For Minnesota grower, bird flu turns 'little piece of heaven' to hell

It looked like any typical quiet summer day earlier this week on the Bruns farm near Redwood Falls in southwest Minnesota.

For more than three decades, the family has been raising chickens on this farm called The Pullet Connection. The birds arrived newly hatched, and stay until they're ready to begin laying eggs.

Suddenly, noisy banging interrupts the sounds of nature as workers unload some blue steel boxes from a trailer. The boxes are about the size of a pair of filing cabinets and are called "kill carts."

Avian influenza struck this farm last week, even as the number of new cases started declining in the state. An egg production company owns the chickens, and pays the Bruns — Becky, her husband and her mother own the farm — to care for them.

Becky Bruns, 35, says most of the birds here have already been killed to prevent the spread of the virus. Workers have one more barn to do, about 140,000 chickens.

The "kill carts," and some nearby silver cylinders containing carbon dioxide, are the tools of the trade.

"The blue carts are what the birds are put into, and then they'll hook a hose up to the carbon dioxide tanks and fill the carts with carbon dioxide," said Bruns.

Massive bird exterminations have played out at more than 100 Minnesota farms hit by bird flu. And for the families involved, the list of losses only begins with the birds.

"This is my little piece of heaven and it's been turned into hell," said Bruns.

First came the worry, wondering if the virus would land on her farm. Next was hyperactivity, as if near constant work and sleepless nights would somehow seal off the farm's birds from the deadly virus. Sitting in her kitchen while the workers continue their preparations outside, Bruns says when the disease infected the flock anyway, the defeat released a flood of guilt and self-criticism.

"What more could I have done, where did I fail?" said Bruns.

For Bruns, the whole ordeal was made worse by what she sees as poor management of the euthanizing of her flock. She says the United States Department of Agriculture was the main culprit. Bruns is outraged that the USDA allowed one barn full of chickens to go without food for four days before they were finally killed.

"I know there's people who don't like agriculture, because they think we're abusing our animals," said Bruns. "But I care about them very deeply. And I won't allow them to be abused, and that's abuse."

Bruns says when she saw the same situation developing at her other barns, she ignored protocol. Even though she's facing months with no income, she bought feed, and made sure the birds were able to eat until they were put down.

The USDA refused an interview request, but in a statement said they are working "to improve communication and on-farm response."

"When we've got an emergency response as large as this one is, there's bound to be bumps in the road," said Steve Olson, executive director of Minnesota's major chicken and turkey associations. He's monitored the avian flu outbreak on dozens of Minnesota farms, including the Bruns operation.

"As we've encountered those, we've been able to work together with USDA," he added. "Unfortunately it doesn't always work perfectly."

Bruns calls her avian flu outbreak the second most difficult week of her life. The worst was when her son died in day care from sudden infant death syndrome seven years ago. As painful as that was, she says at least then she could picture life after his death.

She says she can't do that now.

"When this is over I'll have nothing," said Bruns. "I'll have no job. I'll have no birds. I'll have no income. I don't know what's on the other side."

The Bruns family typically gets paid when the birds move from their farm to the main company's egg-laying operation, but the birds all died before they started laying eggs. Bruns estimates that's cost the farm at least $250,000 in revenue.

She says the family hasn't decided yet whether to stay in the chicken business.