When I first entered one of the sheds at Buckeye Egg Farm and glanced down the first dark row of battery cages, I noticed something on the floor. When I pointed my light in that direction, I saw what appeared to be a dead hen lying in a pool of her own feces. She had escaped from the confines of her cage and was left without any access to water. Her body was small, featherless, and limp. Her comb was colorless. I bent down to pick up her lifeless body and realized that she was still warm and she began to move slightly when I touched her. I was horrified to discover that she was still alive. I immediately carried her to the end of the row, held her on my lap, and offered her water. She was to weak to lift her head up on her own, so I gently dribbled some water down her beak with a dropper. Her pale eyes slowly opened and she began to drink. She was severely dehydrated and had acute diarrhea. Seeing her accept the water gave me hope that she may make it out of this living hell alive. She was covered in her own wet feces and the smell of death clung to her body.

We carried her out of the shed and cared for her. The following morning, she died. We will miss Lucy. She’s just one of the countless victims of the egg industry. At least she received love and care as she spent her last hours wrapped in a warm blanket, breathing fresh air, instead of dying alone in her own excrement on the cold, hard, dirty floor of Buckeye Egg Farm.

Every day, thousands of hens are left to die from disease or sent to the slaughterhouse only to be killed and ground up for whatever meat is left on their poor sick bodies.