First thing this morning we dispatched two male Cayuga ducks. They were originally intended for meat anyways, but we finally got up the nerve to do the deed. I helped hubby. Thankfully he doesn't need my help when he butchers the chickens, but he needed me for this task. These boys were the roughest on the girls, so we made the decision that they would go first. Now we watch the flock and decide on the next two. It's amazing how quickly the new pecking order is arranged. But, I can say that the duck yard is much quieter today - much more relaxed.
So that was the intentional death.
Because we are very caring and empathetic people we did not want the other critters outside when the task was being rendered. And so, we left the chickens in the coop a little longer than usual. I wanted to go out in the middle of the night to check on the pipped egg, but I didn't. This morning I knew that I couldn't get into the coop without letting everyone, or at least a majority, out - so I didn't check on the pipped egg. I figured that a mama that was so committed to sitting on her nest for nearly a month was going to be a good mom. I found out I was wrong. There should have been 4 eggs under her - there were only three. One of those remaining three eggs was actively hatching. When the broody hen saw me looking at it she pecked it very hard - several times. She pecked it hard enough to startle me. I grabbed it and ran to the house. Luckily we still had the heat lamp up from a couple of other chicks that hatched just over a week ago. I put the hatchling safe in the old refrigerator crisper on the wine rack. Yeah, that's how we roll around here...
Throughout the day, even interrupting our garlic harvest, I went to the coop to check the status of the other eggs. Another one had pipped. I should have grabbed it right then and there - but I didn't. Oh that hindsight - twenty twenty I'll tell ya!
After relaxing a bit on the porch, actively resisting the urge to go out to the coop every 5 minutes, I did finally do another chick check. Too late. Ten minutes too late? Five minutes too late? There it was - a tiny and wet little black chick. Dead. The poor thing was pecked to death by the broody hen.
I have so many emotions whirling throughout me right now, but I may be able to sum it up by admitting that I did call that beautiful yellow hen Broody Mama. Now, I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm sad. Mostly, I'm disappointed. Now I just call her broody hen. I feel betrayed.
Believe me, I keep my rose-colored glasses safely locked away. I'm sorrowfully realistic. But this hurts me.
I guess all I can do now is rejoice in the little wonder that is drying off and fluffing up in my living room.
