LiLi (莉莉) passed away today. He was my favorite chicken. He was seven years old and among the first seven straight-run chicks I got from a local farm, beginning my journey of raising backyard chickens. LiLi was incredibly sweet when little; he would follow me around, flapping his tiny wings. Though I hoped every chick would become a hen, LiLi turned out to be a rooster—a beautiful one at that: His shiny black plumage shimmered with reddish and golden streamers, and his opulent peacock-green tail feathers made him a sight to behold.
LiLi was a great rooster. Always energetic, alert, and attentive with his ladies. At the slightest fuss, he was the first to respond, darting across the yard like a little guardian. He ruled my tiny backyard farm, witnessing every struggle I faced as I learned to raise chickens. That’s not to say he wasn’t bossy—if he wasn’t happy, he let me know. He would peck at my shoes or pants if the water supply was lacking or if, in his opinion, I hadn’t “ordered” the right weather for them.
I never imagined my backyard farm without LiLi until things took an unexpected turn recently. I had a younger rooster growing up in the flock whom I was reluctant to “take care of”. LiLi wasn't happy about this, but for a long time, he easily kept the younger one in his place without being aggressive. Last week, when I opened the coop one day, LiLi wouldn't come out—very unusual for him. I checked on him—he seemed fine, just lacking his usual energy. By Saturday, when I had more time with them, I realized LiLi was afraid of the young rooster. A fight must have happened, and LiLi had lost. At seven years old—elderly in a chicken's world—he refused to go near the younger rooster, barely ate or drank, and seemed deflated. I separated him and another old hen (his best friend Turkey, who was also from my original flock of seven and whose many stories I could tell another day) in the greenhouse, thinking they could keep each other company away from the new alpha rooster.
It worked well at first. Yesterday, when I got home early, I opened the fence gate, did some gardening in the front yard, and let everyone roam. To my surprise, LiLi ventured to the front yard terraced garden, even though the young rooster was there. Looking back, I can’t shake the eerie feeling—Did he know it would be his last time looking over the farm he’d spent his entire life on and ruled for so many years? Ah, I need a napkin.
When I noticed LiLi outside, the young rooster was already attacking him, and LiLi was crying with low yelping sounds. I quickly intervened, heartbroken to see my king of the flock being bullied. I carried him to the very front of the yard and away from the other chickens—something he never would have tolerated before, too proud to be handled. But now he let me. He felt surprisingly light. He just stood there for a long time. When I finished my garden work, I knelt beside him, meeting his eyes. I love you regardless, I told him. It’s okay not to be the alpha rooster. Let’s just enjoy retirement.
Today seemed like any other day. Before work, I settled LiLi and Turkey in the greenhouse again. The greenhouse was fully enclosed; it never occurred to me it might be unsafe. I came home around 4:30, happily thinking they could enjoy some free-range time. Maybe LiLi would cheer up if we gardened again. Maybe he'd enjoy the muffin I'd brought from work.
When I reached the greenhouse, I was stunned to find a juvenile Cooper's hawk trapped inside. I couldn't see any chickens from outside and hoped they were hiding. Not wanting to open the greenhouse alone, I called Alex for help. Neither of us could figure out how the hawk had gotten in. Though I deeply dislike hawks for obvious reasons, I understand it's their instinct to hunt, and I shouldn't harm them. Eager to check on my chickens, we opened the door to let the hawk out. I asked Alex to check on LiLi—I couldn't bring myself to do it. And LiLi wasn't okay.
Just hours ago, I was telling Lee and Abraham over lunch about LiLi—how sad I was that he was aging and no longer the alpha, what I could do to help him overcome his depression, and how life is ephemeral.
How life is ephemeral!
Alex gently suggested that perhaps LiLi was already sick. Maybe that explained his weight loss and why he lost the fight. Maybe this was a gentler way to go. Maybe LiLi fought the hawk. Maybe he protected Turkey (she survived) from harm. Whatever happened, I just hope it wasn't painful.
I hold an image in my mind's eye: LiLi and I sit side by side on my terraced garden, watching the sunset; the garden glows contentedly; I offer him a peach; he takes a bite; there's a basket full of peaches beside us; we just sit there, happy. I promise you, LiLi, that I'll care for this little garden; I'll grow plenty of food for your flock; I'll treat them all with respect and care. I wish I could have done more for you. I loved you.
Life is ephemeral. LiLi, I promise you that I will not waste any more of it.