I buried my oldest hen today. She was the first hen I ever
owned and lived to the ripe old age of 10.
Her name was Buffy the eggs layer, though she was rarely
given her full title. She was known mostly as Buffy or Buf-Buf, often Buffalo
and sometimes Buffle coat.
Although her beautiful buff feathers had mellowed with age
to a soft wheaten shade from the fiery ginger biscuit tone of her youth, the contrast
of her deep red comb against her plumage was always striking.
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Buffy - you were always such a smart little hen. |
She was a confident, intelligent and low maintenance little
hen who knew her own mind. A strong but
gentle leader who maintained her status in the flock despite her advancing
years with nothing more than a low pwork, a fixed gaze and very, very rarely, a
measured but well timed peck.
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Buffy - a strong but gentle leader |
I loved her and deeply admired her. And I am grateful for
all the years that I shared with her. She taught me so much and was the
inspiration for me to write a book about chickens in the hope that others could
learn from all that she had taught me.
Her name reflected the fact that she was a prolific egg
layer. Never interested in being treaded by a cock and never going broody. Calm, capable
and dignified, she never squawked or screeched her objections when her preferred
nest box was occupied, but simply selected another or quietly waited her turn to lay her egg.
She refused to perch at roosting time. Preferring instead to
nestle in the straw of her favourite nest box which she secured by going to bed
a good 40 mins earlier than anyone else.
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Buffy - so excited at your first experience of straw, you never lost your love of it. |
A robust little hen she never ailed for anything. When occasionally some of
my other birds developed respiratory infections brought in by the visiting wild
birds she never ever succumbed.
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Buffy - My special little hen |
Towards the end of her laying life as her tiny muscles grew
weaker she developed egg peritonitis as a result of egg impaction. I loaded her
into the car and we drove for hours on a sweltering hot day to get to the
poultry specialist. The vet wasn’t hopeful as most hens fail to survive this
condition, but Buffy wasn't ready to let go just then and neither was I. So although
she never laid eggs again she bounced back within a day or two and continued to
live an active and happy life until it was time for her to say farewell.
I loved her and I miss her, and all that she represents. A
chapter in my life that we shared. A journey of innocence, adventure and
discovery that leads to experience, knowledge and wisdom but that only ever
takes us forward. In our excitement to learn and explore we open so many doors
but fail to notice that they close behind us, barring our way back.
Goodbye Buffy you were such an exceptional hen.
Perhaps one day we may meet again my little feathered friend.
