Since I started keeping chickens, I’ve been confronted with death more often than I’d like. Just last week one of my hens was killed. I wasn’t home at the time. When I came back, all that was left were feathers—so many that I figured the poor thing had been plucked before it was carried off. My husband said an eagle swooped in and got it. He claimed he ran outside too late to help. All he saw was the bird of prey taking off, flying away with the chicken in its claws. Once again, I wondered why we even bother having a dog. That lazy mutt is good for nothing—he just sleeps on the couch around the clock.
What really struck me, though, was that of all things, an “eagle” (probably more like a hawk—my husband tends to exaggerate) would be the one to grab a chicken. In all the time we’ve lived here, I’ve never once seen a bird of prey in our town—and I’m someone who often looks up at the sky to watch birds. Maybe it was just passing through?

That chicken wasn’t the only one I lost this year. Back in the spring, three others died, though only one was eaten. The other two were lying in the coop, untouched but dead. I suspect they were so frightened they literally dropped dead of a heart attack. Since it happened at night, I can’t say for sure what animal got in. It’s easy to blame a fox, but I haven’t seen one anywhere near our property in ages. My neighbor and I, however, often find traces of martens in our gardens. Another neighbor swears a raccoon tore up his vegetable patch. My husband is convinced that one night he saw the outline of something bulkier than a fox and bigger than a cat. Around that time, I also heard such strange noises outside that I started sleeping with the windows shut.

So far this year, I’ve lost four chickens. On top of that, both my grandmother and my uncle passed away within weeks of each other—without warning. 2025 feels like a year marked by death. And it’s not over yet… Here’s hoping things turn around.

On a brighter note, I’ve been both nervous and excited lately because my son is about to move out. I promised to help him find an apartment and furnish it. He should really be doing this himself, but he hasn’t had any luck. Honestly, apartment hunting has been harder than I imagined, even in a shrinking city like Cottbus. One-bedroom apartments are scarce. Roommate situations mostly want women or people over 25, and the student housing is already full. For an 18-year-old, it’s tough out there. And yet, this generation of young men is truly wonderful—so polite, helpful, and kind. My son and his friends are the kind you just want to hug all the time (if only they’d let you).

That left me no choice but to search for a regular apartment. The first time I visited Cottbus, I really liked the city, though I only saw the center. Later I realized the charming old-town marketplace is more the exception than the rule. Most of the city is made up of prefabricated concrete apartment blocks—probably 90% of it.

Concrete as far as the eye can see.

Tall blocks, low blocks, colorful ones, gray ones, buildings with glassed-in balconies and ones with regular balconies. There’s always something available. But when I was looking, the only options were three-bedroom places. I toured one (on my second trip) and what can I say? It was like stepping back in time. The place hasn’t changed since East German days—except maybe the windows. Vinyl floors, no kitchen cabinets (not even a stove), a bathtub instead of a shower, and the walls still haven’t been insulated, even though many of the buildings look decent on the outside now. I grew up in one of those blocks myself, and I even lived in one again for a year during college. Back then, I ended up paying more than a thousand euros in heating bills after just one year, and it’s not like I kept the place tropical.

Standing in one of those apartments feels like being transported back in time, as if East Germany had never fallen.

And then there’s the endless sprawl of “new housing developments.” It’s depressing to look at. I really wanted to find something nicer for my son, a place that wouldn’t weigh on him so much. But maybe he’s tougher than I am. Besides, living in such a negative example of city planning might actually help him in his studies. Now he’ll know firsthand what it’s like not only to live in a Berlin neighborhood and a typical suburban development in Brandenburg, but also in an East German city struggling with “structural change.” Hopefully, he’ll design something better one day.

MM