Desperately Seeking Florentine

Imagine for a moment that you have a twin sister who is your inseparable bestie and together you share a loving Mum who keeps you warm, sheltered and fed. Now imagine that suddenly, without any explanation, Mum turns on both of you in anger, yells at you and makes it obvious that she wants nothing to do with either of you ever again.

As sad and surprising as this is, you manage to get by because you have your sister. Together, you venture into the big wide world to run, play and explore, all the while keeping a keen eye out for each other’s safety. Danger is everywhere, though, and one day you both witness your auntie get mauled and killed by a ferocious beast right before your eyes.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, imagine that this beloved sister suddenly falls ill with an unknown respiratory illness and dies within a week. Now you find yourself truly alone, on the bottom rung of society, trying to make sense of this new, lonely reality.

But each new day still arrives. Grieving and mourning are only possible when all other necessities are taken care of – eating, finding a quiet place to sleep and earning a living – even if your heart just isn’t into any of it.

Just when you think that you have hit rock-bottom, your fickle and moody Mum vanishes. Even though she kicked you out and called you names, she is still your mum and you still seek her affection – but now you can’t find her anywhere.

This is the life story of our 5 month old hen, Benedict. She has endured all of the above and more in her short life.

Poor Benedict has had more family tragedy in her short 5 month life than any of us could handle.

Poor Benedict has had more family tragedy in her short 5 month life than any of us could handle.

“But she’s just a chicken! Chickens don’t have feelings or emotions!”,

I can hear you say. But I challenge you to come out to the Queendom and observe her for a while. You will see that this is not personification on my part.

At least once day, Benedict becomes frantic and begins pacing. She starts to emit low and constant clucks. She runs to each of our out-buildings and stretches up high and crouches down low to look over and under things before moving on to the next place. She will go into the wood storage, then into the tractor bay and then into the trailer bay before running over to the garden shed to continue her search. She will circle the house and then the shop, clucking all the while. She will run into the coop and hop up into  a nesting box, pecking at all the corners then she will exit and hop into the other nesting box. Once the circuit is complete, she will begin again. There is no way to calm her or divert her quest – even scratch has little effect. Eventually she gets hungry or thirsty or simply loses interest for the time being.

When she discovered that Tweedle Mum had not vanished but simply has moved out and is living on her own, Benedict makes sure to visit her every day

When she discovered that Tweedle Mum had not vanished but simply moved out and is living on her own, Benedict makes sure to visit her every day, much to Tweedle Mum’s displeasure.

Another change is Benedict’s egg laying. She had been laying cute little brown eggs, too small for the egg carton. But as soon as Florentine died, she began laying shell-less eggs, double yolkers and even laying two eggs at a time.

Benedict laid these two shell-less eggs in the middle of the grass. They were separate eggs but joined with a delicate membrane.

Benedict laid these two shell-less eggs in the middle of the grass. They were separate eggs but joined with a delicate membrane.

Antoher single shell-less egg. This one was laid on the gravel driveway.

Another single shell-less egg. This one was laid on the gravel driveway.

"One of these things is not like the others"

“One of these things is not like the others”

Even upon discovering Tweedle Mum in the broody pen, Benedict continues her desperate search, so I can only conclude that she is looking for sweet Florentine. Watching her is heart-breaking. She is obviously searching for something or some-chick and is driven to distraction by her absence. I am completely sold on the fact that she is confused and grieving, filled with sadness and anxiety. If you allow yourself to believe that dogs form attachments to their families, is it such a stretch to think that chickens may do it too?

My thoughts today will only push me deeper into that “Crazy Chicken Lady” category but I am willing to take that risk.

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