But before I launch into story and art, let me first start with this:
I pretty much love this post from Erica over at Northwest Edible Life. It's a good summation of how I feel about owning small livestock and I think she fairly hit the nail on the head. If a person can't stomach the responsibility of putting a small livestock (or big) animal down, then maybe they should rethink their plans to own them. I think of it mostly as saving our OWN mental health. Putting an animal down, culling it, or whatever, is a very emotionally difficult thing for most people and it is not for everyone. Which is totally cool, of course. Just know yourself and what you're capable of, and go from there, right?
I decided quite on purpose to own chickens knowing that one day I would have to dispatch those chickens - either because of illness, old age, or an accident befalling them. I put a lot of thought into the probability of that happening. Now. Did I wish for a swift death by raccoon after they were no longer able to produce eggs? Yes. I'm no fool. But I know Murphy doesn't work like that and that raccoons would only try to kill my best most well behaved egg layers. HAH! So I was on the ticket to get the job done. Proverbially. One day. In the future.
Well, that day has come on and gone for many chickens on my little tiny homestead. And it is what it is. But never before have I had to put a chicken in a pot out of sheer FRUSTRATION.
*sigh*
I give you - The Most Obnoxious and Labor Intensive Hen in Human History.
From the start, this hen was nothing but trouble. She was supposed to be a banty hen. She's not. The lady I bought her from was a complete space cadet, as I know now, and I still don't know what in the blue hell this hen was. She was little, but not too little. I bought her as a chick and all she was then was a white and black fluffball. Not very telling.
At our old house, she would roost in the trees. So I had to bring out the ladder and fish her out of a particularly prickly evergreen tree. I moved the chicken run so she wouldn't have access and she broke out. ALL THE TIME. I moved the run again. Then she started roosting on the 6 foot fence ringing the property. She flew up. So I clipped her wings. She still flew. I don't know how. So I brought out the ladder again to wrangle her off the neighbors fence.
She has escaped into neighbor's yards. She has pecked me - more times than I can count. AND drawn blood. She's mean to the others, standoffish and rude. She is always causing kerfluffles. She pecks the others. And she's just kind of all around bitchy. Which is a very human tendency to aspire to a hen, but it's just so darn fitting.
On this property she has turned into Houdini Hen. She can escape the run without anyone seeing her go. I've reinforced the fencing and she finds a way out. She lays her eggs all over the yard and I have to hunt for them, which is time consuming. She then appears back in the chicken run leaving me scratching my head mid-yard, muttering obscenities under my breath. I have walked the chicken run countless times now trying to find her escape hatch and I can't figure it out. I think she's just flying over. So I clipped her wings again - shortie short-short. And 25 minutes later (I timed it) she was running all over the back yard and scratching up my (second run) of broccoli starts.
*Big. Dramatic. Sigh.*
After the third time replanting one of my beds that she completely tore up - which is hilarious because her timing is impeccable - I began to suspect her end was near. She just waited until the seedlings were getting good and set and then obliterated the whole bed. It felt calculating and on purpose. Which I know it wasn't, but JEEZ ALREADY. And since I'm a big believer in second chances, and third chances, and 18th chances, I dragged my feet on making a decision about her. I've been dragging my feet for over 3 years. Let no one say I'm not thorough.
But the beds kept getting dug up, she kept escaping, and this weekend I finally came to a decision. Sometimes - the benefits of a certain hen do not outweigh the unmitigated frustrated rage of dealing with her out of control behavior. An egg every other day in the summer and none in the winter was not worth all this hassle.
I texted the H in utter tearful frustration that I would have to put her in a pot. He told me "you gotta do what you gotta do. She's kind of a bitch, though." And I agreed. Enough was enough.
And even to the very end, she was nothing but trouble. I caught her and put her in a wire cage until I had set up my butchering station. She almost hung herself by getting her head caught in the top part. Then I got her out and put her in the kill noose (I hang them upside down and talk to them quietly until their eyes shut) and she struggled and pecked and carried on. At this point, I was so over it, that I just told her I would be quick and good journey and then I severed her jugular. She immediately flapped crazily and launched OUT of the kill noose - flopping ass over teakettle all over the back yard with her head hanging at a crazy angle. I just stood there watching her as she wedged herself at the very back of the property, beneath some blackberry brambles and other foliage.
Until the bitter end. I'm telling you, I just stood them dumbfounded, mouth open, trying to figure out whether to laugh or cry. I don't like doing the killing and I certainly don't like it to be violent. But this scene was so over the top ridiculous that I felt sure someone was punking me.
She's now making me some pretty good chicken stock. This is probably the most productive she's been for me since her addition to our farmlet over 3 years ago.The other hens seem strangely at peace and at ease - they have always clustered together and excluded the banty bitch hen. It's like I took out the bully and the rest of them are breathing a sigh of relief.
Moral? I don't know. I'm just glad to be rid of the stress of dealing with this hen over and over.
Good luck to you, banty bitch hen. May your next life be full of wide open pasture and no humans.
The end.
