It sounds like you had a special bond of trust. We have said this before, chickens that get sick and require extra care often become the ones we are closest to. I'm sorry for your loss. I think she will always be with you through what she taught you and the memories you have of her.Hi folks,
Catching up here... I've been feeling too despondent to post. Last week, on Friday June 2, our smart, sassy, incredibly sweet Cleo lost her more than three year battle with chronic bumblefoot. As I'd mentioned before, when we adopted her she was about 10-11 months old and already had severe bumblefoot in both feet due to a thoughtless keeper. She developed a limp within weeks of being here on our farm, and that was when I learned about this condition. One foot we managed to heal completely over time with repeated treatment, but in the other foot, the infection kept coming back. We kept it at bay for three years with soaking, scraping, antibiotic creams, etc, but two weeks ago I noticed the infection moving into the top of the foot and the ankle. Soaking, lancing and draining didn't work. Over the course of 5 days she became progressively weaker and lamer, her skin began to yellow. The oral antibiotics didn't help either. I began to think about how to best end her life, but she made the decision that day. The infection raced into her taxed system and she suffered a heart attack. It only lasted a few seconds. I was with her during the attack and when she passed out, I laid her gently on a pillow and waited with her until her last breath left her body, not touching her (I believe death is a solitary walk) just trying to fill the space with all the love I felt for her. I wrapped her in a clean cloth and waited until her body was cold before I buried her in the garden under the breadnut tree.
To be honest, I don't give every chicken that passes such a ceremonious farewell (though I do bury them with respect). Some are more, well, like chickens. Some keep more of a distance, a more feral way. But Cleo was special, in that she connected with me without reserve. In her life, she had survived a harsh entry into the world, bronchitis, multiple bumblefoot treatments, and a nasty case of sour crop (after eating a huge frog topped off by a bunch of rotted bananas she found in the forest). She was tenacious and she loved life. She acted as "rooster" when we didn't have one and trained our cockerel Lucio how to inspect the coop at night. She never went broody and laid eggs without a break, often laying well into her molts (which I believe took its toll over time). She was tough and tender and fair and confidently led the flock without needing to bully. She came to my kitchen every day at 4pm, without fail, to chat. She had the sweetest melodic little voice. She always pressed her warm neck to my cheek when I held her. She was my best friend.
All I can say is, if you're a caregiver who wants your chickens to live a long life, check their feet regularly and act before infection becomes chronic. I didn't have that chance with Cleo, but I sure do it with all my chickens now.
I'm glad she had a good life here. I wish it could have been longer (she was 4 years old) but I'm glad she went quickly when the time came. As a leader, she wouldn't have been ok to live infirm. But I miss her awfully. There is a big space.
"...pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
No one but death the redeemer will humble that head. The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes."
(Robinson Jeffers, Hurt Hawks)
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Beautiful Cleo
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Sleeping on my lap a few hours before she died
to read this. Sorry you lost your amazing Cleo.
