Bye Bye, Birdie

I have sad news: a fox snatched up Bernadette two nights ago.

Bernadette was our gold and white chicken. She was our prettiest chicken with the best coloring. We had given her two nicknames: Goldie and Birdie.

 

She had freakishly human-looking eyes. I snapped a ton of photos of her one day trying to capture those eyes.

Waging a constant battle against foxes, hawks, and raccoons brings home the fact that chickens serve as a food source in life. Alas, Birdie was one of our original five, who we raised from babyhood  to almost-adulthood. My heart is broken.

Baby Birdie 

Of course, chickens only have a life-span of approximately seven years which is pretty darn short.

And as you brood over your poor pet chicken, you start to brood over your other pets and realize dogs and cats only have a life-span of about twelve to fifteen years. But they bring so much joy, the inevitable heart-break is worth it, and you should just live in the moment and savor every smelly, barky, hissy, squeaky, squawky moment.  

My brain knows it. Deep down, my heart knows it. But I still need a moment.

Last night in the dark, in the haze just before sleep, I snuggled up to Ian and half-whispered, half-whimpered, "Our Birdie Pot Pie went to chicken heaven."

Bye Bye, Birdie.