Recovering chickens, dogs and people

and a new washing machine too. I'm sorry to say that Red didn't manage to extrude the stainless steel bucket for the smoker project. She was still sick, I joined her in the viral party, and we had a gimpy dog, a seriously messed up chicken and each other to focus on mending this weekend. We tried to have some sort of celebration for Valentines day. Red brought home a store bought cake and a frozen pizza- per my own request. My gourmand inclinations were rapidly breaking down amidst the need for mere survival.

Billie the chicken was mangled by the spaniels on Friday afternoon. I was falling into the feverish state that heralded the beginning of the flu, and was trying to nap. I actually was asleep- which is not easy for me to do during the day even if I am sick sick sick. I heard Frances clucking- and in that cluck recognized that something terrible was happening. From the upstairs window, I saw Frances making her way across the yard. Ok- she's fine. Then I scanned and saw two Welshies and one terrible dark pile of feathers. I guess Red says I just started making a sound that sounded like chicken 'bawwwwking' that got her attention but she didn't know why in the world I would be sounding like that. Random yelling, mad dash to unconscious chicken, and mama bursting into feverish tears while Birkleigh tells me 'it's ok'. I don't know why but every time we've had a chicken meets dog moment I get really really upset. The other situations were less than well controlled training sessions where Red was at the ready with the training collars but the dogs managed to get chicken in mouth before getting the message that it wasn't ok. As the fall went on, it seemed like the dogs got it. They would actually move away from the chickens if they happened to wander onto their side of the yard. But all winter, chickens have been in barns and dogs have forgotten all warning about chickens. There was no restraint in the bird dogs when coming upon a chicken this week. So I've concluded that while I realise chickens will die at the hands of predators on this farm, I am NOT ok with those predators being our own dogs. And while I realized many many years ago when my friend was desperately trying to find a vet who could do surgery on her pet chicken that perhaps there is a limit to preserving the life of a chicken, I still seem to have a hefty attachment to our fine feathered friends.

Sick as I've been, I've been shuffling back and forth from the barn to wash her wounds (which wasn't so pleasant I tell you), hold cupped handfuls of water to her beak, handling her as minimally as I can to avoid her being stressed but still gently stroking her under the chin to encourage her swallowing. Each time I would brace myself to see her limp body but each time she showed both signs that she might recover as well as showing how sick and weak she is. Today she flew up onto her roost, ate something, and looks much better. I think she might make it. Her eyes are so tired and she is quite weak but getting stronger.

Birkleigh is so funny about this- she told Red 'we're farm girls... this just happens. Maybe she'll make it, maybe she won't. It will be ok'. I've tried to teach her about the cycle of life/death but I too can cling to my own attachments. I found out today that her grandparents (my exes parents) dog has cancer and will die soon. I'm proud that she has an understanding of death to help her. She will not be told that 'Charlie ran away!' Once when B was about to turn 3, someone was trying to talk in code around her about some pet that had died and she piped up and said "you mean it's not living anymore? You mean it's body is dead?" So Birk gets this life/death thing pretty well for a 5 year old and I have discovered I'm attached to my chickens but I'm ok with the cycle of things too.

And turns out, it looks like we all just might get better.
Karen