Daphne flew on yesterday.

Photo copyright Aji, 2022; all rights reserved.

We had to begin this day with a burial.

Daphne flew on yesterday, somewhere right around three o'clock in the afternoon. It was right in the middle of a gap in the weather; we weren't supposed to get rain yesterday, according to the forecast, but of course they're always wrong. Anyway, we knew we'd have to wait until this morning to take care of laying her little body to rest, so we did.

She had been slowing down for most of the past week or so. It didn't appear to be anything other than age-related natural causes; she was, like all but one of our now-remaining seven chickens, about five and a half years old. It's not ancient for a chicken, but it seems to be about the average life span of these "organic" local chicks. We honestly thought that Pumpkin, our old lady Red, would be the next to go, since she's about eight and a half (which is getting up there for a chicken), but while she's a little slower these days, she still seems to be going strong.

Daphne was one of a group of Americaunas we got in early 2017. They're a mix of the Spanish Aracauna (pretty much none of which are pure here anymore, although they're advertised that way) and Buff Orpington, I think it is. Apparently the mix makes for an especially hardy egger, and these fluffy golden whiskered girls are some of those that lay the turquoise eggs. Daphne certainly gave us dozens of hers over the years.

For some time, we'd been down to four (out of an initial six of this particular bunch, if memory serves); we lost Mica, A/K/A Little Bent Beak (because her beak was indeed bent, having gotten stepped on by a sibling in her first hours of life outside the egg), back in February, and then, as the saying goes, there were three.

These three were always fairly close, all named for flowers: Daffodil, Dandelion, and Daphne. Of the three, Daphne seemed to be the boss, although even she was subordinate to the real boss chicken, Jade (an Australorp). But Daphne also was a bit of a loner at times, and while she hung with her sibs, she would also regularly be found off by herself a little bit, pecking and scratching. She also dearly loved to lie on the ground by the west bird feeder and eat out of the little house tray Wings bought for the birds (a storm had knocked it off its perch), so from then on, he left it on the ground upright and filled it for her so she could enjoy herself.

Like her sisters, she was named for a little golden flower, but she was also a tough little thing. About three years ago, I noticed that she was limping slightly; she had developed some swelling in her left leg, but she didn't let it stop her. I checked her over thoroughly, of course, and could find no injury, nor any site or source of infection, and a deep dive into Google produced no answers. Whatever small amount of pain it caused her resolved itself in a matter of days and she was back to running at top speed with the others, doing her best to fly out of the gate in the morning, but the change in size remained; it never seemed to bother her, though. She spent her days doing a chicken's favorite things, principally eating, and of course drinking out of the dogs' plastic pool and creating divots in the dirt for her dust baths. 

That photo is from about a year ago — last summer, and she was escaping the heat by lying at the soft, damp base of the aspen (soft and damp because of all of Wings's hard labor watering then; Spirit knows we didn't get any measurable rain). She looked much the same this week, albeit because she apparently knew what we didn't: that her slowing down was going to be of the permanent kind. Each afternoon when I went to put them all back in the free range coop, I had to go looking for her, and each day, I'd find her a little apart from the others, in broody position, but seemingly relaxed and enjoying the cool wet grass, so I didn't think too much about it. I did notice a couple of days ago that the slowing had taken on a different quality, and mentioned briefly that she might be leaving us sooner than we would've thought. I never thought it would be this soon.

I went out yesterday between storms to put them in the coop for the night, and managed to round up seven of the eight. Daphne was missing. I searched her usual haunts, and found right up against the pups' pool, one of those hard plastic kiddie pools they can use to cool off in this ungodly heat. She liked to drink out of it, and apparently had settled herself against it to remain comfortable for whatever time she had left. She appeared to be sleeping, but when I called her name, she opened her eyes and raised her head. I realized then that she probably didn't have long, so I picked her up and carried her to the coop, eventually settling her by the water, and she responded with that little fluttery sound they make, a cross between a chirp and a purr, when they're happy. Wings had walked up, and we talked about what seemed to be occurring, so he leaned down to stroke her feathers also, and we both told her we loved her.

I went out again a little while later to find that she had taken a few steps, settled down in front of the gate, put her head down to go to sleep . . . and did, never waking up. As a way of dying, I supposed it's about as good as it gets, but from the temperature of her body, it was clear that it had happened with minutes of us leaving her earlier.  Apparently she wanted to hang on long enough to say goodbye.

We took her out and wrapped her up and put in her in a safe place so that we could bury her properly, unimpeded by a downpour, this morning. And within moments, Daffodil and Jade and one of her 'lorp sisters came over to the spot where her body had been, confused. Jade was particularly distressed, and let me know it. That, by the way, is unusual; chickens are mostly bloodthirsty and cold-hearted, not given to sentimentality much at all, but they realized that she was gone, and they were mourning.

We laid her to rest early, before the heat had forced its way through the early-morning air. The catmint has been mostly stripped by bees now, but there are plenty of deep violet edges still on the blooms, so Wings cut a large swatch of it to line her resting place. We buried her with everything she'll need, and she'll be on her way to meet up with Bent Beak again. And now there are seven.

We love you, little golden Daphne flower. Thank you for all the beautiful blue eggs you shared with us.

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