Had a sad experience on our little farm today. Milly banged on my office window after she went out to take care of the cow and chickens.
I was pretty sure something was up when I saw big crocodile tears rolling down her face. I miss most hints and signs unless I’m told outright what the interested party wants me to do but when Milly’s crying I am usually right that something is amiss.
It turned out one of the chickens was having a hard time. OK, it wasn’t just any chicken. We called it silver chicken as it was one of the prettiest chickens we had. I can’t really tell you what kind it was only that compared to the rest of our ugly, haggard chickens this was a nice looking one.
“Silver chicken is dead” was all she could sputter out.
I went out to take care of the carcass but when I reached down the poor little thing was still alive and suffering. I nonchalantly went and got my gun and came back and disposed of the pretty little critter.
I wish we were more capable at fixing up animals. All I could think of was to stop the suffering.
Too bad it had to be the pretty one instead of the ragged old bitty that keeps pecking on everyone else. I guess that’s how it goes. The tuff old birds seem to last the longest.