Remembering Frindizzle

[Frindizzle]

Aww I'm so sorry to here about frindizzle!

she sounds like a wonderful hen. I know how you feel

I'm sorry that you have had to experience it also.

Awww, im sos sorry about frindizzle! I hope you feel better....

I do feel a bit better, thank you.

 

[arabbie1]

Frindizzle was a beautiful hen & will continue to have a sunny spirit.
I am so sorry for your loss.

 

[Poka Doodle]

Sorry for your loss

 

[Frindizzle]

We buried Frindizzle right when we came back from Iceland. Her resting place lays in-between her favorite bush to hang out in and the apple tree that she loved to eat apples from. I visit the spot everyday to talk to her. I hope she is listening. It always seems like it.

 

[N F C]

You picked the best place to lay her down for rest.

 

[FlockOfHens]

We buried Frindizzle right when we came back from Iceland. Her resting place lays in-between her favorite bush to hang out in and the apple tree that she loved to eat apples from. I visit the spot everyday to talk to her. I hope she is listening. It always seems like it.

Thats a great place, Caroline, we hope you feel better soon.

 

[Chickenchick11]

That's the perfect place for her, Caroline.

 

[souriasia]

I'm so sorry again for your loss. I'm glad you were able to lay her to rest in a place she loved. I do the same thing with mine, and go talk to them too, just like you said.

 

[Frindizzle]

My Mom wrote this for her a few days ago.
~~~~


Frindizzle died while we were on our first family trip away from the farm. We managed to find a farm sitter and took off for 18 days, feeling confident that all would be fine in the hands of this hard-working young woman. Not a week into our trip, I got the text: “I’m so sorry to tell you this but the white chicken passed away this morning. She looks like she passed in her sleep. There are no animal break ins or any struggle of any sort. She looks like she just fell asleep laying on her egg and didn’t wake up. What do you want me to do?”

I realize that most people, even my mom, will not understand this, but I was devastated. It was the worst animal that we could have lost. I perhaps cannot even explain it myself, but I cried more for that little bird than I have any other animal except my beloved dog, Pookie. I’m not sure if it’s because Frindizzle represented all that was pure pleasure and sweetness about farm life to me -- she was certainly not brought here to be a workhorse. She was completely impractical to have in the Pacific northwest in fact -- her feathers could not shed rain nor keep out cold. But I loved seeing her curled, white feathers, a billowing poof from which her little head emerged. She is what I imagine Zsa Zsa Gabor would look like if she were a chicken. She was completely fabulous, and she just made me happy. I loved watching her out in the yard, whether she was scratching the ground, her perfectly fluffy pantaloons working the earth in search of treasure, or galloping across the yard, head outstretched, looking like a little, fuzzy dinosaur. Many winter days were marked by Frindizzle and one of her friends snuggling in a box in our house to warm her bones, pecking at their own private food stash. She would answer me when I talked to her with a long series of quiet tones. One spring we used Frindizzle and Junior’s broody nature to sit on a nest of duck eggs. Those gals sat on those eggs tirelessly for weeks -- we had to take them outside occasionally to get them to poop and move around a bit. Their single-mindedness was impressive!

I remember buying her at the farm store. She was covered in creamy fuzz with just a hint of curled, white feathers emerging from the tips of her wings. She simply looked like a tiny angel. I was inspired to make a little party hat to fit on her head and take pictures of her. I put the hat on other chicks too, but it was not the same. Frindizzle was very photogenic, like a beautiful ornament.

And now she’s gone. Replacing her isn’t even an option. A new chicken that small would be picked on mercilessly.

After news of her death, I left the villa and stood on the edge of the patio in the dark. The lights from the house behind me made the night seem darker. I bent forward, heaving with sobs, not wanting to hold them back. As I cried, I imagined my grief floating out over the hillside and down to the sea, my tears as salty as the Mediterranean. The one thing on the farm that represented only beauty and happiness to me had died. My daily shot of joy would not be greeting me in the yard when we returned. Instead, her body would be unceremoniously awaiting me in the freezer. How could it really be over?

 

[Chickenchick11]

My Mom wrote this for her a few days ago. ~~~~ Frindizzle died while we were on our first family trip away from the farm. We managed to find a farm sitter and took off for 18 days, feeling confident that all would be fine in the hands of this hard-working young woman. Not a week into our trip, I got the text: “I’m so sorry to tell you this but the white chicken passed away this morning. She looks like she passed in her sleep. There are no animal break ins or any struggle of any sort. She looks like she just fell asleep laying on her egg and didn’t wake up. What do you want me to do?” I realize that most people, even my mom, will not understand this, but I was devastated. It was the worst animal that we could have lost. I perhaps cannot even explain it myself, but I cried more for that little bird than I have any other animal except my beloved dog, Pookie. I’m not sure if it’s because Frindizzle represented all that was pure pleasure and sweetness about farm life to me -- she was certainly not brought here to be a workhorse. She was completely impractical to have in the Pacific northwest in fact -- her feathers could not shed rain nor keep out cold. But I loved seeing her curled, white feathers, a billowing poof from which her little head emerged. She is what I imagine Zsa Zsa Gabor would look like if she were a chicken. She was completely fabulous, and she just made me happy. I loved watching her out in the yard, whether she was scratching the ground, her perfectly fluffy pantaloons working the earth in search of treasure, or galloping across the yard, head outstretched, looking like a little, fuzzy dinosaur. Many winter days were marked by Frindizzle and one of her friends snuggling in a box in our house to warm her bones, pecking at their own private food stash. She would answer me when I talked to her with a long series of quiet tones. One spring we used Frindizzle and Junior’s broody nature to sit on a nest of duck eggs. Those gals sat on those eggs tirelessly for weeks -- we had to take them outside occasionally to get them to poop and move around a bit. Their single-mindedness was impressive! I remember buying her at the farm store. She was covered in creamy fuzz with just a hint of curled, white feathers emerging from the tips of her wings. She simply looked like a tiny angel. I was inspired to make a little party hat to fit on her head and take pictures of her. I put the hat on other chicks too, but it was not the same. Frindizzle was very photogenic, like a beautiful ornament. And now she’s gone. Replacing her isn’t even an option. A new chicken that small would be picked on mercilessly. After news of her death, I left the villa and stood on the edge of the patio in the dark. The lights from the house behind me made the night seem darker. I bent forward, heaving with sobs, not wanting to hold them back. As I cried, I imagined my grief floating out over the hillside and down to the sea, my tears as salty as the Mediterranean. The one thing on the farm that represented only beauty and happiness to me had died. My daily shot of joy would not be greeting me in the yard when we returned. Instead, her body would be unceremoniously awaiting me in the freezer. How could it really be over?

Oh Diz, I'm so sorry! (Burying them is always so hard, my hen Celestia passed away on June 10th and her body is still in the freezer. I honestly know the moment I start digging her grave I will be crying my heart out.)