Light on the far hills
I had just hopped back over the fence after visiting Kiwi Bronwyn and Jim when I saw Rick walking towards the chicken coop. He had a shovel in one hand and an axe in the other.
The evening light was bright on the far hills, but the paddock we were in was drenched in shadows.
I knew what Rick wanted to do. In fact, I’d agreed to it a couple of weeks earlier, but all of a sudden I had reservations. I certainly hadn’t expected to be doing it now, on a peaceful Monday evening after visiting the neighbors. I wasn’t prepared.
Rick came closer and I said, “Why now?”
He set the axe down on the ground near a weathered log. “We should do it before we go. Get it over with.”
He walked with the shovel over to a spot alongside the chicken coop, and he started to dig.
We were about to go to Sydney on vacation with Aunt Charlie, and we’d be gone a week. Still, I didn’t want to do it now. But I just stood there watching Rick dig.
The ground by the chicken coop is soft and brown, like chocolate cake. After only a couple shovelfuls of dirt, the hole was deep enough.
Rick walked around and opened the chicken coop door.
Scaly leg mites
Ever since we got our two Lavender Araucana, the beautiful blue egg layers, the one we named Natasha has had scaly leg mites. She was shipped from the breeder with mites, and despite our best efforts we’ve never gotten rid of them.
Natasha
When the vet told us we needed to grease her legs with Vaseline weekly for a month, we took the directions so seriously we should have won a Scaly Leg Mite Purple Heart. We were out there greasing all the chickens’ legs for three months, just to be on the safe side.
None of the other birds got it. And most importantly, Natasha got better. Her legs became less grey and bumpy. Her dark scales started to grow back.
We thought we were in the clear.
Grabbing her
All the chickens had settled down on their perches for the night, and Rick reached over and grabbed Natasha.
She was right next to Francoise, as always. Having survived the chook house race wars against the Fat English Ladies, Natasha and Francoise had become the best of friends.
Natasha started screeching and squawking horribly. Soon the entire chicken coop was in an uproar.
“I’m not wearing clothes I can get blood on,” I said to Rick.
“I’ll do it. You just hold her head.” He was carrying her towards the log and the axe.
“Wait. That log’s not right. Let me get another.”
I went into the hay shed to find another log to go under the axe, but none of them were right.
When I came out of the hay shed empty handed, Rick was watching Natasha run away.
“What happened?” I asked.
“She got out of my hands.”
Failed treatment
Soon after the end of our three-month scaly leg mite treatment, Natasha’s legs were getting bad again. Very quickly she was worse than ever.
Dahlias in the fading light
So once again I called Aussie Bronwyn, the High Priestess of Chicken Wisdom.
“Well, well,” she said over the phone. “That is a problem. I was told recently that some chickens are just prone to it. Sounds like you’ve got a real Typhoid Mary on your hands.”
It was later that evening that Rick first said it. “We should cull Natasha.”
I was horrified. There is a drug called Ivermectin you can use, although it’s not approved for chickens. Aussie Bronwyn had told me about it. I mentioned it to Rick.
He sighed. “Even if we do get rid of Natasha’s scaly leg mites, she’ll just get them again.” He looked away. “Eventually she’s going to give it to the others. Then we’ll have a real mess on our hands.”
I said no to the culling idea for months. But in the end, I gave in. Rick was right. Natasha was prone.
Catching her
Rick followed Natasha around the back of the hay shed. I walked around the other way to head her off. When I got there, Rick was staring into a thorny patch of blackberry.
“She went in there.”
I felt horrible. She was hiding for her life.
We gave up. Rick opened the door to the chicken coop so Natasha could get back in. The plan was to come back out and shut it later, after she was in.
We began walking over to the shovel and axe, ready to take them back to the garage.
Then suddenly Natasha came running around and back into the coop. She went right up to her perch next to Francoise and settled in.
Stupid bird, I thought. You should have stayed in the blackberry patch.
Rick went over and grabbed her again. He held her tightly and carried her to the log. Francoise and the others were making terrible noises now.
Rick laid her out on the log. “Grab her head.”
I reached down and held the tip of her beak, the way I’ve seen Aussie Bronwyn do.
“Don’t hit my hand,” I said.
Then Rick brought down the axe.
Natasha’s body fell down to the ground and twitched and flopped. Rick and I watched in silence. When she stopped moving, Rick picked her body up and dropped it in the hole he’d dug, along with her head.
“God bless you, Natasha,” he said.
Natasha
Later that night, when we were reading in bed, I set down my book and stared at the ceiling.
“Don’t make me feel bad,” Rick said. “I was the one who took her to the vet.”
“Don’t feel bad,” I told him, but I could tell I sounded robotic. “She was putting them all at risk.”
Rick closed his book. “I can’t do that again. You have to do it next time.”
I didn’t answer.
We rolled over and turned out the lights.
____________________
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It’s so hard to get rid of one, isn’t it? It’s part of being a good husbandman, though, taking care of all the animals. You did it quick, and she had a very good life while she was around.
Just remember, the day it gets easier to do is the day you ought to stop doing it. Caring is NOT something you should EVER get over. *hugs*
Aww. I’m sorry you had to do that. :(
You see, this is exactly why I chose not to keep chickens. Don’t get me wrong. You did the right thing – it’s me who is the hypocrite as I love a roast chicken with all the trimmings! It’s just that I could not do this – even reading about it made me well up. (Lovely comment by RevAllyson.)
BTW You asked about the broody chicken treatment my mum told me about. You dunk the whole chicken into a bucket of cold water and hold her under for a while – don’t know how long – just a few seconds, I imagine. So, as I said, your “chook” got off lightly.
Hi Jared,
I stumbled upon your blog some time ago and have been thoroughly enjoying it ever since. You even inspired me to start up one of my own (in its total infancy).
I’m gutted poor Natasha got the chop, so to speak. When I was reading it I was gunning for her, I really thought she would get away, I thought there’d be a happy ever after ending. Ah well, thats life for you. RIP Natasha.
You are braver than me. When Beep was sick my neighbour picked her up in a box and then she was gone. Where there is life there is death. You tended her when many other people would have not. I know it doesn’t mean you feel any better about it but it really was for the best.
You do have a way to build up suspense ! Why is Rick digging a hole ?? One can’t read fast enough to find out. But then the love you have for your animals also comes through despite the “dastardly act”.
Poor scaly Natasha – enjoy the chicken heaven !
Oh you poor things.
I feel bad, my broody Wyandotte has had scaly leg mite since she hatched the chicks in December, I just keep washing her legs with dettol, treating her with wormer (Ivermectin I think) and spraying her legs with canola oil. It never occurred to me to cull her.
I might have to have a rethink, although I would have to take her to the vet for an injection, I could never kill one of them, pathetic isn’t it.
Hope you enjoy Sydney, bloody hot here at the moment.
awww I’m so sorry.. in the back of mind I remember you watched a bird die in your fireplace and that was sooooo much harder to read than this was. I dread the day that I have to do this to one of my chooks – This year I will be bringing half a dozen steers and some pregnant ewes to my block and that will be hard as well.. not so much the sheep, I don’t grow fond of those so much and have had no problems eating the meat our neighbour gives us in return for grazing.. but when the steers leave it will get to me a bit, knowing I will be cooking one of them most nights for dinner and the ones I sell will be feeding another couple of families. My dad is like ‘they are just animals’he cannot fathom why anyone would think of them as anything other than food for the belly.. but we moved to town (Masterton) when I was 6 and I have kind of adopted the ‘meat comes in packets’ mentality. I have only recently been able to eat the eggs our chooks lay for us.
Sitting here in Iowa, cold, snow piled up to the mailbox and tearing up a bit while thinking about Natasha. Things I know: under your directive, she enjoyed good stuff: greens, apple cores, strawberries, spaghetti and I was able to know her and thank her for her eggs daily during my stay. I appreciate your helping her “transition” during my absence. Your Eulogy to Natasha is tribute to the good life you gave her. Your writing never ceases to amaze. Thanks for that.
As always, your writing paints a vivid picture. So sad. You did what you could. I think Rick is stronger than I would be.
It really is gut wrenching when you lose one of the family, but to have to actually do it yourself is even worse, my thoughts are with you.
I do feel for Rick having to do the nasty little deed, I fortunately have someone who will save me the job. Now…. does Rick always have to do all those horrid little jobs …… I was just, ummmm …… thinking of him having a nice wee job, ummm, like painting stuff …….. haha
Its giving them a name that makes it all the harder.
I grew up on a farm and we regularly culled the chooks and also the geese. As a child I would hold the goose down on the log for my Father to wield the axe.
Its amazing but we were very matter of fact about the whole thing. Animals are raised and killed for food, it was just the way things were.
My Dad would go out to shoot us a wild goat/pheasant/Pukeko (yes we ate them too – slowly cooked in the pressure cooker)and it was all just a fact of life.
However now I don’t think that I could be so quite so detached.
Sorry to hear you had to cull Natasha, Jared. Knowing it’s coming doesn’t make it any easier, either.
Rest in peace, Natasha.
I enjoy your blog very much. How fortunate you are to live in beautiful New Zealand. I was there for three weeks several years ago…and it was difficult to leave.
Thanks Jandi. We love it here. Except for the chicken culling bit.
“Ooooh, do the headless chicken,
all together now, fingers clickin’,
you’re not safe in Mothers aaaaaarms, LOOK OUT!”
…That’s a Kiwi song reference by a band called The Headless Chickens. I don’t know why, but this story made me start humming it…