Death of a Pet

KENNY AND BLACKIE-------RIP

Five years ago, I decided my kids needed a pet. So for Easter, I bought them a pet bird. I knew it was a chicken, just not the gender. Well, we kept the bird inside constantly cleaning behind it and made sure it stayed confined to certain areas. Chickens do not make good house pets.
Anyway, he grew. Soon a comb grew on its head and we knew we had a boy. He was fun. Eventually we had to cage him because every time we tried to put him out, people tried to take him. Apparently, chickens are meant to be eaten, to not kept as pets.

So eventually we moved to an area where he could be out until the cats. Cats from all over moved into our yard. Boy was I glad he was secure in his coop. Two years ago, before Christmas we had a hard freeze, so I caged Kenny, that was his name and brought him inside. He hated the cage and would ram the door trying to open it. One night he was successful and proceeded to cluck everyone who got in his way.

His name was then changed to Dinner. And he was told, if you cluck anyone again, you're toast. He didn't get it. Because, he was a chicken, not a person for Christ sakes.

Kenny (Dinner) was cool. He crowed every morning at the crack of dawn. No one in the neighborhood seemed to know who had a pet chicken. Our neighbor once walked over and asked, “Good morning, every morning I hear a rooster. I wonder who has a rooster in the city."

I didn't answer because I didn't want to get in trouble and be penalized for housing poultry.  One day it rained and the yard flooded, so I had to be brave and take the fighting rooster to higher ground. I swear his beak was on steroids and he knew how to poke you with it.

He loved worms. I'd often buy them and just throw out a few to treat him.  One morning, I didn't hear him crow, strange. I was running late, so I didn't check. I figured maybe he was asleep. And he was, apparently he passed away. I found his body and we buried him by his favorite roost on the back yard.  That was before I met Blackie and Hershee(Hershey).

Blackie was a baby when I picked him up Christmas of 2010.  His mother was a miniature Doberman, and father unknown. He was the toughest, fightingness, most playful puppy ever. He cried the first night we got him, so the next day I picked up his brother, Hershee (Hershey).

Those two puppies fought each other all day, but at night would not sleep apart. They couldn't be together without fighting, and whined when they were apart for any amount of time. The only time they didn't whine was when they were into mischief.

They were so funny and territorial. I saw the cutest little sheep doggie pull toy. So I bought them one. The toy was bigger than both of them. Well, I put the toy in their bin. I had this big refrigerator boy that we kept them in at first because at night, they were terrors.

They did not like that guy intruding in their space. So they wrestled with that toy until they managed to rip him. I threw it out and they whined, so of course they got a new one. He met the same fate.  Soon, they were too big to keep inside so we moved them out to their own space in our back yard.

Hershey, he's quiet. He is an escape artist. One day, he got out and into the gate of the people down the street. He some how found a buddy. A giant Pitbull(Pimp) allowed him to hang with him in his yard for a day. Suffice it to say, Hershee got to visit with his new friend all day because I was not going near that house. Eventually, Pimp's owner brought Hershee home.

Now Blackie, was not quiet. If anything moved he would go after it. We had no worries about intruders. They could not get to the yard. He guarded his home. His neck got a nasty deep cut on it. I washed it. treated it and it healed, but I often wondered how he got cut.

But he didn't stop being a guard. I once drove home in a car someone let me use to run an errand and he didn't know the car. I swear, he was about to tear the gate down to stop the intruder. Until I got out and called his name. Then his tail wagged and he greeted me. A few days ago, he got out and went exploring, but my husband caught him and put him back in the yard.

I noticed that he was quieter than usual, but no one had come around so I didn't think much of it. Then today, my son walked in and said. "Oh, Blackie's dead." As if to say "It's raining.", or "I'm hungry.", or even "Can I play a game?"

I didn't believe him. Then I went to my bedroom and looked in the yard outside my window where he sleeps, and there he lay, balled in a knot, not breathing.  I didn't want to see what happened but I had to know.

His water dish was full, and food bowl was half eaten, but there was that gash back across his neck. Had I known he was hurt again, maybe I could have watched him closely, or gotten him to a vet.

I don't know. All I do know is now they are free to run, play, and chase squirrels in heaven. Will I miss them?  Yes. Do I wish I could have stopped their passing? Yes. Can I change what happened? No. So life goes on and I still have Hershee, so I'll love him and watch him more closely. He's the cutest chocolate colored baby. Even though I miss my pets, and I hope they are happy in pet heaven.