Channeling Your inner rooster

“We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. - TS Elliot

“What you realize is you go back to your girlhood and you become all the things she was supposed to be that you never knew at the time was really who she was because you were trying to be what other people thought she should be.” - Jane Fonda

“What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over.” - Marina Keegan, The Opposite of Loneliness

“ For it’s always that way with the sacred value of life. We forget it as long as it belongs to us, and give it as little attention during the unconcerned hours of our life as we do the stars in the light of day. Darkness must fall before we are aware of the majesty of the stars above our heads.” - Stefan Zweig

“People have forgotten this truth," the fox said. "But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed.” ― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

What I’m finding is we are constantly refining our childhoods. At least, I am.

Healing the hurt. Revising the meaning. Revisiting the dreams.

In 2015, I read Marina Keegan’s, The Opposite of Loneliness. It was a collection of stories, essays and poems Marina had written before the age of 22. She never wrote any more because she was killed in a car accident 2 days after graduating from Yale.

Her haunting writings and story really made me rethink what was possible. In her empassioned graduation speech she made to her fellow graduates, she reminded them that it was never too late to start over. To be someone different. To try something new.

I sorely needed this reminder from beyond the grave as I graduated. The adult world can be so callous, especially in a culture that does not value collectivism, creativity, or rest as much as it should.

After reading her book, I made a vow to myself that I would never let my fears stop me from starting over or trying new things. I would not let the expectations of others or the constraints of society dictate my worth or choices. And I would never take the time I had left for granted.

I would cherish every breath, be kind, and hope I got “enough time to be in love with everything.” As Marina had wanted.

I’ve definitely carved out time to do more of what I love with those I love. I’m happy to have prioritized them. To have cherished them. But no amount of time is truly enough. Not with those we love.

I lost my beloved pet and companion, my dog, Benny, this last week. On May 25th at 3:55 pm my precious puppy breathed his last and part of me died with him.

I’ve lost dogs before so I know how truly awful it can be. Awe-ful. Full of awe, that horrific mixture of reverance and fear. The extreme helplessness. The knowledge of finality. The emptiness that follows.

I had just never had to make the decision to euthanize an animal before. Our pups had always released their earthly forms in private at home. But Benny was struggling as his liver and kidneys failed and his body slowly shut down. He had maintained so much vigor and energy right up until the end so I was surprised to see how quickly it all progressed, he declined rapidly. Within 24 hours, he was an empty husk just struggling for breath. None of the fluids that the vet injected interveniously were being accepted by his body.

I spent one horrific night with him as he desperately tried to keep water down and failed, vomiting it up minutes after ingesting it. He refused to come back in the house as he hated throwing up inside. Prim and proper til the very end. My sweet boy was always courteous. The next morning I rushed him to the first vet that opened that would take him. I got there at 8am. They told me I would have to make some choices. I could send him to and ER where just one day of care and testing would be 5000 dollars. I considered this but seeing as his body was not accepting the fluids and knowing how much he hated being away from home, I knew this would just be prolonging his suffering.

I made a euthanasia appointment for 3:30pm that very same day and brought him home for the day until my sister could get off work at 2. He lay in the grass under the shade of our tree with pink and white flower petals falling like snow around him. Me and my parents sat out there and sang to him. We gently massaged his cramping muscles and soothed him through is labored breaths. He tried to lift his head when he heard my sister’s voice as she arrived at 2:30. It broke our hearts.

My sister and I were the ones to bring him home back in 2011. We picked him out and carried him home. It felt only fitting that we both be there to say goodbye.

After I finished paying all the vet fees, they brought us into the the little office space where they admisitered the euthansia. It happens so fast and yet takes forever at the same time. I fear that part of me might be stuck in that room for all time, trying to reverse the moment.

There’s this horrible guilt that plagues you. Is there anything more I could have done? Did I spend enough time with him? Did he know how good of a boy he was? I shouldn’t have scolded him that one time. I should have given him different supplements. I should have paid closer attention.

It takes a while to forgive yourself. To settle into the fact that your responsibility to him is over. You saw it through.

It’s been very hard to be home without him. 12 years of memories greet me at the door instead of him. His abscense sleeps in my bed instead of him.

It’s almost been 2 months since I last wrote. Since I quit my job. So very much has happened since then.

Jack and I went to Los Angeles to tour a regenerative farm. I got the chicks. I set up a garden. I watched the chicks and sprouts grow. I said goodbye to Benny.

I’m glad to not be working full time right now. It’s been nice to grieve at my own pace. And the market work is nice because it’s physical and meaningful. Work like that is good for grief. As is gardening. And the chicks. They are my therapy.

I recently read Tove Danovich’s Under the Henfluence and it has come to my attention that chickens have gotten some bad PR. Somehow our culture associates them with cowardice and low intelligence. “Stop being a chicken, bird brain!” “Bawk Bawk”. 

The funny thing is, chickens are and were known in many cultures as signs of new beginnings, confidence, bravery, and loyalty. What more symbolizes potential and beginnings than an egg? Aren’t they associated with Spring, Christ, and new life? 

Roosters will not only put their life on the line to protect their hens and chicks, they dutifully usher in the start of a new day and channel the optimism of starting fresh and early, as chickens are very industrious and hard workers. 

Roosters and hens both keep on alert for predators on the ground and in the sky and alert each other with distinct calls to make sure the flock stays protected. They work together to forage and stay safe. They huddle up together for naps and are very social. They are very loving and protective parents.  They can be trained and are often considered about as intelligent as a dog. They just don’t feel the need to please you the way a dog does. Maybe that has something to do with their lack of appeal to so many. 

Maybe it’s the noise or the manure (which is composting gold and only smells if managed poorly). Maybe it’s because we eat them so we have to do some cognitive distancing to make them seem less than so we don’t feel bad for seeing them as egg and meat producing machines. 

We do this with farm animals (and farmers themselves). We think they’re simple or less intelligent because they work with their hands. I can tell you, coming from a long line of farmers and having worked with farmers at the market, farmers are entrepreneurs, they are scientists, they are engineers, and they are chemists and biologists. More than anything, they are passionate and hardworking. And so are their animals. 

It’s bad business and our lack of understanding that has changed our perception. I think this is starting to change slowly as the small regenerative farm and backyard farm movements are taking off. 

I have always felt that what we eat and how we produce it is essential to the balance of life and the planet. What we do in our backyards matters just as much if not more than what happens out in the world. It’s the one place we actually have some control. Growing a small garden, raising chickens and eating more wholesome foods is my way of not only keeping myself healthy, but helping to keep other species thriving too.

Gallus Gallus Domesticus, or the standard American chicken, has come a long way from its wild jungle fowl ancestor. We’ve managed to take a bird that used to lay 15 eggs a year into one that lays upwards of 150-200 eggs a year. And they produce so much more meat than their leaner cousins. That’s an incredible feat that comes with some steep costs. These birds are much more prone to ovarian cancer, cysts and early death as they produce themselves to death in most industrial farms. The egg quality suffers as well. 

The average layer hen has its beak sliced off and is kept in a large building with thousands of other birds where they will never be able to freely forage or see the sun. They are worked to exhaustion and “retired” at about a year old as their egg production slows after the first year. Most of their carcasses are just disposed of unceremoniously. 

The backyard chicken, though often much more healthy with a higher quality of life, is not free from this truth. I picked up my first three chicks from the Co-Op. They came from a hatchery which means they were hatched in an industrial incubator away from their moms. This is significant because the sound of the mother’s heartbeat and clucking helps the neurological development of the chicks. And being with their mothers and sisters helps the chicks learn to be proper chicks. Chickens have a culture, much like crows do. They talk to each other in a way.

If it wasn’t bad enough separating babies from mothers, the worst part is, if the hatchery has too many chicks and less demand, they get tossed in a garbage bin and gassed or put through a wood chipper. That’s the problem with producing animals for profit. They are not seen as precious living things, but commodities to be used and disposed of.  

I’m happy to be able to give my girls a good life where they can be social, play, and forage. But it makes me sad to think that many of their mothers, aunts, sisters, and cousins were sent off to either their deaths or a life of slavery. 

My other three were given to me by a local farmer who hatches her own chicks. I got to meet their parents. The rooster was a giant and gorgeous Lavender Orpington. He was very gentle and affectionate with his hens. The hens were thriving and so beautiful. I’m excited to see the difference in the hatchery chicks versus the farm hatched ones. 

The girls have formed some strong bonds already and recognize me. I think they are starting to trust me. They respond to authority and confidence so I have to channel my inner rooster. I have to be confident, firm, and protective. 

It’s a lot of work raising babies of any sort. There’s something so liberating in playing with someone else’s baby pets and then walking off with no vet bills, no having to clean up or take them for walks or making sure they get fed on time. 

Having your own pet comes with this pressing responsibility and the fear of loss. You know the loss will come. Buying a baby animal is guaranteeing future heartbreak. But somehow it’s worth it. The girls have kept me busy and going. And after losing Benny, I am only too aware of my duty to them. Of the duty we have to all the critters we have tamed, both animal and human. Of what we owe each other.

I’ve always devoted my life to animals. They have come into my life in so many ways. Being a house sitter allowed me to serve people and pets in a new way. I lived out my childhood dream of making money while spending time with my animal friends. And now I have chickens. I was always trying to hatch my own flock out of grocery store eggs as a kid. I think there’s a little part in all of us that is drawn towards nature and animals. They fill up the empty pockets of our lives. They give us something to live for. And like I learned at Apricot Lane Farms this April, they all play a part in the ecosystem. We all do.

I will take time to grieve and heal. I will honor my beloved Benny and honor my commitment to my critters. I will take care of all those in my charge so long as I draw breath. Man or beast.

This life brings pain, but it also brings joy and a nearly unbearable beauty. Breathe it in while you can.

love,

Gia