Two little lives lost

Last year, we lost one of our chickens on a very hot day, and we resolved to either let the girls free range (so they can have dust baths, or to bring them inside in hot weather if we aren’t going to be home to make sure they are ok.

But the weather bureau didn’t predict the temperatures we got yesterday. And I am so wrapped up with what is happening to me right now that I didn’t even think to ask Mark to check on the girls when he got home yesterday evening. We went out for dinner with friends in Newtown last night, and complained about the heat.

This morning, I put on a load of washing, and noticed that one of our big white feathery girls wasn’t moving, and was covered in ants, but I couldn’t tell whether it was Grace or Janis. I lifted up the nest box, and there was another big white girl who wasn’t moving. Barbara and Liza are fine, but both my big white girls are gone.

Both of them were rescues. Grace from a petting zoo (I hope petting zoo operators are reincarnated as baby bunnies in a petting zoo – see how they like being poked by toddlers 8 hours a day), and Janis from a kind lady that saw her fall from a truck on its way to the slaughterhouse. She couldn’t stand up at first, and it was days before we saw her walk, or peck, or scratch around in the dirt like a real bird. She acted like she had never seen the sky before, and was our little (or not so little) special needs girl.

Having an animal in your life is a huge responsibility. I don’t have kids and I think of these little ones like children who are utterly dependent on my care and attention. They live and die by my actions alone, and I have failed these two.

They did have good lives with me – they were free to pursue their interests in digging, destroying my veggie garden, singing the “I Laid an Egg, It’s a Really Good Egg” song, and pooping frequently and in great quantity. I hope they were happy, and I hope my generally good parenting will be taken into consideration.

But I still feel rotten.