15 Cubic Feet of Dirt

Three feet long, two feet wide, two-and-a-half feet deep.

It’s the second time I’ve dug a grave with these dimensions, and that 15 cubic feet of dirt seems to grow heavier-and lighter-each time.

The reality of owning chickens is that they are frail, delicate creatures and hunted by most everything in a country (and urban) environment.

But I’ve dug these graves on my own, because I know if I choose to be responsible for these beings, I must see it through to the very end.

I made the tough call to put down Spike after a neurological disease meant an early end to his short life.

I made the call to put down our Rhode Island Red pullet after she was egg-bound and languishing for weeks.

I’ve discovered three chickens dead-one to an unknown illness, one to a predator (Pepper, pictured above), one to weakness and frailty less than three days after it’s hatching.

One chicken simply vanished.

Though these times bring tears to my eyes, it in no way eclipses the joy and pride in the rest of the flock.

Statistically, the life expectancy of a free-range chicken is much shorter than one raised in cages or chicken farms. The average life span is 1-2 years, due to disease, predators, accidents…

But I see the happiness and contentment in these animals. They forage happily in a big backyard, follow me around like puppies, and give us the most delicious eggs.

So I’ll bear the burden of 15 cubic feet of dirt, as it is an honor to be caretaker of such curious, majestic and slightly rediculous animals. It gets easier each time, and it gets harder each time. Perhaps that’s what makes it all so worthwhile. 🙂