Saturday was our last day with the roos. Our summer of chooks was coming to an end on a grey, cold, windy day. I will always try to hang on to the joy I felt as I called them and they ran after me. A soft thundering of little feet. This one last time calling them to their coop for the night was bittersweet though.
That night after dark we went out to catch them and move them all to warm crates in the garage. I caught each of them easily, and though a few were scared, as soon as they heard my voice and I cradled them securely they calmed down. Felt like a betrayal, them still taking comfort in my voice.
I had dreams of bad deaths for them. I knew Glenn would do a good job, even though he was nervous and just as unhappy about the whole situation as I was. I wasn't sure if he was more terrified of messing up and hurting them, or terrified of the grief he might feel afterwards, which he tries to avoid at all costs.
The alarm went off early, and he tried to be extra quiet as I tried to stay asleep. I couldn't. It was just after sunrise when he came to tell me he was ready to start, and was I sure I wanted to stay? I said yes, but then realized how awful it would be laying in bed for hours, hoping I wouldn't hear any noises our boys would make, that would stay with me.
I drove away with a list of things to buy at Home Depot, but was certainly not in the mood to be around people. I drove north, then north east, taking all the dirt roads I could, hoping to alert any deer to the fact that hunters had been sitting in blinds out in the fields since pre-dawn. Doesn't anyone here appreciate intrinsic value of creatures??
I figured I'd know what I needed when I found it. A random turn down a road I didn't know brought me to a regional park. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, and one man saddling up his grey Morab for an early morning trail ride. It was the perfect place for me to go and reflect. The paved Gateway Trail meandered through the park, as well as multiple trails for horses and skiers. It was primarily an oak savannah ecosystem, with lovely winter forest birds chirping and flitting along the trail. The red oaks don't lose their leaves in fall, so they add sound and colour to the sleeping forest. Frosty air felt sharp on my tear-stained face, and the smell of decaying leaves grounded me in my surroundings a little more, and away from the overwhelming sadness and grief I was feeling. My senses are always heightened when I am in a forest. It's something I've missed here. The only other people I encountered there were solitude seekers as well. It was peace much needed. I'd been dreading the day of the deed for weeks.
So here's the thing. This is what happens on farms. The roosters have to die. They become too aggressive with each other, and the hens can be hurt by too many roosters trying to figure out how to do what they need to do. Our boys were just starting these behaviours. I've read other farm blogs about this cycle of life, and I was always puzzled at the matter-of-factness of their experience. How do you raise animals and care for them without appreciating them enough that their loss brings sadness? Knowing that this would be their fate didn't stop us from admiring their beauty and laughing at their antics, marvelling in how young creatures explore their worlds, when everything is so new. But I guess that's just who we are: students of animal behaviour and lovers of chooks. I'm a behavioural ecologist with no deadlines, no papers to write. I just get to watch and learn constantly.
We would have loved for them each to go to good homes, and have flocks of their own. They were good friendly boys, raised with kindness and compassion, and complete freedom (more freedom than the rest of our chooks!) We let them free range every day--they'd explore acres and acres, nap and preen under cover of tall grasses in the field, and have the safety of a secure warm coop at night. What a life!! They couldn't have had a better life. It's because of our belief that this is what they deserve (especially when their lives will be short) that we wouldn't offer them up on Craigslist. We've seen on multiple occasions how easily (and frequently) abused chickens are. We would both prefer a humane death as opposed to that. I've seen photos of maimed chickens with such horrible frostbite on their feet that their toes are falling off. Last week a hen was found in St. Paul with two duct-taped broken wings. Minnesota is not a kind place to live.
After seeing what happened to some local 'pastured' chickens this summer, we have little confidence that people raising pastured birds for slaughter give them a better quality of life than the average broiler has living with 25000 other birds in a shed with no windows. It was kind of shocking. Maybe we assumed that people raising birds in non-factory settings really believed what we believe. I love how Joel Salatin puts it--'freedom to express the chicken-ness of the chicken'. That's pretty well it. Glenn was told by the neighbour that he felt bad that I was treating and caring for birds that were going to slaughtered (I treated a few injured birds for them). I guess that was puzzling to them. Glenn explained that it's about quality of life, and just because the purpose of that animal is to feed people, it doesn't need to suffer (I'm paraphrasing--but you get the idea--it's a welfare issue). I know it's easier for some people to treat food animals with disrespect. Marginalize anything and it's easier to sacrifice it. I get it. It just doesn't ring true to me, and never has.
Glenn's still dealing with what he had to do. Chose to do. He said it was disconcerting that something can go from being alive to dead in 15 seconds. He hasn't experienced death as much as I have. It's entirely different than seeing the gruesome postures of road killed animals. Although some of those are horrific and upsetting, it's not the same as seeing life pass. Just the way Lorpie died, in my arms. These roosters were our pets. That's where the shame and sadness is from. But we know we did our best for them. They brought joy to our days : ) Imagine you raised seven wonderful yellow labs. And then at six months of age you took them all out behind your garage and slit their throats. It's quite the visual, isn't it?
I'm so glad I found that forest. I've needed to get back to a place like that. I want Glenn and I to start going for bike rides or hikes there every weekend. But for now we're still trying to get set up for winter, and keep our beasts healthy and happy. It was -12C last night, and we don't have the coops winterized yet. I wasn't expecting this so early...
"With great power comes great responsibility."
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