Madeline: Brave Bird

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  I don't know the details of Madeline's life before she came to live with me. I can only speculate on where she was born or how she came to in the situation in which she was found. I do know that she was rescued by an animal control officer responding to a complaint that a woman was keeping forty chickens in a coop only large enough for ten. They had no food or water and several were ill or injured. When confronted by the officer, the woman relinquished custody of the dick and wounded birds, as well as most of the others. The ailing hens were immediately taken by the officer to a veterinarian for treatment. That's where I met Madeline. Responding to a call for foster homes, I picked Madeline up at the hospital just a few days after her rescue to care for her until her injuries had healed and she could be adopted into a permanent home.
    The day Madeline came home with me, broken and near death, I thought certainly she would never make it. A painful joint infection had left her unable to walk or even stand. Incapable of reaching food, she had lost weight and had been pecked by some of the other birds, opening a large laceration on her head that had become infected. Her injuries and lack of nutrition had left her so weak she as unable to life her head for more that a few moments. Her prognosis was guarded, and almost immediately I began to second guess my decision to try to saver her. Would treatment just prolong suffering?
    I brought her inside my home, made her a comfortable nest in a large dog crate and set about caring for this brave bird. Even though she was quite ill, Madeline radiated a spark, a will, an intensity that let me know she wanted to live. Eventually after many days of treating her injuries, waiting and hoping, and wondering whether the subtle improvements I thought I was seeing were real of just wishful thinking, Madeline lifted herself on her weakened legs. For just a moment she stood before she buckled again to the floor. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell me that I made the right decision.
    Gradually, over several weeks, Madeline pushed herself through the pain and weakness until she was standing and walking. Often she would settle in beside me as I worked. Resting her head on my leg while I scratched the delicate skin under her wings, she would close her eyes in complete contentment. Her interest in me was a bit of a surprise: her limited experience with humans had been one if indifference and cruelty, and she had no reason to trust me, but she did, and I was thrilled by her desire to be near me.
    As she regained her strength, she strutted about as though she owned the world. She met the cats and dogs who live with me and began exploring the world outside. She never seemed to doubt her own power, but acted as if she knew exactly who she was, moving through her day with enviable confidence in herself and her abilities.
    As much as I loved sharing my home with her, eventually I had to admit Madeline was healthy enough to go to a new, permanent home. She needed a safe outside space in which to peck and preen, and she needed the company of other chickens. She was adopted by a friend who had a small flock of chickens living freely in a large backyard.
    Madeline moved right in and in the company of other hens, her personality began to shine. In the beginning, she was content to eat out of her food dish and then sit in the shade for a good part of the day, but her flock-mates soon showed her all the best places to scratch for bugs and taught her how delicious green grass is to graze on.
    Contrasted against the greenery and seasonal wildflowers of her backyard, she was stunningly beautiful: lustrous white feathers, a vivid red comb and wattles on a bright red face, a yellow beak and deep yellow legs and toes. And she was big. Really big. Almost three times the weight of a typical hen. Madeline was a Cornish mix; a breed the poultry industry calls a "broiler." She was designed to gain a lot of weight very quickly and go to slaughter at only 49 days old, still a baby. Because of this unnatural breeding, "broilers" often have joint and ligament problems and suffer from congestive heart failure. Despite her size, Madeline was surprisingly agile and could charge down the backyard hill as fast as any of the other hens if there was a treat to be had.
    Madeline had an equally large and endearing personality. She radiated a reassuring energy that confronted the whole group. Madeline was exceedingly brave. Whoever decided that the word "chicken" was an accurate euphemism for cowardly definitely got it wrong. Although running from danger is ofter the most prudent form of self-defense for chickens, in fact, they can be quite assertive, especially if they're protecting their babies. Madeline took on the role of flock defender and proved to be very courageous. When the appropriately-named chicken hawks flew over the yard, one of the other hens would call out a warming squawk and everyone would run for the nearest cover. Many times that cover was Madeline. While the other girls huddled around her, she would rise on her legs, stretch her neck out toward the sky and stand defiant. When unknown cats found their way into the hens' territory, she would confront them and peck them away if necessary. She was fearless when it came to defending her flock-mates.
    Madeline lived happily in the yard with her hen friends for several carefree months before her genetics caught up with her. One morning she lumbered out of her hen house and promptly say down, unable to rise again. The brought red of her comb and wattles turned at first a light blue, and then a deeper purple. Madeline's heart was not pumping well enough to circulate oxygen-rich blood through her body. She was rushed to a veterinarian but nothing could be done to relieve her discomfort or heal her over-burdened heart. She lay in the oxygenated cage panting, slowly dying. When the gut-wrenching decision was made to help her pass from the world, she died with dignity and grace. She was only seven months old.
    I learned much from Madeline. I learned that hope is never wasted. Hope is what brought her home from the veterinary hospital that first day, and hope os what helped fuel her recovery. I was also reminded of something I already knew but the world often forgets: animals, even the most disregarded animals, have rich and varied emotional lives. They form deep friendships and strong connections with all kinds of beings, not just their own kind. They have their own lives to lead, and enjoy those lives tremendously. And they have value, simply because they are.
-Windi Wojdak