A tribute to Moa
May 2011 - October 2017
Barred Rock Hen
All my birds are special, but sometimes you get one that is extra special. Trying to explain why in text, without experiencing her presence… it’s hard. Moa was our boss hen; matronly and firm, but never mean. If a rooster was acting out of line with one of the girls, she was the first to hustle over and chest-bounce him into the next county. During the times that I was without a rooster, she took many of those duties; standing guard, always making sure the other girls were safe.
She always had to be near me. She demanded hugs– she was one of those chickens that would walk up, press herself against any part of your body that she could, and wait for you to hug her. She’d stick her neck out and wrap it around you, like the famous video of the little boy hugging the hen. I don’t really have any photos of this, because I was her main squeeze apparently, and it was extremely hard to get a photo of when you were being hugged. I might have videos but my heart is too raw to look right now. Maybe later. The second to last photo above is the best one I have of this behavior. After the hug, if the other hens were all safe, she’d hop into my lap for a snooze while I pet her keel.
My heart fell earlier this year when she started to show signs of egg peritonitis. We took her to the vet and were able to do several successful procedures to help her, including rounds of medication. Still, her body was failing and her genetics were working against her, as she came from a commercial hatchery where volume takes precedence over health; a rant for another time.
I couldn’t let one of my closest friends suffer. After it was determined by two vets that there was no hope, and as her body grew more and more tired, I took her. While in the waiting room, early morning sunbeams swept in through the large windows and I set her down in them, hoping she had enough energy to enjoy it. Sunbathing was her favorite activity, after snuggling. She was weak, but she quickly assumed the sunbathing position and made soft contentment noises. She ate a pile of mealworms with great gusto with sun-bathing breaks. We saw our vet soon after and I said goodbye to one of my best feathered friends.
Photos are captioned, but if you can’t the captions:
Moa, 3 days old.
A painting I did of Moa, larger than life.
My big lady.
Moa was kind and matronly to the other chickens.
Moa loved to snuggle.
Moa and myself. She was always with me, every day.
Moa would touch her face against mine. She never pecked me. (note: I knew Moa very well and trusted her, but please use care as chickens can accidentally harm you if they get curious, especially around eyes)
Big lady Moa in my lap.
Moa’s last car ride. She had to hug me the whole time. (I was a passenger)
Leaving this earth on a sunbeam. This was before the vet saw us, she’s just sunbathing happily.
