Matilda was the smallest of the Three Sisters and, with her glossy white on black speckled plumage, looked like a Mabel Mini-Me, not that this endeared her to the elder matriach of Cosy Coop whose one and only friend was Little Ava. Although there were times when I would see Matilda following Mabel. Perhaps a friendship was blossoming after all?
I had given Matilda, Eliza and Victoria a home last August and they had gradually settled in with the current Cosy Cottage resident bantams, Ava (who passed away earlier this year) and Mabel (who still had her antisocial moments).
Matilda was the flightiest of the girls, leading all a merry dance as we would try and coax her back into the coop. She was still not quite tamed, still a little nervous of humans, but she knew that if she waited outside the back door, sometimes with her on/off friend Eliza, she would catch the attention of one of the giants who would scatter some mealworms in her direction.
Matilda (with Eliza) waits for mealworms
While Mabel and Victoria were sulkily brooding, and Eliza joined them on and off, Matilda, like the wise Ava before her, wasn't interested in such matters. She may have laid a few eggs (including - we suspect it was her doing - tiny 'pixie eggs') but adventures were more her thing. She liked to potter and meander around the garden, sometimes by herself, sometimes with Eliza, who Matilda couldn't decide if she wanted to be a friend or not, chasing her away from the food tray and giving her a peck at bedtime.
The Three Sisters - Matilda in the middle
At these times, I was hoping she wasn't taking a leaf out of her lookalike's book.
One of Matilda's adventures nearly took a dark turn. One day I ventured into the garden to check the hens, assuming they wouldn't have gone far.
Mabel and Victoria were near the coop, as was Eliza, but Matilda was nowhere to be seen. I walked up and down the garden, from top to bottom, slowly starting to panic, thinking of tiny holes at the bottom of fence panels that the petite Matilda could squeeze through.
In the side garden, I thought to look behind the coop, and, in a large container, half covered with a lid, was Matilda, looking bemused and standing in a small puddle of water. Relieved to find her, I took the little bantam out, dried her and put her back into the coop where she nestled behind the large and warm Mabel.
I checked on her in the morning and was relieved to see her appearing normal, apparently none the worse for her traumatic ordeal.
But this reprieve didn't last long and one morning I complacently opened the coop door to see a horrific sight - Matilda lying dead in the coop. I stared, aghast, at the sight, unable to believe my eyes. I pondered if it was a fight with one of the other chickens, or if a rat had sneaked in. But there was no blood, no scars. Simon examined her body and couldn't see anything obvious. Perhaps she had something genetic, maybe a weakened immune system?
Matilda patiently waits her turn
Although leaving peacefully in one's sleep is, in my view, much preferable to suffering from an illness beforehand, the fact Matilda was so young (I had only homed her less than a year ago and she would have been under 18 months old) made me feel guilty. Did she have a good life here? Had she been lonely when the others were brooding and she was by herself? Did I always treat her with kindness, even when I thought she was being mean to Eliza? Questions, questions and a feeling of guilt that I hadn't done enough to prevent Matilda's death or that I lacked somehow in giving her a happy life.
So while I like to think of Matilda enjoying new Rainbow Bridge adventures with Little Ava, I try to learn from her sudden death. Life is short, and for some, much shorter than for others. So for that short duration, it's best to try to remember compassion towards our fellow beings, human and animal.
No comments:
Post a Comment