Yoko lived and died with her foot on the gas pedal. We cannot forget what a character she was. She was the first one up each morning, the first one to push her way through the enclosure gate to get to the worms in the garden, and the last one to bed each night: and even then she would push her way in to get to the best spot on the perch between her sisters who had got there first.
She loved the chickweed in our garden, and we could always rely on her to clean up in the flowerpots we would put down for her to work on. She also loved flowering plants, in particular lobelia which hung low from hanging baskets and bags. It was not uncommon to see her crouching low, getting ready to spring a jump up to the hanging plant in order to get a good chunk from it.
She was also a very independent hen. She had the courage of Chelle, but not the morals, and it didn’t bother her to use violence on her sisters to get her own way. She wouldn’t be afraid to push the boundaries as far out as she could, knowing that the worst that could happen would be a stern (and ineffective) telling off as she was being carried back into the enclosure to have some time to think about what she’d done.
 Bare chested – one of her moults |
She has moulted three times in the three years she’s been with us, and each time when it’s been really cold. (All the other hens have moulted just the once.) During her moult, she would appear weak, and walk crouching low like a cat. She didn’t like being touched, let alone being picked up, but she didn’t mind Penny grooming her and removing the very light wrappings on her new feathers. She would always recover magnificently.
The day that she died was not a normal day. She was the last one out of the enclosure, which meant that something was not right at all. She had been weak and poorly for over a week, and we had increased the treatment (apple cider vinegar, live yoghurt and spice) we had been giving her, but as she hadn’t improved, we phoned the vet to make an appointment for Yoko. The earliest appointment was at 11.50 that morning, so we took that. At 11.20 Daniel prepared a box with a towel ready in the garage, and then went to bring her in to settle her in.
 Typical Yoko ‘tude’ - eyeing up some flowers |
Suddenly she stiffened and started vomiting. Quite a lot of fluid came out, as Daniel held her head forward to assist in the flow. He held her against his body as more clear fluid came out of her beak. She struggled weakly, flapping her wing as the colour in her comb and wattles turned a purplish red. She had stopped breathing, so the only thing that Annette could think of doing was to blow some air into her lungs. This revived her for a few seconds, but then she went into another spasm, struggling to breathe, and this time just died there and then very quickly. It was no more than 30 seconds from the time she stopped vomiting and started to struggle until the time she died. It was over very quickly, and so unexpectedly. There was not a gentle ebbing of life – there was only the on and off switch. Poor Yoko.
Daniel felt that we should still take her to the vet, if only for a diagnosis, in case it was infectious. In the waiting room at the vet’s clinic, a fluffy old woman breezed in and announced her arrival to the receptionist who told her quite soundly that she was over an hour late for her 10.50 appointment. Her blasé response of: “Oh we couldn’t find the cat” incensed me to smouldering point. I spent the whole of the waiting time glaring at her across the waiting room. Yoko could have had that 10.50 slot, and perhaps it would still have been too late to save her, but we will never know. We do know though, that to behave like a bitch in a manger with your appointment is unforgivable.
The vet who saw Yoko was not the same vet who saw Henrietta, and was a bit vague as to the cause of Yoko’s death. She said that she would call back on Monday with a more detailed analysis, but as she hasn’t done so yet, we do not know what caused Yoko’s death, but she did die from a heart attack. Knowing Yoko, that is exactly how she would like to have gone, if we couldn’t organise her being shot as a freedom fighter.