Facing the Inevitable

When I embarked on this journey, I knew very well that I would face death one day. It is inevitable when raising and caring for your own living creatures, but I never imagined it would happen so soon.

Over the weekend, we lost our dear rooster, Mo. I was coming out for my afternoon rounds and I realized just how quiet the day had been. I descended the steps of our back porch to find Mo, lying lifeless on the ground. I gasped and stood there, staring in complete shock, holding my breath. I couldn’t really process what I was looking at.

I inched forward, still holding my breath. There weren’t any signs of a struggle. There were no loose feathers or lacerations. It looked as though the life just left his body, and he toppled over with his wings spread wide. A fall from grace. His eyes were shut and his comb was fading into a purplish blue. The grief hadn’t really sunk in yet, so I couldn’t help but think that this was the most peaceful he ever looked. Our brave and strong little Mo was gone.

I was and still am completely dumbfounded. He was in perfect health just the day before, surveilling the property with his head held high and hens by his side. Just that morning, he left the coop in stride looking as stoic as ever. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I broke the news to the household and no one could make any sense of it. Domonick and I stood there in silence for a while, taking it all in. This was a reality I was hoping we wouldn’t face for a very long time.

We decided to bury him in the garden, where he would return to source and bring life to the soil. Once we laid him in his resting place, we sat there with him for a while and thanked him for his deep commitment to our hens. He was always at their side, running to them whenever they clucked in the distance to make sure they were alright. He brought so much life to our homestead. I took a few of his tail feathers. I want to craft something special to honor his memory.

I swept the internet for answers. Apparently, sudden death isn’t uncommon among chickens, but I still couldn’t believe it had happened to Mo. I honestly thought, that with his strength and size, he would outlive the hens. It was a calm day on the ranch, so I don’t believe anything could have stressed him out enough to induce a heart attack, but I wasn’t there when it happened so I can’t know for sure. There weren’t any signs of illness either. All the chickens still had very voracious appetites, were communicating frequently, and were very active. I mix diatomaceous earth into their feed to prevent parasitic worms and I add a probiotic into their water as well, so I don’t believe disease or parasites were the cause. My only other guesses would be that he ate something toxic while free ranging or he could’ve had kidney stones. Mo had been given the same diet as our laying hens - a 16% layer feed with the daily mix of corn, seeds, oats, mealworms, and whatever they foraged from free ranging. My research revealed that the amount of calcium in layer feed could lead to the forming of kidney stones in roosters, as they’re not using it to produce eggs. I didn’t have the heart to have him sent in for a necropsy, so I will truly never know what took Mo. I’ve been monitoring the hens to see if there are any new signs of illness and I’ve added rosemary to their water to give them a source of antioxidants, just in case. So far, they all seem as healthy as ever. Honestly, they seem very unfazed by Mo’s passing and it’s a bit unsettling.

The next morning, I went to his grave. The initial shock had faded away and as I stared down at his resting place, the immense wave of grief fell over me. Tears began to pour down my face and I uttered to myself, “I’m so sorry Mo, my baby boy.” The truth is, I felt that I failed him. I wish I had been more present and more attentive to him. I wish I was there so he wasn’t alone. I wish I was there so I could know what really happened. I am his guardian and I feel that I let him down.

Coming into this, I knew we would face losses, but I never imagined it would happen so soon and so suddenly. Suddenness can be a cruel and unexpected teacher. A few days have passed and the layers of guilt have slowly lifted. As tragic as it all is, I know that Mo lived a very happy life here on the ranch. He was loved, he never went hungry and he always had a gorgeous flock of hens by his side. He lived a good life and I’m grateful I was able to provide that for him. It doesn’t make it any easier, but I understand that these moments are inevitable and out of my control. You will face death on a homestead so cherish every moment with your creatures. I still have much to learn about raising livestock and this was a powerful and necessary lesson.

As painful as it may be to experience grief, it is the greatest sign that you truly loved. Please allow yourself to grieve. Give yourself the space and time to work through its waves. It is a deep spiritual necessity.

As I write this, I still can’t believe you’re really gone. I’ll miss your crows and your growls. I’ll miss the way you chased after me whenever I got too close to one of the hens. I’ll miss your little fighter stance with your neck flared whenever I approached you for a hug. You may have not been the nicest rooster, but you were mine. And you were so damn beautiful. I love you so much. Rest in sweet paradise Mo.

Thank you all so much for the love and support we’ve received during this time. It means the world and I’m eternally grateful to you all. Love and light.