Today was terrible. Today was a day that makes you rethink why the hell you would ever raise chickens. Today was a day that you are thankful your little boy has no idea what death is and why mommy is crying. Today is a day you wish you could kill a dog and not feel guilty about it.We woke up this morning and were all set to take a short trip to the lighthouse on Clover Island. Taylor has been obsessed with Nick's new show, Paw Patrol, and there was an episode about a lighthouse. I know where one is! Let's go! So while I'm loading my kiddo and my dog into the car, I hear the sound of a chicken screaming. Yes, they scream. It's awful. I look into my neighbor's pasture and see the other neighbor's dog attacking MY chicken. Now, yes, she should stay on her own property, but we have permission to be over there. And by "we," I mean "my birds" can go over there. It's neutral ground. Just cows and lots of poop to dig around in for the birds and eat bugs. With rage in my voice, I yell at the dog and he looks up at me and starts back for home, just after my bird jumps from his paw and starts for home. I could see in that split second she was in bad shape. Feathers on her neck gone. Very bad. She wouldn't come home, preferring to lay in the grass with the cows as she calmed down. I couldn't do anything so I continued with our morning and tried not to get hysterical.
The morning was fun at the lighthouse! Besides the part where the DOC had their crew out and to clean up trash in the same place we wanted to visit, it was fun. We headed home and I went straight for the coop, hoping our chicken returned to safe base.
She was there. And she was ugly. I almost puked. I also made an immediate mental note to not eat chicken for a while.
At this point I'm calling Keith and asking him to come home. I'm not sure I can handle this. He's wonderful and started to make his way home from his very busy day to help me and my chicken.
I pull myself together and call the vet. They deal with poultry. I tell them I'm on my way and load my chicken into an empty 24-pack box of Coors light. She was quiet, which worried me, but awake. We took her to the vet and I prepared myself for the exam and prognosis. I need to mention that Taylor was fantastic through this whole thing. He rubbed my leg while I cried and sat quietly while the chicken was examined. I was so thankful for his good behavior and realizing I had to talk to the doctor.
After an exam, the doctor tells me they will need to stitch her skin back together. She will be okay, as long as I want to pay the bill. Oh, right. This costs money. I let him run through the procedure of surgery, anesthetic, blah blah...I can see my chicken's neck hanging out of her skin...staples, stitches...she's closing her eyes! I interrupt him, "Is she dying right now? Is she going? What's happening?!" Bless Dr. Coleman's heart, he answers my questions as if this is a family cat we've had for 18 years. "No, she's just in a lot of pain and traumatized." Oh. Okay. He leaves and I wait for the total. I talk to the chicken and let her rest. Watching her little feathered and slobbery body go up and down.
The vet tech comes in. Nicest girl to deal with a hysterical chicken rancher. She shows me the bill: minimum of $700 to fix my bird, max of $1,117. Umm...what? I run through my mind, "Well, okay. I won't get new clothes, and we can cut costs somewhere else." Then the devil on my other shoulder whispers, "it. is. a chicken, Jenny. A. Chicken." I say, "What am I supposed to do?! Yes, do it. It's fine."
(Side Note: I was shocked this morning when I saw how much a popular diaper bag was and wondered why and who would pay for something this outrageous! Fast forward a few hours and I'm thinking about dropping $1,000 to save a chicken?!)
I pay the bill, expect to pick her up later that day and put her in solitary confinement for weeks while I administer costly medicine. It's when I get home and talk to Keith, my real voice of reason, that he tells me to just bite the bullet and say no. That's too expensive. I had to call back and say no, put her down. Put her out of her misery. Let that 24-pack box of Coor's Light be her coffin and be done.
And then I cried. Ugly cry. Over a chicken.
Now we have 5 chickens locked up and will not be free range anymore. And I have a neighbor I need to have a chat with.
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