Joan died one chilly, grey Saturday in June. Named after Joan of Arc, she was rescued from a free range egg farm on the foggy Friday night before. She was rescued from a free range farm who has the reputation of being one of the best free range farms in Australia.
Joan spent her entire (yet short) life being attacked and beaten by other chickens in a hierarchical system gone mad. There is no order when you have 60,000 chickens in one shed. Every chicken is constantly competing to be number one chicken with 59,999 other chickens. With no places to hide, life for a free range chicken is tough.
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The crux of a chicken social network is their pecking order. It is complex and incredibly important. A chicken flock is not meant to be 60,000 birds strong and because of this, fighting for top spot and being confused about who is top chicken happens all day, everyday.
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Joan tried to fight back. She was a feisty girl, she gave me some great bites, but she had absolutely no chance. She was brutalised. Her back was one huge scab. Her wings bleeding and bare. Her legs bloody. Her comb peppered with blood marks. Her body infected. She was in great pain. She just had no chance. We found her standing in the outdoor section of the free range farm in the early hours of the morning.
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She lived for 12 hours after she was rescued. She died in the warmth, full of pain killers and food and water… and full of our hope that she would make it.
The term “free range” may make you feel better about using animals, but in reality, the animals suffer just as intensively, only in a different way. Choose kindness when purchasing your food…for Joan and all the forgotten girls just like her.
Please don’t use my images without permission. All images are Copyright Tamara Kenneally