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Amy Pond

Amy lived like this for the first 16 months of her life. She could barely move. She couldn’t stretch her wings. All she could feel beneath her was the wire cage. One crisp night in April, 2013 changed all this for her forever.

We rescued 17 hens that night and Amy was one of them. It’s usually the hens in the worst conditions that we pick and Amy was completely featherless, so she drew the lucky straw. How we wish we could take them all. There is nothing that rips my heart out more than leaving the others behind. I think about them when I’m falling asleep at night. I think about them when I watch my beautiful, lucky girls enjoying their freedom. I can’t forget them, unlike the egg demanding public who don’t give one thought about hens when they pick up their eggs in the supermarket.

Amy was carried out of the factory farm and driven to her new home. The following days were filled with new experiences like walking, seeing the sky, flapping her wings, dust bathing and having the freedom to choose what to do. She was rescued with three other hens who she still lives with today – Honks, Elliot and Matilda.

Amy was fierce from the get go. In her face was a fire that none of the other girls had. Amy is a dominant hen. She tells others where they stand in the flock and sticks to her guns. Amy doesn’t really have close friends, she’s too busy being a boss to be chums.

I first thought her name could be Vyvyan after Vyvyan in the Young Ones, because she just oozed punk attitude, but in the end we ended up naming her “Amy Pond” after a fiery, red haired character in Dr Who.

Amy was lucky. She got out.

There’s millions of girls standing on wire in a tiny cage right now who are suffering so intensely. All you need to do to free them from this is stop eating eggs.

Please don’t use my images without permission. All images are Copyright Tamara Kenneally

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Elliot

In April 2013, we walked into one of the most disgusting farms we’d ever been too. Dead hens in most cages. Bald, terrified hens looking out at us with sad, scared, pleading and angry eyes. Dust from the bones of the dead in piles on the floor. Amongst these 80,000 girls in this one shed was Elliot. She was lifted out of that cage and taken away from that place of misery and death.

With three other hens who we rescued that night, I put her into her new straw bed at my home. The next morning I watched as she looked to the sky for the first time and felt the dirt under her feet. The first time battery hens get a chance to eat grass, their little eyes light up like the sun. Elliot was so excited by grass and she started talking about it and from then on she never stopped talking. We named her “Elliot Reid” after a character in the tv show, “Scrubs” because she talked so much and was just a little bit crazy.

Elliot had absolutely no feathers and had the look of a sick chicken about her. She slept far too often and we soon realised that her health problems were all egg related. Elliot was laying eggs without shells and ended up developing egg yolk peritonitis. This is a serious infection where the egg yolks and whites are trapped in the hens body and infects them until they die. In farms, hens with egg yolk peritonitis are just left to die. This is how much the farmers care for these girls. They are only seen as money and their suffering does not mean a thing to them. Elliot was taken to vet(s) and was treated for her infection. She had a hormone chip inserted into her neck which saved her life and stopped her laying eggs. Once Elliot’s body was free from producing an egg a day, she flourished into the most beautiful, plump fluffy hen in the world. Laying one egg per day strips hens of vital vitamins and minerals they need to stay healthy. When they don’t produce eggs anymore, all those vitamins and minerals get to stay in their bodies and keep them healthy.

Elliot’s nicknames were “Lady Kluck” and “The Fat One”, both these names directly related to a character in Disney’s version of “Robin Hood”. Madame Cluck is a chubby chicken character who is feisty and chatty and runs like a rugby player, just like our Elliot was. Elliot was a big talker and loved her fruit. She talked back to you all the time. Always complaining and she always had something to say. Elliot was like an elderly lady who was outraged at everything and wanted to constantly write to the council to complain.

Elliot knew her name. She often replied to the call of her name in outrage, she didn’t like being told what to do. She replied in a tone that said “Yes, I am Elliot. What is it you want? I am outraged you are calling me when I am so very busy. Outraged!”. This girl was a crack up!

And to think she was just another number, just another egg machine.

She was so, so much more than that.

We lost the hilarious and beautiful Elliot on the morning of January 6, 2016. Here is the tribute I wrote for her:

Today I am grateful. I am grateful that I knew this lady for 2 years and 9 months. I am grateful we took her out of that cage. I am grateful I got to know her odd ways and quirky character. I am so grateful I learnt how she loved exotic fruits and chillies. I am very grateful that I heard her voice calling back in outrage every time I called her name. I am so grateful I have the memory of her big boned, beautiful body running to me whenever she thought I had something delicious.
I put Elliot to bed last night with the knowledge that she wasn’t feeling well. She took ill at about 7pm. I gave her pain relief, antibiotics and a fluid injection to help her night be more comfortable. She refused to sleep in the bed inside and wanted to be with her family. I found her dead this morning in her bed. She chose her time and she chose to leave with her family. What more could I ask for these beautiful girls who are so mistreated in this world. I wish with all my heart these hens could live longer, it seems so criminal that their bodies just cannot go on for much longer than a few years after rescue.
I love these chickens and I constantly lose these chickens. Why do I continue to do it? I don’t know sometimes, but that little permanent chip in my heart every time I lose a girl is worth the years of joy they brought to my life and the years of freedom they had.

Please don’t use my images without permission. All images are Copyright Tamara Kenneally

Honks

She came from this egg farm.

She was featherless, emaciated and so very angry. She’d lived in that place for nearly 18 months. That night, I took her and three of her friends home. Two months later, this entire shed was sent to slaughter at only 18 months old. They were denied of food for up to two weeks and then ripped out of their cages and sent to their deaths. Honks was so lucky to escape this fate. When I brought her home that morning at 6am and put her in the chicken coop, she attacked me with such ferocity that she drew blood from my hands. Her anger at the world had taken her over. She hated me, she hated the other chickens. She pecked all the other girls in the head often and would pull their feathers out.

After she began to realise that she would always have her freedom, she calmed down. We initially named her “Regina George” after a character in the movie, “Mean Girls” because she would be quite mean to the other chickens, but her name naturally changed as she began to calm down and become her true self. We called her Honks because of how she talks, she didn’t chirp, she honked.

Honks was a determined girl who didn’t let anyone get in her way. She had chickening business to do every day and she started work early and finished late. The first chicken at a new patch of dirt was Honks. The first girl to find the bugs was Honks. The first girl to grab the lettuce was honks. The first girl everywhere was always Honks. She took care of business. She had goals and tasks in mind and she completed them all every single day. She knew her name and honked back at you when you said it. To imagine Honk’s frustration and anger being locked in a cage for so long makes me worry for the hens she was locked in a cage with. She would’ve taken her anger out on those hens.

Honky earned the nickname of “Queen Honky” because she ruled the flock. She was like a surrogate rooster to our special needs flock. She was always on the lookout for predators and would call everyone when there was food to be had. She wasn’t a mean flock leader, but she was strict and knew the boundaries she needed to give to the others.

In November 2014, Honks became ill. She developed very serious egg issues and somehow broke one of her wings. She had her wing strapped for many weeks and had a hormone implant inserted to stop her laying eggs. She got over this and forged on ruling the special needs flock in only the golden way Honky could.

August 2015 saw Honky developed egg yolk peritonitis. She had surgery for it and we nursed her for 7 weeks. She fought so hard and wanted to live so desperately. She would get better and then get worse again. I had her back to the vet and tried so many things to help her recover. At 6am on September 29, 2015, I walked in the room to see her standing up in her bed and eating. I gave her a quick cuddle and asked her how she was. I walked out of the room and then walked back in ten minutes later and she was gone. Her golden light that had burnt so brightly had gone out.

Such a determined girl, maybe I’ll never know another hen quite as determined as her. The boss lady with work to do every day. As the years went by, her anger mellowed and her big heart shone through.

About an hour or so after we buried her, I lent in to the coop awkwardly and (albeit crudely) wrote this on the perch. This was Honky’s spot. This will always be Honky’s spot. She was fiercely protective about her sleeping spot. She never left anyone else sleep on her spot and I think she’d be happy that it will always be known as her spot. Honky’s spot.

If only all chickens could leave the earth being so loved and not being hidden away from view. If only.

We didn’t want to imagine our world without this strong, independent, intelligent, hard working, soft on the inside, golden haired hen. Now we are without her and our world is so much duller for it, but so much more golden for having known her.
She was a living example of how much we all need our freedom.

We miss her golden light so very much.

Please don’t use my images without permission. All images are Copyright Tamara Kenneally

Sophia

As we wandered through the free range egg farm, we saw many things. Injured chickens, sick chickens and then we saw Sophia trapped under a grate. Who knows how long she’d been there. This particular farm is seen as one of the best free range farms in Australia. Stuck and unable to move, unable to reach food or water, all she could do was sit there, helpless.

Free range eggs are indeed a kinder choice than cage eggs, but they are not devoid of cruelty. Hens do suffer in free range egg sheds. There are up to 60,000 hens just in one shed alone and this causes some intense fighting. Hens have an intricate social system which is based on hierarchy. When there are so many hens in one flock, the fighting for top spot is constant. Not to mention the conditions. Free range hens sleep on plastic floors and perch on metal bars. They aren’t provided with straw or anything to make their sleep or nesting times comfortable. The free range paddocks of most farms are barren squares of mud. No trees or tree stumps or rocks or anything that provides environmental enrichment to the hens at all.

Sophia was rescued from underneath that grate and went to live with her foster carer for a couple of months. She is the sweetest of hens and she has a huge sense of humour. She takes great joy in just sitting on your feet for no apparent reason. I named Sophia after Sophia Saly. Sophia Saly was a founding member of BabyTree Projects. BabyTree Projects is an organisation that gives hope and a future to children in Cambodia by building schools for them to enable them to reach for the stars in their lives. Sophia passed away in 2012 from cervical cancer. She was a beautiful soul who could always make you laugh. Her sense of humour was a light in the darkest of places. This little chicken reminds me so much of Sophia, her will to live, her love of life and her huge sense of humour.

Sophia now lives at Lefty’s Place and has the freedom to now live as she chooses.

Please don’t use my images without permission. All images are Copyright Tamara Kenneally

Pirate

After 18 months of living with 60,000 other hens at a free range egg farm, Pirate found herself watching all her shed mates being chased, caught and thrown into a truck to be taken to slaughter. Pirate hid and survived with a handful of other hens who dodged the rough hands of the workers. She found it hard to walk because her feet were encased in huge manure balls that she had picked up from the shed floor. You see, free range egg sheds have floors which have circular indentations in them to help with manure collection. The hens stand in these indents and then their feet are encased in hard manure forever more.

8web — *The farm where Pirate was found*

For the next week, she sat in that shed with 30 other hens and they all searched for food and water in desperation, but there was none left for them. They all waited in terror for the foxes to come into the open shed door at night and eat them. Pirate slowly drifted out of consciousness. She wasn’t able to see the people who came into the shed one night and rescue some of her friends. She wasn’t able to see that the next day, workers came in and broke the necks of every remaining hen they could get their hands on. She didn’t see the pile of dead, starving chickens with broken necks at the door. She didn’t see when the rescuer came back that night to save the rest of the girls, only to find most of them dead by the hands of the workers. She didn’t feel getting picked up and put in the car and she didn’t feel being put onto a comfortable bed in front of a heater. It took her carer so long to get the mounds of manure off her feet.

Pirate was so sick, it was thought she wouldn’t make it. Her amazing carer worked around the clock with this girl to help her get back to health. She had one eye that wasn’t able to open, hence her name, “Pirate”. She spent a good month recovering by the heater which earned her the nickname of “heater chicken”.

After a few months of rehabilitation at my friend’s house, Pirate came to live at Lefty’s Place. She is such a sweet little chicken who is very chatty, adores her food and really likes people.

All chickens like Pirate want is a chance to live free of fear and pain, with the choice to live as they choose. Using them for eggs and meat takes all these choices away from them. They aren’t ours to use as we please.