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- #311
I am beyond sick right now. I'm also really, really sorry that I have to post this right after all of the celebration today. We lost Diana, and in the 10 years I have had chickens now, I don't believe I've lost a bird in quite such a horrific way. I counted my girls as I always do before closing up the coop and I came up one short. Diana was not known to wander, so this immediately made me uneasy. My dad and I searched their yard and fenced 'free-range' area, and all I found was a pile of barred feathers just on the other side of the fence. I was in shock, I didn't know what to do, but dad insisted on following the trail of feathers out into the woods.
When he returned, that was when it really got horrific. He had found her, alive, but badly wounded. Badly, badly wounded. For those unable to handle graphic descriptions, I will hide what I'm talking about here.
Suffice it to say, she could not be saved. I looked at her, and I had this strong urge to heal her. I wanted to help her. I wanted to bring her back. But realistically, what kind of life would she have like that? We had no means of gently putting her down (as Louise had been, I mean) on hand, so dad told me to go inside, and he took care of it. Don't worry, it was quick, just not a pretty thing to watch.
I'm so destroyed over this. We have had a raccoon visiting every night, but my coops are secure enough that I didn't think anything of it. I never thought that it would come early enough to grab one of my hens before I went out to lock them in. I'm so sick to my stomach, and I can't think straight. I keep thinking if I had only checked back there first, I could have stopped this before it happened... Realistically, I don't think that's true, but I'm going to need some time to fully convince myself of that.
Diana, Diana, Diana...
I named Diana after my favorite author as a child, Diana Wynne Jones. She was the pushy one. She never knew her own strength and whenever she wanted your attention, she would make it known by pinching--hard! She would often peck at my shirt or pant leg for attention, seeming not to realize how close my skin was underneath the cloth. OUCH.
She was the adventurous one of her barred sisters. She would always fly the fence to get a jump start on free-ranging, back before she was too heavy to heft her big butt up that high. She was a stubborn one, and when she first started laying eggs years ago, it was out in the woods. I had to train her to use the nests, a task that took months, but she never strayed from that point on.
She was always so bright-eyed and friendly. Too friendly, and much too pushy as well. She would run right up to my niece and nephew when they were really small, just looking for attention, and they would run away screaming, leaving sweet Diana there with a look on her face like, "What?"
Diana, my hair-pulling, leg-pinching goon of a henny. She turned 4 years old closer to the beginning of this month. At least her last day with us was a celebration, and she was able to pig out and scratch around and have a good time.
Her last picture, chowing down on the hatchday cake today.
When he returned, that was when it really got horrific. He had found her, alive, but badly wounded. Badly, badly wounded. For those unable to handle graphic descriptions, I will hide what I'm talking about here.
Her head had been chewed to a bloody pulp. Her eyes were gone and her beak had been shattered to pieces, barely a stub of it left. She was missing feathers in big, bloody patches, bitten up by whatever had carried her out there.
And then there was the screaming... Oh, god, when dad just touched her wing, she screamed. She screamed and screamed, like she knew that predator was back for more, like she just wanted someone, anyone, to save her, please, help. Just horrific...
And then there was the screaming... Oh, god, when dad just touched her wing, she screamed. She screamed and screamed, like she knew that predator was back for more, like she just wanted someone, anyone, to save her, please, help. Just horrific...
Suffice it to say, she could not be saved. I looked at her, and I had this strong urge to heal her. I wanted to help her. I wanted to bring her back. But realistically, what kind of life would she have like that? We had no means of gently putting her down (as Louise had been, I mean) on hand, so dad told me to go inside, and he took care of it. Don't worry, it was quick, just not a pretty thing to watch.
I'm so destroyed over this. We have had a raccoon visiting every night, but my coops are secure enough that I didn't think anything of it. I never thought that it would come early enough to grab one of my hens before I went out to lock them in. I'm so sick to my stomach, and I can't think straight. I keep thinking if I had only checked back there first, I could have stopped this before it happened... Realistically, I don't think that's true, but I'm going to need some time to fully convince myself of that.
Diana, Diana, Diana...
I named Diana after my favorite author as a child, Diana Wynne Jones. She was the pushy one. She never knew her own strength and whenever she wanted your attention, she would make it known by pinching--hard! She would often peck at my shirt or pant leg for attention, seeming not to realize how close my skin was underneath the cloth. OUCH.
She was the adventurous one of her barred sisters. She would always fly the fence to get a jump start on free-ranging, back before she was too heavy to heft her big butt up that high. She was a stubborn one, and when she first started laying eggs years ago, it was out in the woods. I had to train her to use the nests, a task that took months, but she never strayed from that point on.
She was always so bright-eyed and friendly. Too friendly, and much too pushy as well. She would run right up to my niece and nephew when they were really small, just looking for attention, and they would run away screaming, leaving sweet Diana there with a look on her face like, "What?"
Diana, my hair-pulling, leg-pinching goon of a henny. She turned 4 years old closer to the beginning of this month. At least her last day with us was a celebration, and she was able to pig out and scratch around and have a good time.
Her last picture, chowing down on the hatchday cake today.
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