I realize there wasn’t a post yesterday, but it ended up being a difficult day all around.

It’s become painfully clear that something is very wrong with our chicken flock.

Bev was the first one who began showing signs of…not doing well. She spent most of last week curled up in the coop by herself, eyes closed. That said, she started to look a bit better over the weekend. So we were hopeful that whatever issue she was dealing with was on the run.

Then Mildred, our black Australorp, took a nosedive health-wise, and completely stopped moving on Sunday.

After some research, and given several other contributing factors, we’ve determined that the likely culprit is Marek’s disease, a common ailment within chicken flocks and highly infectious.

Interestingly, this is also probably what’s causing the issue with Little Daisy’s gait…

So our theory is that these new chicks contracted Marek’s disease while still in the care of the Village Hatchery, and despite paying for a vaccination…

They still somehow caught it and are spreading said illness to the rest of our flock, who are in various stages of suffering from the lethal virus.

So Jen bundled Mildred up into some towels on Saturday morning, and brought her inside where it’s warm.

This was fitting since Mildred had never quite forgiven us for forcing her to live outside in the coop. She’d spent her whole adult life devising ways to get back into the house.

Unfortunately, Mildred’s health didn’t improve.
She just lay there in the tub, with half her body resting in her food dish, incapable of standing/moving.

So yesterday morning we made the difficult decision that we couldn’t let her continue on like this, and it was time to let Mildred go. Which prompted the next question…

How exactly does one euthanize a pet chicken?

Vets around here staunchly refuse to take chickens. (And I get it; it’s not their job to put down people’s pet birds.) So I began by contemplating the whole “axe and tree stump” option so prevalent in films and stories. And while I do have an incredibly sharp axe…

What I do not have is experience with it.
And I could see a world where I attempted an executioner’s swing on poor Mildred’s neck and missed, causing her more pain. (And, if we’re being honest, I could see a world where I ended up in an ER with an axe wound as well.)

A softball bat was briefly considered in lieu of the axe, but cast aside for similar pain-inducing reasons.

Next I considered using the rifle that’s on loan to me, but wasn’t sure how I’d be able to ensure a shot to the head and not wound her somewhere else and cause her to try and run away.

I even went down a lengthy Internet rabbit hole about the merits of using dry ice in an sealed cooler/Tupperware container, which would (or so the comments said) simply let her nod off to sleep. Alas, this too was crossed off the list after a quick Google search showed no one sells dry ice within 200 miles of me.

Finally, I phoned a friend and just asked what their recommendation would be for such a morbid task. His response was simply, “I’ll do it.”

I assured him that I was indeed capable of being the one to say final goodbyes to our chicken…I just wondered what he thought would be the most humane way to do so.

“.22 pistol. Suppressed. Can hold it right to the back of her head. Instant.”

This was enough.

So yesterday I carried Mildred outside into the rows of our trees, wrapped her in a towel and set her down gently in the snow, and thanked her for being such a great chicken. Then my neighbor was the triggerman, and put her down.

And I will say he was absolutely right. That pistol was unquestionably the correct tool for the job. It was instantaneous, quiet, and dignified. And by that I mean there was no headless flopping around and arterial spray in the snow.

I’ve resolved that this is something that we’ll need on the farm, given that the rest of our girls are suffering from Marek’s as well and will likely need a similar humane send off in the not too distant future.

Anyway, these would be the reason for no post yesterday.

We’ll miss you, Mildred.

j.s.