2012 has been a bit of a sad time really. I started the year with these 6 beautiful girls. Here they are out on walkabout together. Hetty, Doris, Penny, Joan, Helen and Mary. First the delightful Doris died, then last month Helen and only yesterday we lost Joan.
I can't tell you how broken I've felt each time it's happened. I keep telling myself that they're only chickens and think that it should get easier but it doesn't.
I've already blogged about Doris who was never really a well chicken. She suffered most of her life with breathing difficulties and every few months had to have some medication. She was a happy girl though, bossy at times but definately the mother hen of the group. Those last few nights with her were terrible. I sat up with her willing her to breathe til we could get her to the vet but in the end The Kiwi and I realised the best place for her was the great big chicken coop in the sky.
Helen was a different matter altogether. She came to us along with Joan in December 2010. There's a page dedicated to their first few days with me, it's a lovely read if tinged with sadness. Helen was the most affectionate of my girls. She'd be cuddled all day long if I'd let her. I got to the stage where I could do almost anything while holding her. Any time children came round she was the one I could rely on to oblige when they wanted to see what it was like to stroke a hen and pick one up. My trustee snuggly girl. Here she is being held by my good friend "The Dish" who actually didn't want to put her down.
On 6th April after being very sleepy and withdrawn for a few days I wrapped her up and put her on the chair in my bedroom. She loved it there - had even laid her eggs there. I went out to work and when I got home she'd passed away. After working hard in a battery farm for 18 months she was able to live a happy retirement free ranging and getting daily cuddles until finally falling asleep in her favourite chair. Wonderful.
And then there was Joan. She was the smallest of chooks. Only 2.5lbs and scruffy too. Here she is sporting the fleece I made for her. They were so tiny and frail that they had to be clothed to go outside. She was so good though, she'd stand still while I put it over her head and she stood like a child as I did her buttons up. Then once out of sight she'd peck at the buttons until they came undone and I'd find her flapping around the garden trying to balance as she stood on one end of her "jacket". 
Once Helen went, Joan just seemed to go down hill. She would stand all day up by the greenhouse where Helen first started to show signs of being unwell. After a few days I was convinced that she was on her way out and I spent hours cradling her while she slept. But every day she would be up with the other girls waiting for her morning feed. Then on Friday she stayed inside all day. She slept on my lap while I watched a movie and I left her in the kitchen that night. Saturday came and she was still with us so I took her to the vet just in case there was anything I could do for her. I didn't want her pumped with medication though, I just wanted to make her comfortable. My lovely vet gave me an energy drink for her and said that keeping her hydrated was all I could do. So, all day Saturday I was syringing water into her. She'd wake up, shake her head and then go back to sleep again. I got up early yesterday morning almost hoping that she'd gone but she was still breathing. She sat on my lap for a couple of hours again then The Kiwi and I went to mass. When I got home she was just hanging on in there. Then when I picked her up and took her into the sunshine she just peacefully slipped away in my arms.
I know these are only chickens and their loss can't be compared to the loss of a loved one so don't worry, I haven't got it all out of proportion. But having nursed these girls to health in the first place, then watched as they learned how to love life, and finally cradling them in their final hours you can't help but ache when it's time to say goodbye.
God bless my darling girls Doris Day, Helen of Troy and Joan of Arc
