A couple Sundays ago, Garretta, our spunky Barred rock hen, passed away. We aren’t sure how or why she died. Maybe she ate something poisonous while foraging in the yard, or maybe she was sick for a long time, but didn’t show weakness until she was about to die. She got sick sometime during the summer, but after taking some antibiotics, she was fine again. However, I don’t think she ever fully recovered after that. She acted normal, but didn’t lay nearly as many eggs. The Saturday before she died, she was acting a little lethargic, so I thought I would give her some medicine the next day if she was still acting odd. But the next day, I found her on her roost late morning, eyes closed and hardly moving. I picked her up and she didn’t react at all or make any sounds. She was still alive, but barely. As I was carrying her up to my deck, she lurched forward, as if having a seizure, and flopped on the ground. I carefully picked her up again and brought her into my kitchen, where she died a few minutes later in my arms. Of all the deaths in our coop, Garretta’s death was the quickest, most peaceful. Although her life was short, I think she led a pretty happy life.
I got Garretta, along with General Gow and Rosebud, in July of last year when they were about six weeks old. We did not if they were hens or roosters yet, but I named her Garret, thinking she looked like a rooster. However, when she started laying eggs, I changed her named to Garrett”a”, to make it sound more feminine. The three chickens became good companions and would always roost and forage together. After Rosebud and General Gow died, Garretta was the only chicken I had left from that mini flock, which was pretty sad for me. Seeing as there were no other younger chickens to pick on, Ginger and Guinevere started pecking poor Garretta. Although Garretta started out at the bottom of the pecking order, she soon realized that with those sunglasses on the boss chickens, she could totally take advantage of their defected sight. She would push the hens and Dali out of the way to get to the food. She was a docile chicken, but when it came to food, she was aggressive! And she would eat anything! Cabbage, bread, spinach, yogurt — whatever I was offering, she would eat. I would enter the coop and she would jump a mile high to snatch the morsel of bread clutched in my hand. (And, sometimes, she succeeded.) She was the spunkiest, most vigorous Barred Rock hen I will ever raise, I am very sad she has died. I know she was just a chicken, but it made me really happy every time I saw her fighting for the food, strutting across the pen with her bare butt hanging out, or clucking obnoxiously after laying a small speckled egg. She was my favorite, and I will miss her immensely.
Shannie's Chicken Chat 