Furby's eulogy

 My sweet Miss Furby June passed away the morning of Sunday, July 2, 2023. 

How to you write about the passing of a chicken? It's not easy when the bird was as special as she was to me and the family. 

Furby hatched out in May 2020.  She was in the last group of eggs we incubated for the season. The group we intended to keep for our own flock. 

She didn't stand out in the group.  She blended right in. 

Then in early September we had a bird of prey attack the flock. I chased the hawk away and checked to see if everyone was all right. 

One hen was laying there with her eyes closed.  I thought "oh no!" 

She was still alive and I couldn't see any visible damage on her.  Just that her eyes were closed. 

So I brought her in to my house and set her up in a tote in the kitchen, so I could keep a close watch on her and see if she would make it. I thought I would do everything I could to give this poor hen the best chance of recovery. 

For at least a couple weeks she was in that tote with her eyes closed. We hand fed her and we did our best to let her hear where the water was by sticking her fingers in the water and making a splashing sound. At that time I didn't know anything about feeding and watering a disabled bird.

In the midst of all this we had a family gathering to celebrate my Mother-in-Law's life, and everyone was cooing over this small hen in the box who was convalescing.  

Then one day she opened her eyes and to our great surprise, she had both of them. 

Her eyesight was next to nothing but she managed to figure out where her food and water was, and started feeding herself. 

She spent the next several weeks in the kitchen, keeping me company while I canned, dehydrated and preserved the harvest.  I always had a few youtubers on and eventually Furby decided she liked Kimberly of the Fat Quarter Shop the best.  But she would tolerate a couple others for short amounts of time.  If she couldn't have Kimberly playing, then she wanted Pat Sloan. 

I eventually figured out a routine with her.  Especially when she was smaller.  In the morning I'd help her up to roost on the edge of the tote.  When she was hungry or ready to get down, she would stand up and patiently wait for me to notice.  If it was too long, she'd make a couple calls to get my attention. 

She figured out how to jump up and down on her own, at some point.  She seemed quite proud of herself. She'd hop down and turn around to see if I was paying attention. I'd give her high praise and tell her what a smart girl she was.  Especially when she figured out how to jump up.  No more having to wait for the chicken mom. 

When her eyes fully healed we learned she had limited vision in one eye.  The other eye showed obvious signs of not working.  And when she was really curious about something or trying to figure something out, she always pointed her head so the one eye could have the best vantage.  I always said her port side was her good side. 

I did try to reintegrate Furby back in to the flock. By that time the rest of the flock had forgotten her and they rushed around so fast that you could tell Furby wasn't comfortable and stressed.  The other birds would circle around her and peck at her.  

Furby became my house hen, and a very spoiled one at that. 

I would keep her by my side a lot.  I'd move her tote around the house, from the kitchen to the living room.  Her permanent spot was close to the wood stove, but where she could look out the front door. 

Oh, and before I forget, I have to mention her ability to chime in her two cents into any conversation at just the right time. Seriously, it was spot on.  So many times my husband and I would be chatting away and one of us would say something and Furby would make this sound like she was laughing, or adding to the conversation. 

She also learned certain sounds, like when my husband would grab a can of peanuts. She knew what that sound meant.  She would perk up, make a sound, and stare until someone made the right decision and threw a few of them in her food dish.  

Today, when I was tidying up a space in the kitchen, I saw a container with just a few nuts left in it and started to shake the container and call out "Furby, do you want some nuts." Then I remembered she's gone. 

I feel like I have a thousand Furby stories. Like the time she *really* wanted a bite of my son's fish.  So she figured out to keep pulling something off the little table by him, so he'd be distracted and she could try and sneak a bit of fish for herself. 

Or when we discovered she was a music aficionado. 

Don't ever let anyone tell you chickens are dumb.  They are so smart. 

I used to bring her outside with me as much as possible.  I thought it was pretty important for her to be out there and feel the sun and wind, and scratch in the dirt.  Oh, and take dust baths. She used to let me know when she was ready to come back in to the house by climbing up on to the back deck and wait by the door.  Sometimes calling out to me. 

But her favorite, I think, was spending time out in the garden area with me. 

I called her my little garden helper.  She'd go and scratch up the dirt for me in the spring time.  

The summer of 2022 she gave me a few health scares and I thought she was going to pass away. She developed an impacted crop and I did everything I could to get her better, including feeding her with a syringe. The day I decided I would try to relieve the impaction via surgery, the blockage was gone.  It was a miracle! 

I'm very grateful I was able to get an extra year with her.  She was my girl, and my near constant companion.  

We had three years with her. I was hoping for more.  The last few months she started slowing down.  There was a few other things going on and I figured my time with her was coming to an end. 

Still, though, you are never really ready or prepared for when a pet dies.

Farewell my sweet little Furby June.  The chicken mama misses you.