This past Wednesday Miss Pearl wasn't looking too good. The heat wave likely was extra hard on her. I brought her into her cage in the basement where it was night and cool, gave her pain meds and tubed her a nice dilute slurry of food. Her colour wasn't very good, and I figured we were nearing the end. I left Fern downstairs with her overnight for some company.
The next morning her colour had improved, and she was brighter eyed and vocalized back to me when I spoke to her. (she's a very chatty hen, one of her many charms) I had to go to my internship that morning, so I put her out with her flock since she was looking a little better.
She was roaming around with her ladies and making some effort to eat and drink when I got home in the late afternoon, but as the day got hotter she started to look worse, so again I took her inside. We had a cuddle, during which she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, and when she woke up I gave her medication again and put her in the nice cool basement in her cage with the view out the window.
Friday morning she was a horrible colour again, and I just knew that she couldn't go on anymore. I wasn't going to make her wait until the end of the day when I got home. I texted my vet friend and luckily she was working that day, and agreed to euthanize Miss Pearl for me that morning. Although I was sad, I just felt peaceful in a way, knowing that it was the right thing to do, and we were doing right by her. One of the hardest things in making end of life decisions for any pet is figuring out when the right time actually is. Most of us leave it too late, trying to hold on to as much time with them as we can. I am definitely guilty of that too.
I know we gave her a great life, especially compared to where she came from. An overcrowded ammonia-filled coop with an attached dusty yard, without a blade of grass in sight. A 4H kid's project.
She certainly brightened many of our days! She'd follow us around, talking, getting underfoot and supervising Glenn's weeding and compost turning technique. Quite a contrast from that first month we got her and the others, when they would run to the other side of their quarantine stall in the barn to get as far away from us as possible. They'd obviously never received any kind treatment from humans.
I certainly miss her already.
My friend's students necropsied Miss Pearl and found that she likely had ovarian cancer and a kidney issue as well. Not something we could have fixed by any means, but I had guessed that weeks ago. That realization in itself gives some peace.
This is how she lived out her last few weeks:
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| Following Flan through my calendula bed to the best dust bathing spot |
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| Burying my comfrey plants with dirt and compost |
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Good bye sweet girl! We miss you!
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