We lost another pet hen this week, with too many reminders
of the fragility of life and our helplessness in the face of it. I couldn’t
help thinking of Noah through it all.
Lulu had gotten stuck in a narrow spot between fences, where
a neighbor’s dog attacked her wing. She set up an unearthly howling that sent
me running next door. Just as I had desperately called my husband the day of
Noah’s death, there I was calling him again, to no answer. Just as my neighbor had
helped me after I found Noah that day, here he was valiantly cutting a hole in
the fence to pull the chicken out. Lulu amazed me by flying up out of a deep
box and running into the garden, evading capture as usual. Maybe she’s OK, I
thought. That day, with Noah’s skin still warm, please let him live please.
A bird lover friend told me that birds hide their ailments
and act normal as long as possible so as not to attract predators; by the time
they show their injury or illness, it’s often too late. So bird owners must be
ever vigilant to notice the slightest change from routine that might signal a
problem.
Did Noah hide his illness as long as he could? Did he run
around, trying to mimic his old ways, so as not to attract attention from those
he thought would harm him, like doctors? Did we see signs of mental illness,
followed by near normal behavior, and think he would be OK? We didn’t know how
grievously he was wounded till it was too late to reach him.
At the vet, we had to put Lulu down. Last year about this
time, we lost another beautiful hen to disease after nursing her inside
for two weeks with hand-fed water and treats. We tended her, perused
the Internet, tried another vet-- to no avail. It was hard to know how to help
her.
Noah’s suicide last year came about two months after we put down that
hen. There is no comparison, none. But sometimes I think that those weeks nursing the
helpless hen were a harbinger of what was to come when Noah came home from college for the
last three weeks of his life. My son, tall and strong but inside, fragile as a
bird. We thought we were being vigilant. It was so hard to know how to help
him.
After the neighbor pulled Lulu out of her tight spot in the
fence, he handed me a perfect green egg, the first Lulu had laid in months.
What gifts do our loved ones leave behind that are still too buried in
sorrow for us to see and appreciate?
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