Colonel Eagle

In a sea of 60,000 white baby broiler chicks (chickens bred for meat) stood Colonel Eagle. His beautiful grey feathers shone out against the white chickens like a beacon in the ocean. At one week old he was already huge. You see, broiler chickens are chickens selectively bred for meat. The are selectively bred to grow as huge as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. Broiler chicks are roughly picked up from inside the sheds at between 5-7 weeks old, thrown onto a truck and sent to be slaughtered. So, when you are buying your chicken breasts, kfc or roast chicken for dinner, keep in mind that that individual bird was a terrified baby who only wanted some safety and love from a mother figure, but was denied it.

The farm that Eagle was rescued from.

Colonel Eagle was rescued from that Gippsland broiler shed in June 2013. He was rescued with two other chicks who were equally odd coloured. Mogwai, who was black and magnificent looking and Hedwig, who was also grey. These three little babies came to live at Lefty’s Place and formed such a tight friendship. Every day, you could see them bathing together and sunbaking together. Best friends forever.

As the weeks went by, all three began to grow enormous. At two months past slaughter age Colonel Eagle was already having problems standing. His body was so huge that his legs were starting to give out when he stood up.

He was such a sweet boy. He was never afraid of me and would run up to me for a pat. He was just a little baby trapped in a giants body and all he wanted was comfort and safety.

I watched as he became bigger and bigger and knew he wouldn’t last out the week…and he didn’t. August 26, 2013 was Eagle’s last day on this earth. He’d only just turned 4 months old. He was affectionate, sweet and gentle. He closed his eyes when you scratched him under his chin. He felt safe in my presence. He was practising his crowing in the form of gurgles. He died because he was bred as a meat machine, but he was one of the rescued lucky ones. He never had to die in that factory farm because his legs wouldn’t carry him to the feeders or waterers. He never got picked up by his legs and thrown into the transport truck and he never had to experience the terror of slaughter. All those things I am grateful for. He was not a piece of meat. He was a very special and unique individual. Like they all are. Please don’t eat them.

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