Soliloquy for Silky


I’ve just been out to feed the rabbit and say hello to the chooks. Ruby’s looking old and tired. I wonder if she misses Miranda? Do chooks have feelings? When her sister died last year, Ruby stopped laying eggs. I thought it was because she was grieving. Maybe she’d layed all the eggs she was ever going to, and the fact that her sister died was immaterial. I cried when Miranda died. Is it silly to grieve over a chook?

Samuel – then 14 – asked me whether we’d be having her for tea. At the time, I wondered how I could have brought such a hard-hearted child into the world. But when I thought about it, I realised it’s just the way his brain works. He didn’t mean to be hurtful. No malice intended what-so-ever. He was coming from a purely practical point of view. Why waste a good chook by burying her in the garden, when you could enjoy her for dinner. You know – really savour her. And save a few dollars on the supermarket bill to boot.

Our memorial service, as it turned out, was quite moving. We gathered around her grave and, in turn, shared our favourite memories of this special girl. We said a prayer, each threw a clod of earth on her and she was duly covered up by the practical one.

Today the chook yard looked depleted. I’m still not used to having four chooks instead of six. Fizzy’s stopped laying eggs, too. I studied her while she was pecking at the broccoli I was holding for her, trying to decide whether she looked sad or not. Her sister, Silky, died a couple of months ago. I didn’t cry when Silky died. I feel guilty about that. It’s not that I loved Silky any less than Miranda. Silky, a Buff Sussex – for those of you who know all about chook breeds – was easy going and gentle. I don’t remember seeing her peck any of the other hens in the yard – ever. (Not like Horrible Hilda and Naughty Nancy, who established their places in the pecking order within minutes of their arrival! But that’s Brown Leghorns for you.)

You see, when Silky died, we were in the midst of settling in our latest arrivals to the household menagerie – Milly and Fyodor. It sounds like I’m saying dogs and cats are more important than chooks, which is not what I believe at all. It’s just that, at the time, I was flat out peeling the kitten off the net curtains and wiping up puppy wee and poo from every available section of floor space. Actually, it’s a lie about the net curtains, because we don’t have any, but you catch my drift.

So today, out in the garden, the early morning air fresh on my face, the puppy and kitten nestled together, inside, asleep on the couch, I said a soliloquy for Silky. I didn’t cry. I didn’t even speak.

Sometimes you don’t need to.

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