Where I come in my back door there's a small dresser with a few things on top of it. It's just a little shoe closet from Ikea but it's handy for putting things down on. On top of it there's always a small lamp, a pair of mittens or gardening gloves, depending on the season, and a bowl filled with black oil sunflower seeds for the chickens. Every time I go out the back door, I grab a handful and throw them into the chicken run.
The last week of December, just before Christmas I knew something wasn't right with Cuddles when she refused to eat them. I didn't get too upset because I'd nursed this little chicken back from the brink more than once. More than twice. So many times in fact that I'd stopped getting frantic when I saw she was sick because I knew with some antibiotics and syringe feeding for a few days she'd get better .
The last week in December, Cuddles didn't get better.
I got her 5 years ago from a long gone boyfriend who decided to surprise me with a box full of day old chicks on Easter morning. Obviously he isn't gone because of his inferior present buying skills. He was astonishingly good in that department. He even had the foresight to supply me with the one thing that would get me through his walking out the door one day. Cuddles.
She was the second smallest chicken in the box of 6 chicks, and even when she was fully grown she was still a lot smaller than the other chickens. I don't know how much experience you have with chicks but they're about as cute a thing as God ever made if you believe in that sort of thing. If not, ... she was as cute a thing as Disney could ever make.
Well this one chicken, the second smallest one as I said, took it upon herself to love me like her mama. She followed me around, clucked to be picked up and sat quietly and contentedly on my lap for as long as I could stand to sit there knowing there were about a billion things to be done around the house.
So when the fella left, she's what saved me. Not a therapist, not pills, not crying. Cuddles. A little brown chicken.
I sat for hours with her relaxed in my lap, her wing stretched down so I could rub the feathers under there. She'd settle in letting her eyes close, perfectly happy to keep me company until I decided it was time to tackle the world again.
I'd like to say it's because I'm special. Because I have some sort of other worldly chicken intuition but the truth is, it was her. That little chicken liked everyone. She settled into the tiny laps of kids from around the neighbourhood happily letting them inspect every inch of her, usually the first real livestock they'd ever been close to. She sat in the lap of a neighbour whose husband had just died and made her laugh.
She wasn't named Cuddles for nothin'.
Closing the door to the cold behind us, I laid Cuddles down in the makeshift coop I'd created for her in my mudroom. She wasn't well. She'd been living in the mudroom for 3 days so I could constantly check on her and keep her body temperature up. I wondered if she wouldn't be happier inside the regular coop with her friends, so that afternoon I had placed her back outside with them. It was cold that night and she didn't have the energy to even jump up on her roost so I brought her back in.
I put a small heater in the mudroom, covered the floor with towels to warm it up a bit and made a little nesting box out of some straw and an old wood butter box. I got her all fed and warmed up then gave her another syringe of antibiotics. I tucked a bit more straw into her nesting box, put Cuddles inside, gave her a little kiss on the head and told her it was O.K. She could go.
I knew when I woke up she'd be gone.
I didn't sleep most of the night and when I finally gave up and came padding downstairs at around 6 in the morning she lifted her head up and looked right at me.
I'll take this moment to confess that I hoped all night long that Cuddles would die. That I'd wake up and it would be over. My stress, her misery ... all of it. You can judge me if you want but I could not, under any circumstances kill her myself. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't have chopped her head off any more than I could have chopped my own mother's head off.
I picked Cuddles up, gave her a bit of food and some water which she ate on her own, and brought her into the living room with me where I sat with her for the morning.
At 12:30 that afternoon I called a local vet. I may not have been able to do it, but it had to be done. I scheduled an appointment to have her euthanized.
I was to bring her in at 6:00 p.m. that Friday night just as the vet's office was closing.
These had been really tiring, stressful days filled with trying to keep her alive, Christmas planning and the general freak show that is the holiday season. When I called the vet's office at 5 o'clock to make sure the vet who was putting Cuddles down was back from his house calls the receptionist (who I'd had really unfortunate dealings with earlier in the day) said, Oh No. He's not here. I don't think he's coming back.
I explained that I had an appointment to have my pet put down. He was coming back to the office especially for me. She sympathetically said "I dunno. I don't think he's coming back though. Maybe he can see you on Monday.". I very unpolitely asked if maybe she could CALL THE MAN AND FIND OUT????
This particular receptionist didn't seem all that concerned that I had a dying animal in my lap and I'm not sure what her true vocation in life is but I can tell you right now it isn't being a receptionist at an animal hospital. I seriously doubt if she has the common sense to plant peanuts for a living.
At 10 minutes to 6 o'clock I finally called back when I never heard from the receptionist again. "Yeah, no he's not coming back, she said. You'll have to reschedule for Monday." I asked once again if she'd actually spoken to him and got some sort of non answer from her at which point I told her she was an idiot and hung up on her. I also swore. And I'd do it all over again. She was an idiot who made an already horrible situation almost unbearably worse.
It was Friday night at 6 o'clock. No other vet would even be open. And even if they were, finding a vet who would be willing to put a chicken down was never going to happen. Putting anything avian down is very different than a dog or cat. It's harder.
Cuddles was going to have to struggle on her own until Monday, looking up at me like I could do something about it, and me knowing I could ... but just didn't have it in me to do it.
Then it hit me. That vet that gave me a bit of advice about Cuddles before. He was actually a cat vet but he's a poultry judge who has chickens himself, and he worked part time at a Cat Clinic not far from where I live.
I looked up the number and called right away. The receptionist answered and told me yes, Dr. Camilleri was working that day but they were closed. I explained the situation to her. I blurted out everything about Cuddles and how I knew it seemed stupid because she was a chicken but she was a pet an she was suffering and another vet had just cancelled on me and I'd been trying to help her for days and she just needed help otherwise she'd be like this all weekend.
Then she said, You know what? Let me call you back in a minute.
And she did.
Dr. Camilleri told me to come up right away. He understood and he wouldn't go anywhere until I got there with Cuddles. I picked Cuddles up in her butter box and walked her out to the car. It was dark by now and everything is worse in the dark but I felt more relieved than I had in days.
With one act of selflessness, one act of kindness this man who I'd never met, turned my day completely around.
It took about 12 minutes to get to the clinic. I carried Cuddles inside, and walked her up to the reception desk, apologizing for looking like such a mess and for making them stay late. The receptionist couldn't have been nicer or more sympathetic.
Dr. Camilleri came out and said what a beautiful bird Cuddles was and examined her a bit. He felt here and there, looking for fluid build up and feeling her breastbone to see how thin she was. After looking at her he let me know I was doing the best thing for her.
We took her into the examination room and he looked at her a bit more while I held her. He explained what he was going to do and how putting a chicken to sleep is a bit trickier but he'd make sure it wasn't stressful for her. The Dr. took her out of the room to give her a sedative to keep her calm and get rid of any anxiety she would be feeling.
When he came back with her, Cuddle's eyelids were starting to close, the way they did when she relaxed into my lap.
Once she was close to being asleep Dr. Camilleri took a tiny needle and pierced her skin.
Not long after that Cuddles was gone.
I had Cuddles cremated and had the ashes returned to me in an urn. She's the first pet I've ever done that with.
The day I brought her ashes home I was cleaning up the mudroom a little bit. A good cleaning because it had snowed and there was mud in the mudroom of all things.
As I bent down to wipe under that little dresser with the bowl of sunflower seeds on it I found a single brown feather. A tiny, little downy feather from Cuddles' last night with me.
I picked it up, walked into the next room and tucked the feather into the ribbon that wraps around her urn. It sticks out just behind a minuscule little wood plaque that reads "Cuddles".
My little chicken.
Ugh. I finally sat down and read this, and yeah, you've got me in tears. Conveniently enough, I'm battling a sinus infection so my husband across the room hasn't asked what all the sniffling is about.
I don't have (or want) kids. My pets are my kids. They've made my life so much better, and I dread with every ounce of my heart the day I have to say goodbye to any of them. You did the right thing for Cuddles - which you already know, and which she knew, too. Still, I'm sorry she's gone. <3
I came to your blog after searching for how to clean my cutting board & I enjoyed your writing in that post so I clicked over to your homepage & read this post. Now I'm sitting here crying over "an internet chicken". I hope your good memories of what a sweet girl Cuddles was gives you much comfort, I think the love of an animal is one of life's greatest blessings!
Okay, I'm at work, sitting at my desk crying! What a touching story. I'm a new subscriber and before I read this story I had no idea that chickens could be so sweet and would sit in your lap. What a special little baby God blessed you with. My heart hurts for yours and I pray you have some closure knowing you did what any loving mother would do when you can't do anything else.
Thanks Donna. :) It's difficult to put any animal down but it's something that has to be done and I know, really is the best thing to do no matter how painful. ~ karen!
Man-o-man Karen, while writing this post, did you sob as much as I did while reading it? Bless your heart.
You know, what? I didn't Judy. By the time I wrote it I was ready to write it. But once all the comments started coming in? Yeah, that's where I lost it, lol. Thanks for your thoughts. :) ~ karen!
What a beautiful life story of the love shared between a pet and her owner.
It truly touched my heart!
Finding a brown feather signifies
Grounding, Homelife and Stability
Just what cuddles gift was to you!
Oh Karen, I would write more, but I'm sobbing too hard. I'm so sorry for your loss of Cuddles. Love to you.
Sorry Leslie! I didn't mean to make everyone sob. :/ ~ karen!
Who would have thought a chicken could touch so many lives? So sorry she is gone, so happy to have known her life story. Each chapter written & shared so perfectly - sweet, funny, dramatic and touching. Thank you so much.
We had a few pet chickens when I was a kid. Usually one of the layers that was friendly, but we got to pick some fancy hens at the Stouffville Sales Barns a few times. I was at the hospital with our daughter tonight (who needed antibiotics & popsicles) & was telling her about my Bantam Blackie & her 13 babies she hatched. Another pet, one of the Rhode Island Red layers, was accidentally caught & given to my Nana. We got home from school & asked mom where Henrietta was - she frantically called to save her life but Nana already had her dressed for dinner.
I'm so sorry for you loss. Thank you for sharing.
Gulp, that just ripped my heart right on out! Beautifully written. . .so raw and relatable, as always. Your missives are little mirrors into your soul, and that's what makes your writing so wonderful to read. I'm so sorry about Cuddles.
Would that every dog, cat, and chicken could find such love and such a vet.
Cuddles lives on in your memories, warming your heart when she knows you need her - she left you that feather, didn't she? When you think of her, remember to take a moment to feel sorry for those who have never opened their lives and hearts to the love of a pet,
Alright....I'm sobbing!! Beautifully written Karen. Little Cuddles is at peace. xoxoxo
I'm glad you finally shared the tale of Cuddles in full. It was a wonderful piece to read and I'm sorry you had to go through all that. What a terrible time you had and at the holidays to boot! I think of your chickens every time I pass the neighbor's coop along the alley. They used to let their chickens roam but finally put up a higher fence so hopefully I won't have to "rescue" them from the street again.
This was hard for me to read. I really wish I could have been there when my parents had to put down my cat. She had a wonderful like of 18 years, hunting outside and cuddling up to me inside. I moved away from home 9 years ago, half of her life ago, but every time I went home she would want to be with me and only me.
She was my best friend through those horrible awkward teenage and preteen years. She listened to me every night talk about my day, and purred away until I fell asleep feeling better.
She was my shadow and I felt terrible that I couldn't be there with her at the end.
I knew this was going to be a rough post to read but dammit, I'm crying at work. I also want to punch that receptionist in the face. The first one, not the second.
What a beautiful story.. Cuddles will be missed that is for sure. Keep her on the bookshelf. I have a shelf on my bookcase that is home to all my former pets. Its neither creepy or weird.
As for the first vet and receptionist... so not good....
I'm so sorry for your loss, Karen. We had to make a similar decision last fall with our sweet Rhode Island Red named Stella. I'm so glad you were able to connect with the second vet and experienced compassion and support from them. Cuddles sounds like an incredible chicken.
A wonderful tribute for a wonderful creature...
Could any chicken have left a better legacy or made you happier?
I think not.
What a wonderful tribute to Cuddles and to find 2 feathers...I got goosebumps also.
Thank goodness you found the support & understanding from Dr. Camilleri & his receptionist.
Reminded me of my late Uncle...he was a vet practicing in Berwick-on-Tweed (on the Borders of England & Scotland)...he was passionate about saving wildlife...swans, owls, hedgehogs,etc. even had a fox that slept with their dogs in the kitchen, it couldn't be released in the wild.
Growing up we always had cats...my all time favourite was a black & white longhair called 'Boots' she was very affectionate...I have many photos of her, so many happy memories...
I like the photos you took at the gate with you & the chickens for the New Year...
As incredibly sad this ending was for poor Cuddles, thank you for honouring her with your tribute. I am still, of course, sobbing, as this is all too close to the demise of one of my dearest furbabies. I do hope CheezWiz finds comfort - and a new friend! - to guide her through her own hardship and sorrow.
Note on the feather: a dear friend of mine recently lost her beloved mother. She is slowly getting back on her feet, but is still just a puddle of her old self. For 3 days, each day after her mother's passing, a dead bird was found in the backyard of her family home. Never happened before- nor has it happened since. I asked my friend how many children her mother bore. She had had 3 children. I think my friend finds comfort in that representation.
I hope you find comfort in your feathers, too.
I hav not cried this hard in 20 years when I had to put my sweet 20 y/o dog "Hutch" down. I cried the week before and probably 2-3 weeks after that.
My heart goes out to you.
One of your faithful readers.
Marilyn Johnson