Pearl, we hardly knew ye

It is with great sadness that I must report the death of Pearl. She didn’t look good yesterday morning when I went out to do the chores. She was lying in a nest box with her neck stretched out straight, her chin (do chickens have chins?) resting on the floor. She squawked at me when I stroked her feathers and asked her if she was okay. There was a glimmer of hope in the afternoon when Hilda saw that she was not in the nest box anymore. When it was time for bed, however, Hilda discovered her stiff body under the feeder.

Pearl was always shy. I don’t even have a good picture of her. It seemed like she was getting out more and socializing with the other pullets better. And Saturday, she just gave it up.

Shy Pearl peeking out of the coop--the only picture I have with her head in focus

It is disconcerting to lose a chicken. We know it happens. We know that we will never know why. We’ve had chicks die and hens die. This is the first pullet we’ve lost before she started laying. We don’t have the panic that we had when Ellie died in the middle of winter during our first year of having chickens. Still, there is a nagging worry that whatever put Pearl down is contagious, and tomorrow morning, everyone will be gone. Additionally, I’m sad because Pearl was the perfect name for an off-white chicken. I thought it was so clever of Hilda to have thought of it. I loved that name.

We have mixed feelings about the turkeys. They are huge, messy, and expensive. It isn’t easy to get them where they do not care to go. But they are also sweet, funny, and curious. I gave them all the carrot peels and celery scraps today instead of dividing them between the turkeys and chickens like I usually do. It is the turkeys’ last chance.

I went out this morning to take pictures of the turkeys with Hilda. This is the morning parade of turkeys coming out of the coop.

The Turkey Parade. Always the gentleman, Jake brings up the rear.

As luck would have it, the turkeys were more interested in me than Hilda.

Turkeys come over to investigate me while Hilda starts the coop chores in the back

I gave the camera to Hilda and tried to keep the turkeys’ attention by letting them peck at my glove.

The jennies peck at my glove

Really, what they wanted to do most was play with the camera strap. They are rather endearing.

Jenny pulling on my camera strap

They will also be delicious. The relief of not having to take care of them every morning will mitigate our grief and guilt at having them butchered. We will thank them and say goodbye. And, as always, they will come back looking like food, which helps. We have given them a better life than the turkeys in the grocery store had, and we can feel good about that.  We are also in agreement that this was a fun experiment, but not one that we are going to do again.