This will probably be my last Hildy story. If you haven’t read the stories about my blind hen Hildy, you may want to start at the beginning.
Read the other posts related to Hildy the blind hen:
- Introducing Hildy the blind hen
- Hildy the blind hen in the pecking order
- Hildy the blind hen and free ranging
- Hildy the blind hen learns to eat treats from a hand
- Hildy the blind hen figures out foraging
This is how she died–and it’s not much of a tale, really; it’s more of a just a close to her story.
Hildy the blind hen
About 2 days before Hildy died, she settled on a nest, and fluffed up her feathers. These are really not signs to be alarmed about; they can indicate broodiness. But the same signs—lethargy, ruffled feathers—can sometimes indicate illness. So, I lifted her up and gave her the inspection. She had no injuries under the feathers. She was clear of external parasites, and her legs and feet looked fine. Her comb was a normal color; nares and eyes (well, eye) were clear. Her crop and abdomen felt fine–no obstrutions. Her droppings were normal. One thing Hildy never really did was go broody, but there is a first time for everything.
In most other ways, she was quite normal. Despite her blindness, she was one of our best, most reliable layers. (Interestingly, even blind hens respond to changes in daylight hours that trigger laying.) So despite the fact that her eyes’ ability (or her one eye’s ability) to perceive light was limited, at best, she still went through the regular seasonal changes. She’d molt in the fall, and slow down laying throughout the winter. She’d lay like crazy through spring and summer.
Speckled Sussex hens are occasionally broody, but not Hildy. All her sister-Sussex had gone broody at one time or another, but Hildy had not. However, things had always come slow for her—even learning to go outside. So really, I shouldn’t have been so worried—but I was. I felt ill at ease.
I did another test: I moved her from the nest to see where she’d settle down again, and she moved right back. Signs of broodiness. An ill hen doesn’t especially care where she stands. I did it twice more, moving her further each time, and got the same result. Broody. A broody hen wants to be on her nest specifically; an ill hen just wants to be alone. But despite the fact that she was not acting ill, it just didn’t sit right with me. So I called the vet, and made an appointment, just in case…
But we never made it to the appointment. By the next morning, Hildy had passed away on the nest. She looked peaceful, as if she had just gone in her sleep.
“How old was she?” asked the vet when I called to cancel.
“Seven,” I said. “Or maybe almost 8.”
The vet was sympathetic, and suggested—given the lack of other symptoms—that Hildy had just died of old age.
Yes, old age. Hens can live to the ripe old age of 20 or more… but it is more usually like 7 or 8. It was lovely to think that our little blind hen—a hen so vulnerable and that we worried so much about being picked off by a predator she couldn’t see—had lived her full, happy lifespan, and had then died peacefully in her sleep. But the loss was still devastating.
I would miss her affection and friendliness, and I would miss her beautiful feathers.
She couldn’t see how pretty she was!
As well as her loving personality.
No matter where you were in the yard, she wanted to hang out with you.
We buried her on top of our ridge.
A stone owl keeps watch
I tend to think about her this time of year, when the leaves turn.
Goodnight, Hildy
The post How Hildy the Blind Hen Died appeared first on My Pet Chicken Blog.