chickens

Sleep tight, sweet Paisley: you've earned the quietest roost up there

In the cozy embrace of heartfelt memories, we bid farewell to our beloved Paisley—a gentle soul who brought warmth and sweetness to our lives.

3 min readchickens

There's a photo making the rounds in our little corner of the internet, a hen named Paisley, curled up in a cozy little bed, eyes closed, feathers soft. The title says she hasn't been feeling well, and mostly sleeping. And if you've ever kept chickens, you know that quiet is the loudest alarm they can sound. A sick chicken doesn't strut, doesn't scratch, doesn't peck at your shoelaces with that indignant little cluck. She just… stops. So when we saw that picture, we didn't see a peaceful nap. We saw a goodbye waiting to happen.

We've all been there, haven't we? Standing over a feathered friend who's gone still, heart hammering, wondering if you should warm up some electrolytes or just sit there and let her rest. And the truth is, sometimes there's nothing left to do but hold the space. Paisley's person did exactly that, gave her a soft spot, took a photo that said more than a thousand vet visits could, and let the world bear witness. That's not sad. That's something close to sacred. It's the part of chicken keeping nobody warns you about when you're clucking over your first batch of peeps.

If a reader came to us and asked what to do when their own hen is sleeping too much, we'd say this: trust your gut, but don't panic. A chicken that's "mostly sleeping" could be molting, egg-bound, or just having an off day after a predator scare. But if that sleep is heavy, if she doesn't perk up when you offer a worm or a scratch, if her comb is pale and her eyes are half-closed, then it's time to separate her, keep her warm, and watch like a hawk. And if she doesn't rally, know that you gave her a soft place to land. That's the whole deal. You don't fix every chicken. You love every chicken.

Paisley earned that quiet roost. No more fowl play, no more dodging your hands when you try to check her crop. Just rest. And if you're reading this with a lump in your throat, go give your own hens an extra handful of mealworms tonight, even the bossy ones, even the ones that peck your ankles. Because tomorrow isn't promised to any of us, feathered or not. And the best we can do is make sure the last thing they feel is kindness.

From chickens

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