Of Chickens and girls

One of our hens passed away a couple of days ago, and last night, I crouched on the dock behind our house, near where she is buried, and softly sang a good-bye song to her. I've been missing her sweet, feathered presence terribly and feel awful that her sister, Molly, is now alone. I also worry for Molly's health, as chickens are sociable creatures and human company is not the same as the bird variety. I have a fierce affection for Molly that has been intensified since her sister's departure has brought forth the reminder of life's fleeting quality. I'm considering the introduction of another chicken to our modest homestead. However, the hubs is not particularly amenable to this idea. He has tired of caring for them (though, truthfully, I have been and am the main caretaker of all the animals who live at our house) and wasn't receptive when our daughter stated that Molly needs a friend and that we should get her one. I'll have to consider the next course of action carefully as I don't want to force another animal onto the Cajun plumber, but I also don't want Molly to suffer because she no longer has a buddy to strut around in the grass with all day.

I believe in the value of holding rituals for our departed animal companions. We had a family funeral for Zack the night we laid her down under the shelter of a floppy banana plant at the rear of our property and that was good. Last night as I walked through the backyard in the moonlight, a slight, pleasantly cool breeze teasing the hair back from my face, my eyes rested on the place where Zack's physical body is interred and I felt a need to reach out to her spirit. Being an artistic sort, the idea of singing her spirit to peace resonated with me and I found myself voicing the words of a song I've heard often at children's rituals and other places. Surprisingly, the lone duck who was trying to get some sleep on the dock as I made my way to the edge of it seemed undisturbed. Our German Shepherd crept tentatively toward me and seemed to sense that something special was taking place. An avid chaser of ducks, he made no move toward this one, and only stayed behind me offering nuzzles. As I sang quietly (sound carries well over water and my goal here was not to freak out the neighbors) into the night air I felt a sense of peace. Even though we've had an issue with over abundant mosquitoes this year, none were biting. Sitting on the dock in the dark with a bit of moon overhead, a Muscovy duck to my left, and my furry canine behind me offering his loving support, it felt as though we'd entered a magical space in time. In the sadness, there came a touch of wonder.

(The attached photo is Molly and I, taken this morning.)