Thanks to quick mobilization from other Sanctuaries and activists, 230 hens escaped the wreckage—and 40 now live at our Sanctuary in New York. Like the mythological phoenix, these birds have risen from the flames to start life anew.

In an ironic twist of fate, this tragedy helped save their lives. The hens are all Red Stars: a type of chicken bred for high egg production. They lay more eggs than their wild ancestors—up to 360 eggs per year, compared to the junglefowl they descend from, who may only lay 15 to 20 eggs in that time. This is obviously great for the egg industry, but horrible for the hens.

The unnatural spike in reproduction puts extreme stress on a chicken’s body; many develop prolapses, in which their cloaca—the posterior cavity that serves as the only opening for their digestive, reproductive, and urinary tracts—is inverted and pushed out of their body. Overproduction can also cause reproductive issues, such as cancer, later in life. This isn’t a big concern on commercial egg farms, which cull their birds after a year or two. While “layer hens” can live for five to eight years (and some can live to be over ten), most farmers slaughter birds who might otherwise be healthy once their egg production declines.

The hens came from a cage-free farm, which many believe are more “humane” than battery cage facilities. Unfortunately, their lives there weren’t that much better. Our new friends arrived debeaked: a standard procedure on all factory farms, in which farmers burn parts of these birds’ sensitive beaks—without anesthetic or pain medication—to try to prevent any fighting due to their confinement. This can also yield long-lasting repercussions, including nerve damage and difficulty eating.

In theory, “cage-free” hens should have more room than those confined to battery cages. But when hundreds of thousands are packed into a single warehouse (as they were in this case), they have little space to even stretch their wings—let alone have a clear path to escape during emergencies like this fire. In one building alone, more than 200,000 hens died; a number more than 50 times the human population of Pilesgrove, NJ, the town where the farm is located. The fire also caused a power outage on the property, shutting down the ventilation fans in a nearby barn. Sadly, another 80,000 died there from suffocation and heatstroke.

Thankfully, some of the survivors escaped relatively unscathed; others had burns to their combs, wattles, and feet, and a few hens needed oxygen for smoke inhalation. One hen, later named Rosalinda, had a piece of burnt plastic removed from her head; she, along with six others, required more intensive care once they arrived at Farm Sanctuary.

Rosalinda’s group came directly to our on-site hospital for further observation and treatment. Our caregiving team assessed each bird—gently combing through scorched feathers, checking their respiration rates, and feeling their bodies for any abnormalities.

To keep these ladies on the upswing—and prevent any secondary infections from their smoke inhalation and burns—we placed them on a round of antibiotics. Then, it all came down to time. They had arrived weary in body and spirit—exhausted and guarded from their recent trauma. But they also had each other—and huddled close in our hospital pens for comfort, they slowly began to heal.

Day by day, the hens continued to improve. Their feathers started to regrow. They raised their droopy heads to chat with one another and our caregiving staff. And soon, they were well enough to rejoin the others from their flock.

Having spent their entire lives indoors, some greeted the outside world with caution. Others took bold steps through their clean straw bedding, and into the fresh green grass like astronauts exploring the new frontier.

Chickens, by nature, are inquisitive beings—but animal agriculture curtails their most basic instincts. Confined to cramped and artificial lodgings, they grow bored and frustrated by their surroundings. At Farm Sanctuary, our new friends will spend their new lives as they please—from dust bathing, to pecking for bugs and grubs, to sunning their bodies in the fresh clean air.

The girls are a fun and outgoing bunch—each with her own unique personality, and yet intrinsically no different from those who didn’t survive the fire, or from those routinely culled by the egg industry. They, too, should have had the chance to feel the sun on their backs and the earth beneath their feet. They should also have names, friends, and lives.

Now, these rescued survivors are ambassadors for their species. In sharing their journey, we hope that people will see chickens—and the egg industry that nearly killed them—differently. Their lives were almost over by industry standards, but at Farm Sanctuary, they can finally begin.