Mogwai

In May 2013, I visited a broiler chicken shed in Victoria. Broiler chickens are raised for meat and are killed at 5-7 weeks old. When I walked into this particular shed I was greeted with the usual sea of white broiler chickens. Their huge bodies at only a few weeks old all crammed in together with their tiny faces holding their big eyes that looked at me in fear. In amongst those thousands and thousands of white faces was a little black chicken. Broiler chickens are meant to be white. Selective breeding over decades has seen them become a dominantly white chicken. This black chicken was one out of the box, a freak, like a different breed. I walked away without rescuing this little chicken, but thought of him for the next few weeks.

Black little Mogwai in the broiler chicken farm.

When he was finally rescued, he was taken out of that shed with two friends who were equally strange in broiler chicken terms. They were both grey chickens. All three fat, sweet little babies came to live with me. I named the black chicken “Mogwai”, and the two grey chickens “Colonel Eagle” and “Hedwig”. The three were the best of friends, never going anywhere without each other. As they grew, I noticed that both Mogwai and Eagle were roosters and huge magnificent roosters they turned out to be.

Mogwai and Eagle

Mogwai and Eagle were the best of friends, they took comfort and protection in each other and chatted to each other all day long. The morning that we found Eagle dead from heart related issues was indeed a sad one for us, but a it was a tragedy for Mogwai. Mogwai didn’t really want to be friends with the other chickens. Hedwig would visit him every now and again, but as Mogwai moved into teenagehood he became very aggressive towards the hens. Hens would run into his chicken coop and Mogwai would run out from a nesting box to grab them. This is how he got the nickname “Monster Mogwai”. He wasn’t inherently mean, he was just a young rooster trying to find his place and trying to figure out how to be a rooster. Before this beautiful boy could grow into the amazing rooster he was meant to be, he died. He died from what all broiler chickens die from. They always die from issues directly related to the sizes of their bodies. Mogwai’s heart would have given out.

Magnificent Mogwai

At only 7-8 months old, he left this world, but at least he left the world knowing what the sky looked like, knowing how the dirt felt through his feathers and at least his body wasn’t eaten by someone who didn’t care about him in the slightest.

The last photo I took of Mogwai

Fly free beautiful big boy.

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