2015 16/04

With life comes death, a homesteading lesson

It’s just a chicken. A chicken! 

That’s what I keep telling myself. But I can easily see through the lie. The truth is that none of our animals are just animals. We take them in. We name them. We care for them. We watch them grow. We laugh at their antics. And we mourn their death.

I remember taking the kids to visit Tim’s uncle’s farm a few years ago and they immediately asked him the names of his cows and chickens. He laughed, “You’ll quickly learn, farmers don’t name their animals.”

But we do.

Of course we do. We named the stupid bat who wouldn’t migrate with the rest of the bats one year and stuck around on our garage. Even the crazy woodchuck who was hanging around the front part of our property got a name {though I’ve threatened to pepper his rear-end with lead if he comes near my vegetables this year}.

Unfortunately animals do not live forever. And the pain of losing an animal you’ve raised and cared for is harsh. Especially for a young, tender heart.

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So, yes, this may have been just a chicken. But this was her chicken. Her first pet. Her ZB Peanut. And her heart grieves. And all I can do is wipe the tears from her face and let her grieve.

Death is hard.

 

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