grew to think of himself as a duck! Thank goodness farmer M. was there when he went for his first swim! I once tried to put him (most likely a her) back with the other chicks- and later found her wandering the woods looking for her ducks... We lost him to the cold snap a few days later.
Today, another bold chick, who I have named twisty based on a deformity which has left her face/ beak twisted was grabbed by one of the dogs. Another bold personality... always the first to the feeding bin, in your face, not shy... she even approached the running mower today. I don't know her fate yet- only one puncture wound- but enough for a young chick. I am doubtful and pray. I like her- I like her tenacity.
You can't can't count your chickens before they are hatched. Don't name them either. Life and death is constant on a farm. But the life and experience out-weighs the death.
Future posts will be less detailed... I think! But I would like to honor those pioneering chickens ... Chicken Little and Twisty.... always nice to know personality exists!
