As I said in my first post, Grey Dove made a big impression on me when I first picked her up as a day old chick. She didn't struggle and peep to be put down, nor nestle in my hand and close her eyes like the other 79 chicks did. She calmly turned her head and looked right into my eyes. A connection formed between us then and there. It was uncanny, and I'll never forget the feeling of that moment. As time passed, Grey Dove continued to impress me. She was very smart and independent. She figured out how to fly up into a cherry tree in the chicken yard, hop onto the fence post and fly down with a flutter and a squawk to the grass below. She foraged around the yard and at the edge of the woods, hitting all the hot spots for worms, grubs, beetles and sow bugs. She found a feed sack filled with straw on the back porch and made it her own. No laying eggs in the coop with the rest of the riff raff.
I feared for her safety being outside the fence, but didn't want to cramp her style by clipping her wings. Indeed, she was once almost eaten by a fox. One day while in our front field, I heard a loud squawk and knew it meant trouble. I took off running down the hill, hollering at the top of my voice to scare off whatever was after her. When I approached the house, I saw a pile of feathers in the driveway and my heart sank. Ronnie got his gun and followed the trail of feathers into the woods. Shortly afterwards I heard a shout and went to investigate. Grey Dove was cowering in a tangle of brush, traumatized and minus all but two of her tail feathers, but otherwise unharmed.
Years passed and still Grey Dove roamed the yard, laying many bright blue eggs on the back porch, then clucking and running up to me to open the gate and let her back into the hen yard. She didn't like to be held - too independent for that, but she would deign to be stroked now and then. She liked to hang out with me in the mornings, accompanying me as I cleaned out the nest boxes in the coop, peering into each one to make sure I did a good job, talking all the while. When in the yard she would often follow me closely, discoursing in her hoarse, froggy voice.
High temperatures are very hard on chickens. This summer has been a particular challenge to keep the hens going. A few days ago I noticed Grey Dove was in distress, running from the coop to the shady spot under the mulberry tree where the other hens were, then back again. She finally lay down behind the water tub in the shade and I thought she'd be all right there. The electricity happened to be off that afternoon, so I couldn't connect the mister hose like I sometimes do for the hens. Later I went to check on the chickens and didn't see Grey Dove. A bad feeling came over me. I went into the coop and found her curled up under the nest boxes. The heat had been too much for her. So I lost her, and felt horribly guilty for not doing more to help.
It may seem silly to mourn a hen, but every creature from the tiniest up to the largest is a miracle of creation, and our connections with them can be as deep and full as we want. It means opening yourself to grief when they are lost, but grief is a teacher, enriching our lives. The lesson is to feel the loss deeply, then let go, because if we allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by every emotion, we become unstable and lose our center. There are many ways to deal with grief. My way at this moment is to express it in writing, letting thoughts and feelings flow outward for transformation and renewal.
