It’s hard to believe it was almost four years ago that I first wrote about our new hens. Some of you may remember the chickens we had before at my Pilates studio – these new four created a similar atmosphere of peace and calm, concerned only with grazing through the grass, and investigating whether anyone who approached had brought any food. They brought huge joy as pets, and the delicious, fresh eggs every morning were a bonus.
Happily, this group of hens all stayed safe from dogs and foxes, and only began to leave us through old age. This breed is only expected to live around two to three years as pets, and they did quite well, with the third only leaving us in May last year after more than three years. We felt quite sorry for the final remaining hen, now left to live out alone what we expected would probably be her final weeks, at her ripe old age. Our neighbours and friends took pity on her too, often asking us how the one remaining hen was doing, left alone in her decrepitude. We looked out at her, grazing alone on the grass, and commiserated with each other about how lonely she must be, and how she was probably likely to die of solitude in the coming weeks if not of old age.
However, it soon became apparent that we might have been wrong about this hen. None of us are animal behaviour experts and we have no real idea what, if anything, she was thinking. But it became clear that the feelings of loneliness, sadness and frailty which we had all ascribed to her were more in our own heads than hers. Instead, this hen continued to live a life which by all appearances was as healthy and happy – if not more so – than before the departure of her companions. She continued to be active, continued eating well, and continued living. The doom-laden predictions that she was on her last legs turned out to also be entirely in our own heads. She had stopped laying eggs after around two years, as all the hens had done, and so she continued to enjoy what was in effect her retirement, spending her days foraging for food and very competently scaring off the cats, who never dared to approach her too closely, despite her being on her own.
Chicken, as she became known (all four hens originally had names, but in all honesty we struggled to tell them apart and it became a moot point after the others died), continued in rude health until around two weeks ago, when we went down to feed her in the morning and discovered she had died in the night. With no sign of illness or distress in the preceding days, and at four years old, she surpassed all of our expectations. We had foolishly ascribed human feelings of loss and loneliness to her after her companions died, and written her off in her old age. Her feathers turned grey and some began to fall out, but her personality did not change and she continued to be as active and feisty as she always had been. It was a joy to see her continue to prove us wrong, month after month.