One of our turkey poults died and, for the first time, I was upset by a livestock death.
The poults were big enough that we put them in the all-purpose poultry pen, which had been vacated by the ducks a week earlier. We’d cleaned out the house and the sheltered area under it, but the duck pool was still there, and we planned to take it out and fill in the hole. As a temporary measure, we covered it with a piece of plywood.
The plywood wasn’t quite big enough, and one edge of the pool was exposed. Both Kevin and I, independently, saw it, understood the hazard, and made a mental note to empty the pool and fill in the hole as soon as possible.
But we didn’t do it and, yesterday, one of the poults drowned.
Anyone who keeps any kind of livestock is prepared to lose some. There are predators, there are diseases, there are accidents. But this was just rank stupidity. Terrible management. We were careless and negligent. We understood the danger and didn’t do anything about it. This bird died because we failed it.
Over the two years we’ve been doing this, I’ve accustomed myself to the cycle of life and death, and life again. But the idea that I killed an animal by carelessness is gut-wrenching.