If I was at home

by Abigail (Abby)
(South Africa)

Always in my heart honeypie♡

Always in my heart honeypie♡

My baby chicken Thomas was a rescued chicken. (Thomas Butterscotch acutally as I couldn't tell if my chick was male or female)

My 2 cats (mother is Katniss and son is Citroën) like to hunt and catch lizards and all sorts. They had caught this baby chicken out of no where. I'm pretty sure he came from a neighbor somewhere. They said he was a day old.

I made him comfy and cared for the little gash on his wing the cats made and it healed over the weeks. He grew strong and healthy. Naughty too. He was trained and would fall asleep snuggling against my chest, wrapped in my robe. He would jump up on the sofa like a little puppy and sleep next to me. If one of my A4 papers fell him and I had a chase to see if I can get this A4 page from a baby chicken.

He had mealworms and sometimes some Whiskas wet cat food (not in chicken flavor!) But he had a few cubes. In fact I was awakened rather rudely by him if he didn't get his little treat in the morning. Let's just say he was a very spoilt chicken - but not to the extreme. Yes, I did take his bowl away when his crop looked full.

I'd had him for about 9 or 11 weeks, until today. I had left to do my driver's test (I should mention I'm 18 and a complete animal lover. If it wasn't for my dad pushing for me to study to become a psychiatrist I'd probably have chosen veterinary studies).

Anyway - I unfortunately had to wait in a line for 2 and a half hours. I know if I had gone home, I would have been able to save him. My staff stopped by my car when I drove in and I looked at them and my one domestic worker said "I'm sorry Abby, I've killed your baby".

I ran to my bedroom and to my shower. I keep him in there with his little box to sleep in to be sure the cats don't get him. He runs around when I'm at home and can watch him. He was laying there on his side with dark blue/black colored eyelids.

I broke down. That is my baby. I treat all my animals like human children. I asked what happened and she said that she went in there to clean and she couldn't find him. She opened the shower up and he was behind his box, already dead.

I asked her to show me what she used to clean with and she picked up a bottle of Jeyes fluid... after I forbid them from even looking at that detergent! I have warned them how poisonous it is and it will kill my cats.

I got one of my family members to sit them down and ask them to be honest and to say if they stepped on Thomas or maybe put his box down on him. They said no and gave the same story.

My nanny cried to me and apologised for using the detergent. I forgave her because life is short.

I should mention I lost my brother in front of me when I was 12. He died on a motorbike outside of my house. I live in South Africa still, even after it happened. He was 22 so he was just visiting me and now because of that everything I get attached to, I just can't lose.

Thank you for reading my story about Thomas. He is buried now in the garden and I know he's happy in animal heaven.

I don't care what anyone says, animals have feelings and love you back just like a human loves another human.

Animals are the same as human children ♡

Comments for If I was at home

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So sorry, Abby.
by: Cath

What a heart-rending story, Abby, but a beautiful tribute to Thomas. He was a lucky chicken to have you as his owner, even though it was only for such a short time.

You must be devastated, particularly after the loss of your brother. What an awful thing to happen to him, and to you. I can understand how any loss would feel particularly hard to deal with, after that.

I hope you're happy in your career as a psychiatrist. I feel for you. I always wanted to be a veterinarian, too, but my mother wanted something different for me. I was not strong enough to tread my own path and I have regretted it ever since.

Respect your dad - but try to make choices which will make you happy. After all, just like chickens, we only have one life.

Sending you thoughts and hugs in your loss.

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