I hadn’t written about this yet because it hasn’t felt entirely real, but her box came back to the vet’s office the other day so I knew it was time to post something. I didn’t know exactly how old Crumble was when I got her, but I thought I had so much more time.
We had her cremated. I couldn’t bring myself to send her body away for a necropsy because I wouldn’t get her back. I’m confident she didn’t have a contagious illness, but I will have a blood test done for the remaining chickens just to be sure. I added the feathers I had collected to her little bamboo box with her ashes.
She seemed a bit lethargic and thin, so I brought her inside to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t overly interested in food but she was still bright eyed and chatty so I wasn’t too concerned. I gave her some coconut cream to make sure she was getting enough calories, she chatted at me for a bit, then she fell asleep in my lap. I held her for a while before putting her to bed, and she was gone when I woke up.
I have to wonder if she had been ill since I brought her home. Normally mild-manner Gueuze accepted the Easter Eggers without question, but he didn’t want Crumble in the flock at first. I was able to get him to warm up to her though, and I didn’t think anything more of it. She had such a fantastic little personality and although she wasn’t here for long, I had become very attached to her. She often had a sort of confused, judgemental look on her face.
She was loud and boorish and frankly, a bit slovenly. She beaked food out all over the ground and flung it everywhere when she ate. But I had grown accustomed to her mannerisms and they had become endearments. Even with the Easter Eggers cackling like a pair of kookaburras the yard is somehow quieter without her here. She had a presence, and the absence of it is painfully felt.
Fly free little blackbird, you were loved and will be greatly missed.