Yesterday was rough. I was tending to the chickens and I didn’t realize one was under the framing when I set the coop back down. You have to lift it up because there is no door, so it’s best to have two people, one to hold it and one to go in. It’s pretty heavy.

Yesterday I was doing this alone and when I was done I immediately noticed there were only 4 of the 5 chicks in the cage so I went to look for the escapee. When I saw her lying on the ground motionless I knew something was wrong. We had painted their toenails to tell them apart. The injured chick was named Rye. We each have a chicken that we consider our own and Rye was mine. She was the first one to have a name and it actually started as R.I. for Rhode Island which is the breed, but I spelled it Rye like the grain because I thought it was cute. She had green toes because that’s my favorite color. She was the feistiest of the bunch and the hardest to catch which is probably why she was busy running off when I set the cage down. She was still alive when I found her, but it didn’t look good. I absolutely lost it emotionally. I couldn’t bare to see her injured because of me.
I have had a very difficult time identifying what to do with my emotions. I wanted to reprimand myself for caring about a farm animal when there is so much pain in the world, so many more important issues to worry about. But then Matthew 10:29 came into my head, the verse about how not even a sparrow falls without the Lord knowing. He does care about my chick. He cares about me, and my feelings. HE has enough love for all of it.
When I had Z I thought I could never love another child the way I love him, and I’ve heard this is a common feeling for some parents. Then I had SJ and my love grew and I know I could have more children and I would love them all the same. Feeling sorrow for a sick chicken does not mean that you don’t feel for the people suffering in the world.
The incident took place in the afternoon. I kept checking on the chick in between desperately checking the internet for a solution. Should we separate the chick? Do we put it out of it’s misery? Do I need to leave it alone? Will she recover? I knew I would not be able to sleep at night wondering if the chick was dying a slow painful death and I cried out to God to just take Rye if she wasn’t going to survive. Soon after that I checked on her for the final time, she had passed. It was such a painful thing to process, but I felt peace knowing that I could have closure. I feel guilty about what happened to that chick and I will continue to ask myself questions. I know she is a chicken and I’ve experienced death in many ways, but never due to an accident on my part. Afterwards Z knew I was upset and asked me if he could give me a kiss to make me feel better. I said sure, and he asked me where it hurt. He always does this, and he has a look of genuine concern every time. I sniffled not sure how to respond, but he knew as he leaned forward and gently kissed the tears that rolled down my cheek. He is fine by the way, everyone in the family has handled this so much better than I have, but I will be okay. I have kisses from my little boy and a heavenly Father that cares about birds, so I am going to be okay.
This photo is 3 weeks old. The chicks are much bigger now.