Good-bye Old Busted Chicken - Butterknife 4.17.14 - 10.17.23

Butterknife started life as Sophie Buttercup.  She was adorable, fluffy and cute.  (Those Buff Orpingtons!) :)  But into her teens, she developed into a nippy monster: so many little wounds on my legs with no warning.  We started calling her Butterknife.

She lived to a crazy old age.  (9 years and 6 months to the day). One tough old bird.  Over the course of the long hot summer, she increasingly lost the ability to stand for more than a few sips of water at a time.  She wasn't standing up to go to the bathroom, so her poor tail feathers got poopy; she needed help cleaning.  She developed some swelling on the left side of her neck, which looked uncomfortable but never got any bigger (?).  And still she hung on.  I got to the point where she couldn't stand long enough to eat, so I was locking her safely by herself and she ate boiled eggs and bits of Dave's bread while laying on the ground. Yesterday, I added a grape as a special treat (cut into tiny beak-sized pieces) to her food.  Spur of the moment.  G had left the package out on the counter, and I thought, they do dearly love those.  And she did! :)  She picked through the entire pile, making sure to gobble up every single bit, leaving a pile of bread and even some boiled egg. :)  It turns out that was her last meal.  Sometimes you just get lucky.

A Righteous Life and a Merciful Death.
I airlifted her out of the nest box this morning.  Carried her over to the red water container (the only one she would drink from), and spotted her while she took a few sips.  Then put her out in the sun.  About an hour later, I went out to get her for breakfast.  The pot of zinnias were knocked over, and there a bit of loose dirt.  And no chicken.  Long story short, the neighbor dog, Beast, (who has never shown the SLIGHTEST INTEREST in the hens) in the space between 7:30 and 9:30, dug under the fence, snatched her out from under it, killed her and took her back home to his house to chew on.  Gloria and I are distraught. 

A Remembrance/ Obituary
What do you say about a bird friend you love and have a long history with, but with whom you do not share common language?  They definitely have opinions. They annoy each other.  And there is always that intense, vivid, visceral pecking order. 

She got to the point she was a lot of work, so there will be weird holes all through my day.  Get her up.  Feed her breakfast. Move her around.  Get her some water.  Find her a new spot.  More water.  Then dinner.  Then get her out of the way so they don't trample her for her crumbs.  And then remember to tuck her in at night, not too early so she feels lonely or punished, but not so late she starts to worry.

We will miss you.  Please, come to meet us when it is our time.
Prayer: To Our Beloved Hen Upon Her Passing