Playing Farm

September 2020

‘A farming life’ sort of day

Morgan and various helpers have been labouring on the chicken coop for a few weeks. He calls it the Frankenstein coop but we all find it quite fetching and all observers have commented on its palatial qualities. After our many family conversations about having chickens, the collection day had arrived! We took our large empty box that evening to the neighbour ranch and chose, for the autumn, three chickens to borrow, babysit and play farm a bit. Cinnamon, Helga and Frida were the chosen ones, re-named by the kids.

Ominously Bea had a restless night and dreamed the chickens died. I appreciate her Unconscious in its wrestling with such significant responsibility.

A long story short: trying to make friends with the chickens in the morning, she accidentally let Cinnamon out of the coop and it was high drama chasing and trying to corral her. After the situation went on and kids got more distressed, family uproar ensued and a regroup was needed.  We adults decided to cease crazy-chase-recapture plans and just let the chicken be. We spent the day reassuring them that Cinnamon was happy outside coop, she was staying close to her gals/coop and would most certainly be safe until dusk when she was very likely to return to the coop (thank you, roosting instinct).

We left the property at 4pm for a very short walk. Upon our return, we found Cinnamon laying on the ground, near her new digs and cooped-up chicken friends. She was warm but very much dead. No sign of her predator.  The remaining two chickens were still in the coop, laying down and totally subdued and still after what they witnessed.

We sheepishly confessed our loss with one of the ranch guides and she relayed that our dead ‘Cinnamon’ was known at the ranch as ‘Hero’ as she was the lone survivor chick in a large batch of young ones to survive the ravens’ attack in early spring.

Sigh.

Kids inspected the workings of body parts, feathers, beak, feet etc, and the burial ritual seemed important and meaningful.

Hero-Cinnamon joined our expanding graveyard of deceased critters: goldfish Prince and salamander-from-the-basement Edmund.

Henry is still blue, carrying around one lonely Hero-Cinnamon feather but seems hopeful there could be a next chicken friend.