Recently we lost our pup, a 14-year-old beagle rescue named ‘Memphis’ who warmed our home for the last four years.
Pardon the Anglo-Saxon, but it’s well deserved in this case: “F*ck cancer”.
The idea of getting another dog became something of an emotional debate–nothing can replace any of our beloved pets, but sometimes you need someone else to help you through the grief. We got Memphis shortly after we lost our Penelope, a Golden Retriever we had had since she was a puppy, all the way to the age of 14, because the sound of dog tags jangling in the house made the place unnervingly and heartbreakingly quiet. As far as I am concerned, they could live to be one hundred and still part from us too soon.
We aren’t going to rush into getting another just yet.
What we did do, however, is add six new members to the family: Chickens.
We got them as peeps, but they’re growing fast. If you’ve never raised birds, it seems outrageous to realize they’re doubling in size over a few weeks. Right now the poor things look horrid and mangy because their feathers are coming in. They outgrew what seemed like too much space for them in just the span of three weeks, and here’s hoping that their feathers grow in quickly and the outdoor temperatures to match so we can get them into their coop and run. It’s easy to spoil them–there are all kinds of healthy treats and when they catch a bug, look out! They play keep away and there’s a literal feather-flying (alright, down mostly) as they chase after the prize. I’ve only given one a name, one I am pretty sure is a cockerel, and he’s been ornery from the start. From the moment I saw that little eye staring up at me defiantly, I knew I had to bring him home.
We call him “Nash”.
This isn’t our first rodeo–we had Rhode Island Reds years ago, with a rooster named Diego of such a size that he put all of the Agricultural Fair prize-winning birds to shame. I wanted to enter him, but we decided against it. Why? He was too big. He was also a free-range guy, and very protective of his hens* and would be miserable in the tiny cages they provide. Multiply that by a week and you have one seriously stressed-out bird. In spite of his spite, I remember him fondly, too**.
Eventually, we hope to add more to our flock, and are seriously considering Silver- or Gold-laced Wyandottes, or maybe Brahmas. Anyone know of sellers in the Susquehanna Valley of Pennsylvania looking to rehome some pullets?
You may even be wondering after reading this far (thank you for that) what chickens and pets have to do with writing?
Well, for one, this blog was written. Just kidding. It’s really about considering facets of the human condition. We invite things into our lives, and love them and then they’re gone. It doesn’t matter if it’s a human, or a bird or a dog or whatever. It shares a part of us, and we share a part of ourselves with it until one of us is gone, if only for a little while. When we connect with a story, especially one dealing with loss and grief, its because we have experienced the joy and heartbreak in our lives. That empathy makes the stories real to us, and leave us with a deeper connection–and maybe a deeper understanding–of what makes us tick as humans.
*Penelope was terrified of him, and rightly so with his massive spurs and an insanely sharp beak that sliced clean through my wrist when he snapped on me when I reached into a nesting box for the eggs. I still bear the scar. He hated all females of any species save for his hens.
**Diego, like our hens Edwina and Fuzz, died of old age. We kept them for eggs then as pets, even beyond their laying years. The girls were sweet tempered and friendly, unlike Diego. He’s a story in himself.
T. R. Neff - Author 