Yesterday morning I had to lay to rest one more of our farms beloved creatures. It has once again brought me squarely face to face with the downside of dealing with a lot of livestock – deadstock.

I am not at all trying to be funny. It is something a neighbor warned us about early on in our adventure here at the farm and it resonates with each passing. The issue was brought to our attention in reference to the practical problems in dealing with a death since at the time we were burying a neighbors pony for him using our tractor. But there is also the emotional side of being faced with death so often. Most of us are not. And when we are personally touched it often a singular life changing loss.

But with so many creatures passing through our lives now we have found we need to learn to quickly accept and move on – as there are so many alive here still counting on us.

This doesn’t mean we do not feel the loss – we simply try to replace it with the memory of life. And so in that spirt, I wish to share with you the memory of some of the friends we said goodbye to through the last seasons.

Grandpa Bunny (Cinnamon) came to us from a neighborhood boy preparing to go off to college.

The boy had had the bunny since he was eight. I don’t think anyone imagined the would have this problem. Ten years old is very old for a bunny, but Grandpa Bunny (as we dubbed him) seemed in fine health and the boy did not want to put him down. We had a lone bunny, Easter, a Brooklyn rescue and we wanted a friend for her. So it worked out great – especially for Grandpa whose last six months were spent lustfully with his new friend Easter. He passed peacefully in his sleep the other night.

Byron, a small bantam roster, became the head of our flock and was a proud and noble leader. Yes I just described a chicken as proud and noble. That is because of all I learned from Byron. Most of the chickens in this country spend their lives in cages smaller than shoe-boxes – never to see the light of day. Because of that, people claim roosters are mostly unnecessary except for making new chickens. But in a free range flock roosters are the caretakers, providers and protectors. Byron was the perfect example and even though he was raised in a cage in Brooklyn he took handedly to his new responsibilities. Byron would collect food for the hens, round them up, make sure they were in at night and ultimately, he protected them with his life. Emmett was his second in command and he too helped in the duties above. One late afternoon in late fall Byron and Emmet defended the flock from a wandering predator. Byron fought to the death. Emmett got away but ultimately died from internal wounds. The rest of the flock was safe – including the two proud roosters Byron and Emmet raised from chicks who have now take over the jobs of their fallen leaders.

We lost a couple of other hens to predators this past summer – one of the downfalls of a free range flock. But believe us when we boast to having the happiest chickens on earth. Death is a risk worth taking while living life to the fullest.

I have had Tigress and her sister Nikki since they were kittens. She slept with me, worked with me and rode my shoulder around the many houses I’ve had in the past thirteen years. She was a wonderful companion, always there for me and a cherished member of our farm. We lost her to cancer this year. We had to put her down – one of the hardest choices I had to make.

You are sorely missed Tigress.

But life is a circle. And whether you believe it random or designed, life will fill in the empty spaces.

During Tigress’s last months with the disease, we found a kitten in the barn while throwing hay. She was no more than a week old and fit in the palm of your hand. We took her in and she and Tigress became friends.

Cosmo now carries on Tigress’s duty of staving off mice with Nikki.

After the tragic incident with Byron and Emmett and we gathered up eggs from right before and after their deaths and decided to try to incubating them. That is a tale unto itself.

Suffice to say we have fifteen tiny chickens in our bathtub – six of whom look suspiciously like Byron – or Emmett. We shall see.