Our lovely little hen Laverne died this morning, almost 2 years after we rescued her from her fate as pet food at a caged egg farm.
She’d been sick the past few weeks, had lost her appetite, had some diarrhea and spent most of the days huddling under the trees and drinking water and food that was brought nearby.
However, recently it seemed like she had taken a turn for the better and on her last day was upright again, frantically scratching up my newly planted silverbeet seedlings, snacking on grain bread and following the other hens around the garden. It all seemed to be looking ok until she was found in her permanent slumber this morning. Since Craig’s been away for work, I had to bury her myself. It must’ve been some sight to see in our backyard upon sunrise, a redhead in purple PJs and gumboots sobbing uncontrollably while digging a deep hole, shooing the inquisitive neighbour’s old dog away incase it decided to attack her body. The other girls seemed to sense what was going on and started crowing almost like a rooster does. Bizarre.
I placed some straw bedding down, laid her in her little nest, sprinkled some seeds near her beak and covered little Laverne in straw and earth. Poor little lady. A Lime tree which we grew from a cutting has been planted on top of her resting place and will hopefully prosper and flourish like our little girl has done since the day she arrived at our place. We will always remember the day Laverne found a mouse in the bushes and straight-up murdered its ass.
Goodnight, our little punk rock chicken. We’ll miss you’re crazy antics and company.