Yesterday, my red frizzle Cochin Bantam was out with the big hens, wrestling chilled grapes away from them and scooting away with her bounty. Today, she was lethargic and wouldn't eat even a single grape. I made the first possible appointment with the avian vet, but Gabby died a half hour before she would have seen Dr. M.
As the day went on, she struggled to breathe and began emitting a thick drool. When I put her in a kennel in the car, she convulsed and was gone in seconds.
Gabby was already a grown hen when she, her barred Cochin Bantam "sister" Sally and a Wyandotte came to live with me five years ago. I referred to the two Bantams as "my little jewels."
I loved watching Gabby's rolling gait and hearing her distinctive and plaintive voice. Gabby sounded like the Eeyore of chickens, as though she was chronically depressed. But that was only her voice; she was actually a joyous little girl.
Since Sally passed in March, I've worried that Gabby missed her sister. Now, I'll miss them both.
Rest in peace, my little jewel.
As the day went on, she struggled to breathe and began emitting a thick drool. When I put her in a kennel in the car, she convulsed and was gone in seconds.
Gabby was already a grown hen when she, her barred Cochin Bantam "sister" Sally and a Wyandotte came to live with me five years ago. I referred to the two Bantams as "my little jewels."
I loved watching Gabby's rolling gait and hearing her distinctive and plaintive voice. Gabby sounded like the Eeyore of chickens, as though she was chronically depressed. But that was only her voice; she was actually a joyous little girl.
Since Sally passed in March, I've worried that Gabby missed her sister. Now, I'll miss them both.
Rest in peace, my little jewel.
