Environment – Speckle the golden hen

Why did the chicken cross the road? Did she even cross the road? Was she just grazing the long acre and was too close to the edge? Whatever happened, her name was Speckle, she was our old golden hen, and on Sunday night she was found in the middle of the road down the hill. There were no visible injuries, but she was in a pile of feathers no chook could survive, an obvious victim of a high-speed car.

Most rural, as well as some urban, homes have a chook or two or few. Speckle and her sister Shy are brown shavers, good solid and easy to care for hens who have always been free range. They were both confident and sassy, beautiful to look at and in good health. They’ve been a constant feature of our garden, and regular characters in this column. Their destruction of vege and flower beds whenever they got beyond my defences was impressive. Their claws could do the damage of any hoe. They’ve long since eradicated weeds like tradescantia, and many more precious specimens besides.

They’ve been great bug controllers and soil aerators in the garden, and fun company, always keen to help with the weeding by getting underfoot. They are alarm clocks and food providers. They have been frustrating with their squawks, occasionally coming inside the house, pooping on the path. But now with Speckle gone, it’s like the character in the garden has reduced by half. Shy has never been apart from her sister, and she seems bereft. Shy has always been the noisiest of the two. Dare I say it, but I preferred Speckle, who was gentler, and would squat down for a stroke on her golden back. But now Shy is walking backwards and forwards between the front door, looking in, and the back step, gently trilling and uttering muted little clucks. Squawks that were obnoxious now sound pitiful.

Some people don’t love chooks except to eat. Not many hens are free range like ours are (were?) and the risks of caged hens being hit by a car are certainly reduced in favour of limited freedom. About 120 million chooks are killed for their meat in industrial food production in New Zealand every year. Millions more are used for their eggs and may never see the light of day unless they are some of the few lucky ones who get rehomed after they’ve outlived their maximum egg laying capacity.

Speckle died as she lived, free, with her sister by her side, in the garden she’d always known. We vowed to not get any more chooks when these two went. They are a big responsibility, and maybe it’s wrong to allow them to graze the front berm, even while I feel it’s wrong to keep them confined. But it seems like Shy needs a friend. And there are millions of needy hens who might like a home.