baby-blue
Songster
- Mar 21, 2019
- 234
- 543
- 151
So, going back a few months, I was one of those people who had an issue with going into TSC and buying their bantams. On one particular day, I saw the quirkiest, cutest little white chick with huge muffs. She was hopping around, pecking at everything in sight, peeping like crazy - normal chick stuff. She came home with me that night, along with three other chicks. One of them didn’t make it past the first night.
About a week later, they all had names - the black silkie was Ambrose, the Japanese was Poppy, and the peculiar little muffed chick was Matilda. She would always hop into our hands whenever we would put them into her brooder and she would peep about stories far and wide. She loved being held and she would always fall asleep on us, snuggled right up and cozier than could be. She grew up to be the prettiest little easter egger - wheaten and blue and white. She was stunning and she still had the quirky, sweet-as-pie personality. As soon as anybody would walk into the coop, she’d be on top of your feet, chatting with you about her day. She would follow anybody everywhere - whether you’re a dog, cat, guinea fowl with anger issues, or a person. She loved everybody. She would even fly onto people’s shoulders and heads and sit there, happy as a clam while they go about their business. She would always sneak into the brooders and just sleep with the babies, which earned her the nickname Mama Matilda. She was so tiny that 3-week-old standard pullets were bigger than her, but she would cuddle with them anyways. She had a heart bigger than the whole world and a soul more pure than any I’ve met.
Recently, my entire flock had an outbreak of fowlpox and coccidia. We lost a few young chicks and guinea keets as well as one of Matilda’s buddies, a d’Uccle that always hung out with her at bedtime. Matilda seemed okay - until yesterday. I shooshed her away from some wood that I was drilling and she fell over and just gave me a look. It was a knowing look. I know, it sounds silly to say that a chicken can feel that sort of emotion, but she really seemed to be able to. I started her on a direct dose of Corid and I tried to get some electrolytes into her, but I’ll admit that I was too late. She faded very quickly last night and passed in my arms, snug as a little bug in a rug, just like she always loved to be. I miss her terribly, to say the least. She was just a chicken, but it’s difficult to go into their coop and not have her hopping onto my feet and talking about her day. It’s hard to not feel her sitting on my shoulder while I tend to chores. I miss my little Matilda so, so much. I was so excited for her to lay her first egg and to hopefully have the chance to watch her raise her own brood. She would’ve made an amazing mother and her babies would have been stunning. I’m so glad to have known her and her love - I’m so sad without her, but I’ll always be able to carry the joy of her memory. Here’s to you, my little Matilda - please do visit me again soon. Your friends and I will always love you.
About a week later, they all had names - the black silkie was Ambrose, the Japanese was Poppy, and the peculiar little muffed chick was Matilda. She would always hop into our hands whenever we would put them into her brooder and she would peep about stories far and wide. She loved being held and she would always fall asleep on us, snuggled right up and cozier than could be. She grew up to be the prettiest little easter egger - wheaten and blue and white. She was stunning and she still had the quirky, sweet-as-pie personality. As soon as anybody would walk into the coop, she’d be on top of your feet, chatting with you about her day. She would follow anybody everywhere - whether you’re a dog, cat, guinea fowl with anger issues, or a person. She loved everybody. She would even fly onto people’s shoulders and heads and sit there, happy as a clam while they go about their business. She would always sneak into the brooders and just sleep with the babies, which earned her the nickname Mama Matilda. She was so tiny that 3-week-old standard pullets were bigger than her, but she would cuddle with them anyways. She had a heart bigger than the whole world and a soul more pure than any I’ve met.
Recently, my entire flock had an outbreak of fowlpox and coccidia. We lost a few young chicks and guinea keets as well as one of Matilda’s buddies, a d’Uccle that always hung out with her at bedtime. Matilda seemed okay - until yesterday. I shooshed her away from some wood that I was drilling and she fell over and just gave me a look. It was a knowing look. I know, it sounds silly to say that a chicken can feel that sort of emotion, but she really seemed to be able to. I started her on a direct dose of Corid and I tried to get some electrolytes into her, but I’ll admit that I was too late. She faded very quickly last night and passed in my arms, snug as a little bug in a rug, just like she always loved to be. I miss her terribly, to say the least. She was just a chicken, but it’s difficult to go into their coop and not have her hopping onto my feet and talking about her day. It’s hard to not feel her sitting on my shoulder while I tend to chores. I miss my little Matilda so, so much. I was so excited for her to lay her first egg and to hopefully have the chance to watch her raise her own brood. She would’ve made an amazing mother and her babies would have been stunning. I’m so glad to have known her and her love - I’m so sad without her, but I’ll always be able to carry the joy of her memory. Here’s to you, my little Matilda - please do visit me again soon. Your friends and I will always love you.
... she sounded like an angel..
