This is Daisy, my favorite chicken. Ironically i cried more with Petunia but that has to do with the fact that she was suffering terribly and i had to kill her to put her out of her misery when i raised her from a day old chick and i couldnt fathom my body ending the life of something i raised and nurtured on purpose. The death of Daisy is something ive been somewhat numb to. She was my favorite chicken. I loved her very much. Obviously i would have liked all the measures i took to get her well to have worked but they didnt and here we are. There was nothing i could do to change the inevitable outcome, though it didnt stop me from trying. So when she did expire, i put her in the grave i dug for her, had a little funeral, said a prayer, and went on with life. I was sick when i dug the hole and i wasnt able to dig it deep enough into the rock, so of course two weeks later something dug her up, chewed on her, and left her half in and half out of the hole, feathers all over the yard. I reburied her and put more rocks on top. This experience with buttercup, petunia, and daisy has taught me that chickens are prone to crop issues, mosquito born illnesses, and respiratory distress. They dont live forever. It might be better not to attach yourself to each individual chicken as if it were your child. Im torn between wanting orpingtons specifically and wanting adult chickens i dont have to hand raise…perhaps when the pullets retire i will ask the county chicken facebook page if anyone has adult hens for sale and just take whatever they offer. it gets harder and harder to raise chicks in the bathroom of the tiny house and im just not sure how many more times i want to keep changing bedding twice a week, dealing with the smell, and the lack of space. They end up bonded to you but then it hurts that much more when they get ill and perish.
Daisy in particular became lethargic, exhibited a lot of sitting and head droop, and quit eating. I was sick at the time and i confirmed that it was indeed my favorite chicken before i looked up at the sky and said, “okay God. You want to take Daisy? You have to take my favorite chicken? It has to be my favorite one? Of course it does. With everything else going on right now, why not take Daisy. Of course that’s the one he wants.” I was somewhat angry at God as i wasnt even in proper shape to say goodbye to her but here she was going. I wanted it to be another chicken, not her. But, i also knew i didnt have a choice in the matter. I dont get to decide the universe. So i got the shovel and tried my best to dig a hole to put her in. She held on for a day, and then another…after the 48 hour mark i thought, “well ****, if she’s still here then she wants to be here. I ought to try everything to help her with that then. I gave her all my herbs for respiratory distress which is what i was thinking due to her lethargy and purple comb. However, one evening i came home and saw her wobbling while she walked, whipping her head about, with blades of grass sticking out of a sticky liquid covered beak that was slightly ajar. As soon as i saw the bulge at her chest and the way she walked i knew it was a crop impaction problem. Id never experienced one but id watched enough youtube videos on chicken illnesses that i knew this was a crop problem. I pulled up a youtube video on how to solve a crop impaction and then carefully turned Daisy upside down, still in my scrubs and work shoes, hung her from her feet, and massaged her chest, working the mass up towards her neck. Chickens cannot vomit so when they need to spit something up you have to help them. However, this process is very stressful for chickens and should not be done for an extended period of time. I could see her neck go limp and her eyes close and i knew i was running out of time to try this. She would quickly be unconscious. Suddenly her head flipped around and she projectile vomited the rankest most vile fermented brown crap water i have ever smelled in my life. It was like diarrhea mixed with dead animal mixed with beer. I dont know how else to describe it. There were seeds but the bulk of it was brown slime covered grass…long tangled strands. I returned her to the upright position and let her calm down and rest a bit before doing it two more times. Each time she leaked clear liquid, brown liquid, and then projectile vomited the rankest material. I ended up having to wash my shoes so many times as the bulk of the vile material landed there, on my work shoes. They will never be the same but now that im having difficulty smelling things, it dowsnt bother me. As long as my coworkers dont get within two feet of the shoes i have been assured by a med aid that you cannot smell it from beyond this distance. They’ve been cleaned and sterilized several times but that smell is just going to be in there forever i fear.
The size of daisy’s chest ball decreased, she began walking better, she started eating and drinking again, and her crop turned maroon instead of purple. Some parts were even red. At this point i thought she was out of the woods. I mean, she was eating, drinking, and walking around with the other chickens. I had fixed it right? I got to keep my favorite chicken?
The morning that her comb was completely red i thought the danger was over. She was eating. Her comb was in good health. We were out of the woods. All is well. Ironically, it was after the color of her comb normalized that she died. I came home and found her clinging to life next to the food dispenser. I turned her upside down but there was nothing to massage out. There was no chest mass to work towards her beak. I returned her to the pen and she went back to where she had been laying. I noted Sophie picking at her feathers and trying to gouge her eyes. Rosie seemed upset by this and chased her off. I told Daisy, “if you’re going to die you have got to do it some place less public than the feed dispenser. Some place the pullets cant see you.” I tried to put her in a nesting box but she wouldnt have it. She stood up one last time to appease me and walked to the floor of the coop in a corner near the nesting boxes. She laid down and dropped her head. She died with a bright red comb. It took her about an hour. I just couldnt understand why she had survived when her comb was purple and then when i seemingly unstucked the stuck stuff she went. I went out and redug the hole while she was dying as rain and critters had put debris in since i originally dug it. When i went to check on her she was gone. Rosie and Lily were sitting with her, standing guard against the pullets. She was fully in tact though thoroughly dead. They did not allow the youngsters to eat her. I pulled her out. She was already cold. I carried her to the hole by her feet and laid her in it. I then buried her. After i was done talking to Daisy and talking to God i went inside the house and got in bed. The dogs and the other chickens sat in silence at their fences watching me as i had buried her. They watched the funeral in just the same fashion. When i went to close up the coop that night Rosie, Lily, and oakley were all sitting where she had died. They missed their sister. So now God had the feistiest little chicken there ever was up in heaven. I imagined she was well looked after up there but i was pretty bitter that on top of everything else going on i had to lose my favorite chicken. Little Olive assumed daisy’s former attachment to me and tried for cuddles every time i opened the pen door. However, as much as i wanted to adopt her as new favorite chicken, she had this mighty annoying habit of taking submissive stance right in front of the pen door and then sort of freezing in anticipation of petting. The door opened in so i couldnt get in the pen without pinching her little claws, which i didnt want to do, so id be yelling at her to move more and more and the longer i spoke the more excited she got in anticipation of petting and cuddling and sitting in my arms and she’d just hunker down and id lose my **** and just be screaming my lungs out at a chicken which had alarmed all the others to the point where they’d fled, often running through the extra water trough and splashing me with a mixture of water and chicken poop… when the door finally did squeeze open i couldnt open it enough to come in because Olive was still blocking the door in a squatty stance and then Sophie would take the opportunity to try and bite off my toes while at least two of the remaining pullets would attempt an escape through the slightly open door. By the time i got into the pen i was so mad at olive the cuddle often didnt even happen no matter how much she followed me around begging to be picked up. She was just not quite as smart as daisy and though she was very sweet, olive lacked the grace to wait until i was in the pen to panic about petting. I try to give olive attention when i feed them because she does crave human socialization in a way that the rest of them dont, but nobody will ever replace daisy. Daisy will be daisy and olive will be olive. She has no shoes to fill. They are just different chickens. I dont know that i will ever pick another favorite. Daisy was a very complex and feisty chicken. She wouldnt allow any other chickens to beat up on me but if she saw me pet another chicken she’d try to rip my skin off herself and then she’d go beat the other chicken into the ground. All was well as long as i was daisy’s mom and no one else’s. She and Rosie used to rule together. Since she died, unfortunately, Sophie has assumed power, the turd. She’s just like a rooster. She bites, kicks, and tries to rip skin. You have to jab her in the back with a couple fingers when she squares up against you and then she’ll run off but hurry up and do whatever you came to do because she’ll be back and she’s not above taking cheap shots when you’re otherwise occupied. Poor Rosie just kind of let it happen. Only Lily and Rosie are left from the original group. They’re outnumbered and Rosie has deformed feet. Without Daisy as a partner, she could not commandeer the flock as the leader. Daisy was tiny but fast and Rosie was lumbering but super huge. They were the perfect combination rulers.