Because They Matter, Too

CAROL THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE CHICKEN I love my dogs and cats with all my heart. When I need a friend, I turn to those who adore me- the ones who have soft furry bodies, those who like to sleep on my face or just sit with me and offer comfort in the form of a big head in my lap. Carol was not one of those adorable creatures, yet I loved and respected her from the day she came to us until the day she died. She didn’t like me or anyone else, for that matter. And I don’t blame her for one moment. Carol was one of the billions of chickens who begin their lives in factory farms and end their lives on our dinner table considered a “product” and not a living being. Carol was de-beaked and kept in a tiny cage with other hens where her sole purpose in life was to lay eggs. Once her egg laying days were over, she was destined for death. Fate stepped in in Carol’s case, and for a few months, she lived the life that other chickens only dream of. She was one ugly chicken the day I first met her. She arrived courtesy of a brave lady named Carol who, after seeing a crate full of chickens fall from a transport truck, chased this scroungy hen down one of Southern California’s busiest freeways. The poor chicken was the only survivor from the fallen crate. Because of the hen’s weakened condition and leg deformities, Carol, the human, only had to chase Carol, the chicken, a few hundred feet before scooping her up in her arms. Bravery comes in many forms and the pure unselfish act of saving the life of one chicken puts Carol the human on a totally different plane from most other humans. Even if I never see her again, I will never forget the kindness or the courage of this brave lady. Carol the chicken arrived here mad and screeching her head off! She was also very frightened and trembling in fear as Carol the human handed her to me. “I didn’t know what to do with her,” she explained. After her description of the ordeal she had just come through, I thanked her and assured her that we would give the chicken a good home. She was very pleased and very grateful. Besides being de-beaked, Carol had no feathers on her back or tail; her legs were deformed from lack of exercise, her toenails were curled and 3 to 4 inches long; her comb was pure white. De-breaking is routinely done when chickens are housed in close quarters. This prevents them from pecking at one another in frustration. A de-beaked chicken can still eat but with great difficulty. The beak tips do not grow back, so once it’s done, it’s done. Months and months of cramped sitting and egg laying with no room to move around was responsible for Carol’s splayed legs and her limp. Life in a cage and poor animal husbandry allowed her toenails to grow long and twisted. A well-cared for chicken has lovely “manicured” short nails. Her white comb was a result of anemia from a total lack of sunlight and nutritious food. A healthy chicken’s comb is bright red. I looked at Carol’s condition and just shook my head at the way things are for these living “commodities”. We provided her with as large enclosure, nutritious food, trimmed her toenails, treated her with quiet tenderness, and gave her privacy. Regardless of what we did to make her happy, she screamed and squawked as if she were dying each time we approached her. After the life she had led before, we understood and gave her her space. At the same time, the “mama” in me wanted to hold and soothe this chicken and let her know that she would suffer no more. Carol wanted no part of that and we all respected her wishes. After several days of TLC (as best we could), vitamins and good food, Carol was ready to join the group in our domestic fowl yard. She was an outsider at first until she got to know the other guys. Our yard is huge so Carol wasn’t threatened by any of them. She merely needed time to adjust to freedom, fresh air and sunshine. Within a few days, she was mingling and learned our evening lock up routine: just at sunset we religiously tuck the geese, ducks, chickens and turkeys into a large enclosed pen to protect them from predators. Although she often loudly protested at my marching orders, she soon learned to follow the others in a single file line to their nighttime enclosure. She was obviously truly happy. She loved the company of the other chickens, scratched in the dirt all day long and just did normal “chicken things”. I was happy just watching her. As they say in romance novels, “I loved her from afar.” Carol never liked me or any other human but we didn’t mind; she finally had a life. Within a few weeks, all her feathers had come back. They were lustrous and cream colored. Her nails were no longer twisted and long, but looked freshly manicured. Her formerly white limp comb was now bright red and erect and perched on her silly little head like a princess’ tiara. She truly ruled the roost as she was the eldest chicken and the other chickens were deeply respectful. Although we have had and loved chickens for years, Carol was special. I have never delved into the psyche of a chicken- never wanted to. There is a serene satisfaction that I am filled with each day when I spend a few moments with our chickens, ducks, geese and turkeys, watching them enjoy life. Until Carol came along, I never really thought about their fears and emotions, as our own fowl seem so content. However, the day I held Carol for Chuck to trim her nails gave me a new insight. Carol initially put up a huge noisy fuss, then quieted down and simply began trembling in my hands. She silently quivered through the whole ordeal. I am sure that she felt her life was over, that we were going to destroy her. I am equally sure that her life meant something to her and that she wanted to live. I felt her fear in my hands that day and it deeply touched my heart. She had feelings and emotions, the worst being the fear of death in spite of the hideous life she’d had. On December 18, 1994, cantankerous Carol laid an egg. I know that it was her way of saying “Thank you for letting me finally be a real chicken.” Old chickens do not generally lay eggs, so old Carol really had to put forth some effort for that one! On January 8, 1995, Carol didn’t come out at morning wake- up. She had passed away in her sleep. What a decent way to leave this world- surrounded by friends in a delightful home and going peacefully just because it was her time. Carol’s death left us with no regrets as we had given her a fine and happy few months. I think I loved her so much because se reminded me of myself- cranky, and a little frayed around the edges, and because she taught me that even those little animals that we often take for granted have feelings just as we “superior beings” do.