Last week I lost one of my dear little chicks. Croakin’ Joe was just ten weeks old. Croakin’ Joe died suddenly while he was out with the others in their little chicken yard. Words cannot convey the grief I feel over losing that little spunky guy. My husband and I both witnessed his death. He was fine one moment and gone the next. Literally. I picked him up and rocked him in my arms, begging him to come back, but to no avail. I have no idea what happened to him. My heart is broken. Yes, in a way this solves the problem I would face in integrating a rooster into my flock of older hens. But I had decided I liked the little rooster so much that I would attempt it. He was such a gentle roo, and very attached to me. He loved sitting in my lap and snuggling. He was enthusiastic when I scattered treats. He had just learned to crow, and every morning when he heard my voice on the porch, he would begin to crow. It is like he was calling me to come on over and visit. This all happened about 30 minutes before my ride came to take me over the mountains to a women’s retreat. I had a lovely weekend with a group of caring sisters who gently comforted me. I also spent time in silence and in communion with nature in an old growth forest. It seemed the recurring theme which came up for sharing and discussion over the weekend was how death is a part of life, and it is the nature of everything to die and transform.
Once home, I still had to care for the remaining little pullets, and silently note the spot where Joe died, clean out the broody crate where they spent eight weeks transforming from balls of fluff to small dinosaurs. I still had to live with the fact that I will never know what happened to him. It will forever remain a mystery. I had buried Croakin’ Joe next to a flowering rose bush and scattered petals over his grave. I walk past it every morning and scatter a few more petals, whispering “I will always carry you in my heart, and remember you.” I feel sad that Croakin’ Joe never got to experience his transformation into roosterhood, but I have to let that go and realize that I gave him the best life, even though it was a short one.
One thought that came to me during my weekend retreat was that when I cry over my attachment to my feathered ladies, and fur babies I need to remember that they chose me to be their caring friend, not the other way around. They came into my life to be teachers. They can teach us so much if we respect them and pay attention. Thanks for the lesson, Croakin’ Joe. I bow to you.