A moment’s value is defined by its temporary nature. In the tumult of the last few weeks, we have experienced death and new beginnings, both locally and nationally. Our 4 year old Americauna hen, Sweet Pea, passed to her final nesting place, and part of our cob wall came down in a storm. The results of the recent election have caused such strong feelings that every temper is rawer, every frustration made worse. It is a temptation to think the world is against us, but these are exactly the times when we have a chance to claim and appreciate the regenerative path.
Two roos, started to crow, couldn't live in city any more...
Sweet Pea’s story
An unnamed Americauna hen came into my life on the day when I rehomed the last of two beautiful Americauna cockerels that we had received as straight run chicks.
This small pullet was immediately treated to the nightmare of a new pecking order, as Amelia and Mugsy showed her who was boss. She had a very mild, aloof and almost Zen-like disposition that quickly earned her the bottom of the pecking order. Sweet Pea earned her name by digging up and devouring a snow pea crop in less than 15 minutes, within two weeks of her introduction to the Alberta homestead. After the initial pecking order session and from then on, Mugsy was Sweet Pea’s steadfast protector.
Amelia stalking a fence bug, Mugsy keeping an eye on Sweet Pea.
There was controversy about how green they were, but never their size.
Some of Sweet Pea’s noteworthy accomplishments, at least from the eyes of this human, were being the only chicken to fly to the roof of the house, the best jumper for grapes, and layer of gigantic light green eggs. Those monstrous eggs caused her, what seemed like, great distress during the laying process, and were very likely the cause of what eventually became a prolapsed oviduct.
Sink hospital for goofy oviduct problems.
You might be thinking that the prolapsed oviduct was the end of Sweet Pea, as it can be for many birds. However, Sweet Pea being our first bird to have a prolapsed oviduct, or any major ailment, got special treatment. After trying to treat her unsuccessfully at home, she got taken to the only vet available at the time, the avian hospital in a town a half hour away. She pulled through after having her insides all stitched up, and convalesced for a week next to a talkative parrot. After the nearly 500 dollar bill, we joked that Sweet Pea taught us a valuable lesson about having an end of life plan for our birds.
About six months passed, and Sweet Pea never laid another egg, except one time (the egg ended up having no shell). On November 12, 2016, Sweet Pea did not exit the coop in the morning to eat. She seemed pretty weak and out of sorts. We took her out the coop, so the other chickens would not pick on her, as she had moved up the pecking order when the new flock had been integrated. Erin and I were really worried about keeping her strength up, and tried to give her electrolytes and easy things to eat. After a few hours, Sweet Pea became weaker and started to lie on her side. I tried to steel myself for what was more and more likely going to have to be a chicken euthanasia at my hands. That wonderful bird did me the honor of not having to have her blood on my hands by passing away within moments of me deciding that I was ready to help her go as painlessly as possible. We buried her underneath a Japanese maple and inscribed her initials on the log we put on top of the burial ground to ensure animals would not dig her up. Her nutrients that she borrowed from other states of order will feed the soil, which will in turn feed the Japanese maple. May you rest in peace, sweet bird.
Sweet Pea, deep in thought.
(to be continued...)
