Animal Rescue

There is a soft place in my heart for those who participate in animal rescue. They give so much to save critters that might normally be put down or left to fend for themselves. Have you ever heard of a chicken rescue? No? Let me tell you why…true story.

In 1979, I lived in Central Illinois on a farm and our rent was paid by barter for our labor to care for animals that belonged to our landlords. Daily we fed and cared for pigs, guinea fowl, goats, sheep and rabbits. My partner at the time worked at a local hatchery to augment our meager finances and returned home one night to share his experience. It seemed the hatchery had little use for most male chicks and would cull them from the incubators, swipe them off the table and into trash cans. As those newly culled were swept into the trash, the bottom layers would eventually suffocate and die.

I was appalled at this lack of humanity and blatant wastefulness. There were families who had little or no food on the table. Male chickens deserved equality! I became indignant and felt compelled to take action. The next night we drove to the hatchery with our own trashcans, two of them and rescued forty gallons of baby roosters. (FYI – there are approximately 15 chicks per gallon. You do the math.)

Hundreds (600-ish) of chicks peeped and gasped on the quick drive home and we gently upended the trash cans to deposit our rescues in an enclosed area of the barn. Chicken feed had been purchased and we distributed the brand new feeders and water dishes throughout the area. Our babies looked so happy, so cute – and those peeps touched my heart.

The next morning my visit to the barn revealed a predator had feasted. Though taking inventory of scurrying baby chick is a near impossibility, my estimate was that we had lost several dozen at least. This would not do! These were my babies! Yes, I fully realize there is a disconnect between the concept of humanity, rescue, babies and the fact that I was thinking of each chick as a dollar sign and or dinner portion. Nonetheless, I had to save my babies!

Our farmhouse had an upstairs that had been closed of by putting a door at the bottom of the stairs, to conserve heat. We moved all of the chicks to the penthouse rooms, two bedrooms on the second floor. I trusted that the peeping would be masked by the door should our landlords come to visit, which they did on occasion. And never having raised chickens before, I could foresee no other issues.

Daily we visited the second floor, feeding and watering. And cleaning – who knew just how much chicken poo chickens could poo? Not I. But success was at hand. They were growing. Day after day after day, I diligently dealt with the foul fowl as the odor began to permeate the entire farmhouse. Still I labored for my once pathetic rescues.

Then came the morning I opened the door to find they had advanced to a new growth phase. The peeping was rather loud, I recall, as my hand turned the knob. As the door opened, the entire stairway was filled with roosters now able to fly. And fly they did. Hundreds of them. They were everywhere.

Feathers floated in the air, the overwhelming stench drifted around and the floors were covered with chickens, and quite quickly thereafter, with chicken poo. It took several hours to herd them all outside, several nights for the predators to pick them off and many days to clean. My heart was broken – my soul destroyed. I gave them everything – and they gave me...poo.

So, if you are involved in an animal rescue you have my utmost respect. I hope your experience is uplifting and touching. For me – I think I’ll pass. Or at least rescue animals that can’t fly.