So… animal death tw; no goreAlas. Odin the
May. 5th, 2018 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2JSrNOo
So…
animal death tw; no gore
Alas. Odin the one-eyed free-range rooster passed away, after a brief illness. He slowed down suddenly, and went to ground under the feed wagon. After a day of this, my sister gave him a waterer, so that at least he wouldn’t suffer from thirst. He sat there, drowsing, not displaying any distress but also not coming out or doing any of his daily things, for the next day. And by yesterday afternoon, she saw his feet; he’d fallen over. That definitely meant he’d passed on. If a chicken’s not even upright, it’s not for this world.
He’s still there; she would have taken him up to the final home of the compost pile, but she thought maybe I’d want the feathers. He had none of the tail feathers I really want, but he did have some good yellow hackle feathers, and his wing primaries are a good lustrous green-black.
I don’t… know if I have what it takes to pluck a dead chicken. I mean, I do that all the time, but. Like. With a scald bath and a tumble-plucker.
Sigh. I can do it, I know I can do it, I just. Ugh. I don’t want to, but I want the feathers; it’s really the only way for this poor fellow not to have died completely in vain.
Poor Odin. We can’t think what could have happened, but it’s a lot less terrifying and violent than most of the ways to go on a farm like this. Possibly he ate something that lodged in his crop, or that was poisonous; there’s no rat poison or anything around, but he did drink from puddles, and lord knows there might have been antifreeze or something. (Although we tend to be super careful about that kind of thing; all kinds of animals are around here.)
It was a peaceful end, as these things go. But we did really like having him around. Poor fellow.
(Your picture was not posted)
So…
animal death tw; no gore
Alas. Odin the one-eyed free-range rooster passed away, after a brief illness. He slowed down suddenly, and went to ground under the feed wagon. After a day of this, my sister gave him a waterer, so that at least he wouldn’t suffer from thirst. He sat there, drowsing, not displaying any distress but also not coming out or doing any of his daily things, for the next day. And by yesterday afternoon, she saw his feet; he’d fallen over. That definitely meant he’d passed on. If a chicken’s not even upright, it’s not for this world.
He’s still there; she would have taken him up to the final home of the compost pile, but she thought maybe I’d want the feathers. He had none of the tail feathers I really want, but he did have some good yellow hackle feathers, and his wing primaries are a good lustrous green-black.
I don’t… know if I have what it takes to pluck a dead chicken. I mean, I do that all the time, but. Like. With a scald bath and a tumble-plucker.
Sigh. I can do it, I know I can do it, I just. Ugh. I don’t want to, but I want the feathers; it’s really the only way for this poor fellow not to have died completely in vain.
Poor Odin. We can’t think what could have happened, but it’s a lot less terrifying and violent than most of the ways to go on a farm like this. Possibly he ate something that lodged in his crop, or that was poisonous; there’s no rat poison or anything around, but he did drink from puddles, and lord knows there might have been antifreeze or something. (Although we tend to be super careful about that kind of thing; all kinds of animals are around here.)
It was a peaceful end, as these things go. But we did really like having him around. Poor fellow.
(Your picture was not posted)
