Nature can be beautiful, yet it can be equally as cruel and
punishing. I think this is a struggle
that some homesteaders and farmers face, it is why some of us name or don’t
name our livestock, it is why I will spend more to buy meat from a local farmer
and seven dollars for a gallon of milk, it is why I cannot imagine getting a
dozen eggs for a dollar, because in owning chickens, I know they have
personalities, they need more than a two by two pen to be happy.
I struggle to write this story, but do so because I cannot
express it out loud, it has been running on a loop in my mind since it
happened, and I hope getting it out will cause the loop to stop.
It was a typical Friday night, I let the chickens out at the
end of the day to free range, I was sitting at my kitchen table going through a
box of new soap making supplies and planning my next batch, and since I was
inside, the dogs were inside, asleep at my feet. I got a little side tracked as I usually do,
and decided to go downstairs to shred some old credit cards. I took a look out the window to see my hens
happily pecking the ground and went down to the basement. I was gone about ten minutes, the dogs were
inside, I was shredding, it was loud, and created the perfect storm outside.
I returned to my seat at the table and looked up, and to my
despair, I saw the most horrifying site-a very large hawk was standing in the
middle of a million little feathers, frantically pulling more and more from my
beloved silkie, Kika. I ran out the
door, screaming…I think I was yelling no, but those moments were fast and
chaotic--I could have yelled anything.
I ran towards the bird and it flew away with my little hen clutched in its
talons. I went over the fence in pursuit
of the bird, intent on retrieving Kika, I was barefoot; I remember this because
as I cleared the fence, I remember walking across what felt like dried holly
leaves. Just around the corner of my
neighbors shed, stood the hawk that in any other situation, I would have looked
at in fascination, I was within a foot of it, magnificent and beautiful, I
looked directly into its yellow eyes, and it must have seen the anguish and
determination in my face because the bird let go of Kika and flew away. In retrospect, what I did, coming that close
to a hungry, wild bird of prey was dangerous and foolish. I don’t know what I intended to accomplish, I
had nothing to fight the bird with, it certainly couldn’t have been reasoned
with--perhaps the universe knew that I had endured all I could at that moment
and that seeing that hawk fly off with a chicken that was more of a pet than
anything else would have been too cruel, even for nature. I guess I am grateful knowing that I would
act, that I would not freeze up, that I would throw caution to the wind under
pressure. We all say we would do
anything to protect our loved ones or animals, at least now I know adrenaline
will kick in.
I picked up Kika’s body and hopped the fence, only to hear
my five year old son come outside, he must have heard the commotion. I quickly put Kika in the shed in her box she
slept in at night, and I went inside. I broke
the news to my little guy who offered the kind innocent five year old comfort,
and as sad as he was, he knew I was sadder.
I went outside and cleaned up the murder of my little bird,
the feathers are never ending, even days later.
I have since buried her and tried to move past it. My research on line brings me to the
conclusion that the hawk must have been migrating south. We live in a populated neighborhood and aside
from turkey vultures and a couple of owls, I have never seen or heard any hawks
around my home. I absurdly thought that living
in a populated neighborhood with our canopy of trees provided shelter and
protection from above, today however, my son and I will be constructing a “Scare
hawk” just in case.
I am still at a loss on how to think. I look out the back window and my eyes well
up with tears, I feel like I failed, a costly mistake. I close my eyes, my chest fills with anxiety
and I relive that moment, I cannot unsee the horror. I go to the backdoor and my eyes scan the
sky. Days now start with an empty spot, and
they end with heartache as Kika always hopped up the back steps and waited to
come inside before going to roost for the night. I had a breeder hatching some silkie friends
for Kika, I am torn as to whether or not I want to open my heart again…but
seeing as he is hatching them at my request, I have set up hoping that time
will begin to heal my heart.
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| The last photo I took of Kika |
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| She loved to come inside and watch TV with me |
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| Rosie questioning a chickens intent when crossing the road. |
