Peaches the chicken

        I want to tell you a story. A very true story that I have waited awhile to tell because we needed to get through a time of ‘mourning’ in our house. But now that life seems to be back to normal (if there’s such a thing as normal), I think I’m in the safe zone.
A few weeks ago, one of our chickens met an untimely death. Somewhat traumatic for all involved, but especially for a certain 6 year old boy. Now, my kids are not naïve to death. Unfortunately, we’ve faced it head-on a number of times, whether it be people we love or numerous animals that had become our friends. And they do realize (to some degree) that every time they eat a beloved chicken nugget or grilled chicken off the BBQ that those are, in fact, dead chickens.
But, when they become your friends, even a chicken’s passing is very hard to take. It did not die right away, and not 10 minutes had passed by and Ben had created a prayer sign-up sheet so we could all take shifts to pray for healing for Peaches. He also used color-coded markers to create a graph with sign-ups for bringing food and water. He is our problem solver and crisis manager.
Dave and I knew the chicken wouldn’t make it. But we did sign up for a shift on the prayer vigil- it was the right thing to do. The next morning, we explained that Peaches did not make it through the night. Emma and Katie seemed somewhat reflective, but then asked for Toaster Strudels and cartoons- obviously they were ok with the whole thing.
Ben immediately went and got another sheet of paper and began drawing pictures. “Are you ok, buddy?” We asked him, “What are you doing?”
“I’m planning Peaches funeral. We’ll have to have it tonight before baseball practice,“ he said with complete sincerity, “Will you be home in time to help me with the funeral, dad?” He looked up at Dave with his big brown eyes and pen poised ready to begin writing Dave’s duties for said funeral. Dave stared at him for a few seconds of uncomfortable silence- I’m assuming he was trying to choose his words carefully and remember what it felt like to be 6.
“I will be home in time,” Dave said seriously.
I forgot about the dead chicken. Until Ben got home from school and the planning commenced. By 5pm that night, he had everything ready- a table set up with a few flowers, some snacks and ice water, and he sat soberly in his black baseball pants and black underarmor shirt waiting for Dave to get home. Emma and Katie were running through the house playing hide and seek and Ben kept saying, “We need it quiet in here before the funeral.”
I was trying to occupy myself with making dinner, but it’s hard to feel sad about the chicken when you’re making chicken and rice for dinner. I maybe should have thought that one out a little better. Finally Dave got home and we all filed out into the backyard.
A hole had already been dug and Peaches lay wrapped in an old towel with just her head sticking out. Dave said, “Ben, why don’t you lay Peaches in the hole now.”
“Wait, dad,” he said quickly, “I need one more picture with her to remember her by.” He gently picked her up. Dave and I exchanged confused glances and I just shrugged my shoulders, mostly just wanting to get this over with. Dave pulled out his phone and said, “Ok, one picture.” I expected a picture with a somewhat somber tone, but Ben smiled his biggest smile while holding that dead chicken up in the air. I sincerely hope he doesn’t ask for that one to be framed.
Then, as he went to lay the chicken in the hole, he flipped it over and her other eye was wide open. “She’s ALIVE!” screamed Katie at the top of her lungs. Emma started jumping up and down yelling, “She’s not dead, Ben!” All chaos broke loose as Ben quickly set her on the ground to investigate. “Dad, her eye is open! I think she made it!” Darn freaky chicken eye. Dave quickly de-escalated the situation by explaining, once again, that the chicken was indeed dead.
We buried her and then stood around in awkward silence. I could tell the girls were bored with this whole situation, and we needed to move on. I was just about ready to say dinner was ready when Ben said, “Now we can each say a memory or a little prayer.” I could feel the giggles welling up inside me, but there was no way I was letting them out. Emma and Kate both said a little prayer, and I’m pretty sure Katie’s included, “Thank you God for this food” but I’m not entirely sure. I was just trying not to lose it. When Dave’s turn came, he just seriously said, “I’ll pass on this one”. Ben took a big deep breath and said, “Ok, I guess I’ll pray then.” He bowed his head down and this is what he said: “Thank you God for Peaches, she was a very fun chicken to play with. We will miss her and we are all heartbroken.”
I couldn’t stop it from coming. A giggle escaped my lips and I quickly put my hands to my face to muffle it. Ben looked up fast and I dipped my head down. He came over and grabbed my hand, “Now mom’s crying.” He said to Dave. Dave took off for the house and barely got the slider door closed before he started laughing. “Where’s dad going?” He asked seriously.
“I think Dad just needs some time alone,” I managed to say through my hands that were still covering my face.
Ben seemed satisfied that we were all feeling so much emotion. “The funeral is over now,” he said, “thank you for coming.”
We went about our business as usual the rest of the night. Dave and I waited till about 11pm that night to really laugh about the whole thing. And the question still remains- How long is too long to keep a picture of a dead chicken on your phone? In the weeks since this dramatic event, life has gone back to normal. And just so you know- we have a new chicken to take Peaches place, and her name is Little Chocolate Campfire. And don’t ask - I have no idea why that’s her name.