RIP Benny the one-eyed rooster
Peanut’s “younger man”
I’ve avoided writing about it for a week now.
But with a heavy heart, I must report that Peanut’s boyfriend Benny has died.
That’s the last of Peanut’s three old friends to perish in the past five weeks, and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t taken a toll on both of us.
With the state of the world right now, it might seem a silly thing to grieve the death of chickens. My heart breaks for those suffering all over the world, especially in war-torn areas; I worry endlessly about the state of affairs in our own country, and the looming threat of losing our democracy. I do what I can do, which isn’t much.
But here at home, my dear Peanut and I are facing our own mortality - you may think she doesn’t know, but seeing three old friends keel over in such a short space of time must have given her a clue. Her demeanor has definitely changed. I’ve been pampering her daily, which comforts me probably as much as it does Peanut.
Benny came to us 12-15 years ago after our friend George found him roosting in her tree, probably dropped off because he was a rooster. A cocky little bantam, blind in one eye, he quickly adapted to my flock of bantam hens and established quite a harem. But Peanut was an apparent favorite, and they were often found together.
When Peanut decided to become a porch chicken, Benny was among the first of her cohorts to be invited inside to join her. And after she and her daughter Millie moved inside the house this past year, it was obvious that Benny missed her. After Peanut received the Guinness record for oldest living chicken, reporter Will Pavia of the London Times shot a video of the two of them reuniting in our yard last summer, catching Benny chasing Peanut into a bush.
After Millie died on Halloween night at the ripe old age of 15, we brought another old friend, Luna, in to keep Peanut company, but sadly, she died three days later. A few days after that, Benny looked cold on his outdoor perch, so I decided perhaps he could come inside. It was not a well thought out decision. Having a cockerel crowing in one’s family room at dawn is not necessarily a good thing. But we got used to it.
After a month indoors, Benny seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. I tried everything I knew over the course of the next few days, but last Thursday evening he died in my lap, and Peanut and I have even grieving ever since.
Coming in to keep Peanut company might begin to seem like a death sentence, but we must keep in mind that these are very old chickens. I once read that here are so many things that can afflict poultry that it’s a wonder that any of them survive. So I take comfort in the fact that so most of mine survive for so long. But it doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t ache each time I lose one. And when they’re as special as Benny, and Millie, and Luna, it’s especially difficult.
It’s been a very long week, and of course I’ve worried that Peanut will soon follow suit and I’ll lose her too, which will be devastating, but I try to treasure each day with her. Once again, I learn from Peanut. Day by day, although I see her more fragile, she appears to be okay. She’s eating and drinking, and cuddling up to her stuffed chicken Poppy on her heating pad.
Perhaps her heart is heavy as is mine, but you’d never know it to see either of us. We mask it well, going on about our business, trying to make our corner of the world a little brighter for ourselves and others.
We’re only here a short time, and must try to repair the world as best we can, if only a little at a time, helping and loving each other. Because there may come a time when that annoying early morning crowing is silenced, and we’ll miss it terribly.