Chicken of Doom

Bette has survived the attack of 8 days ago, and today she decided to lie down outside the coop for a change.  I'm not certain if it's because she has been ostracized by the others, for she has not rejoined the flock, and nobody speaks to her except to say unpleasant things.
Mostly they seem to pretend she isn't there.
Nobody wants to be reminded of infirmity or decline, even a chicken.
A friend of mine died of cancer nearly 11 years ago, but for the 18 months prior to her death, her life changed in ways she had not anticipated.  People treated her as though she were already dead when she was still busy fighting for her life.
"You still here?"  seemed to be the general tone.
At funerals I have noticed there are the groups divided by time, and if illness or hospice was involved, someone who was part of the end of life care gets up and speaks about the departed... such a contrast with the stories of childhood friends or mid life associates.
A little over a week ago, Bette was the alpha hen, perched at Buck's side, pointing her beak in the direction of any one thinking they could move up in the pecking order at her expense.  Now she is a different person.  Whatever happened when that predator took a bite out of her, took a bite out of her spirit.  She no longer confidently struts down the days of summer with sparkling eye.  Buck has 4 ladies left to follow him around like talkative ornaments, but the number one wife is left alone to heal by herself.
 I don't know if she's going to make it.  I was hopeful because she laid an egg this week, but then it disappeared. Did she eat it?  She has lost heart and is despondent.  There isn't anything I can do for her.

Day 4...

Bette still won't come out of the cat box, but she is, at least, still alive and taking in water and a little food.
I suppose I didn't want to take her to the avian specialist who had no idea what sort of chicken Buck was [Maran] and wanted to put him on antibiotics for making growling noises.  It's true that he used to develop an asthmatic wheeze after attacking the broom or the pillow, or me, but now he has calmed down to the extent that he rarely  gets that upset.
This morning, everyone was vocalizing with gusto, so I expected the worst.  I thought somehow they had discovered that one of their number was dead in the nest and were horrified, but it was really just my fear of finding her dead.  Other than seeing that she has clean shavings, water and food, I don't know what to do except wait.  She'll get better, or she won't, but I'm not taking her to a vet to have him tell me to kill her.  
What I have noticed is that killing chickens seems to be the standard treatment for anything troublesome, which I suppose is how one might view a commodity.  Though my chickens aren't commodities, they require a fair amount of attention if I want to keep them out of the jaws of the residents in my area who believe them to be.
Dwarf bears, giant weasels and such will have to be more efficiently blocked from getting even one more egg, but for now I  don't know anything about how to help a chicken recover from  a partial mangling.
 If I had known how much death was going to be involved in having chickens  to manage the tick population, I'm not certain I would have let myself get talked into it.  But they're here now, and in lieu of a social life, feel like friends.
 I'd better get it together and be a better friend to them.  Maybe a chain link fence with a top, something a raccoon absolutely can't get past.

Near Death Experience

It's rarely a good idea to appreciate the lack of upheaval and disturbance here because the very act of gratitude awakens the coyote gods and nudges them into action.
Last night, I had been stricken with some kind of illness and after expressing it, fell asleep, to awaken after dark to screaming.
By the time I got my arthritic self to the door, turned on the light and made my way out into the yard, it was clear that one of my chickens was being hauled away into the woods.
I'm assuming that she was meant as a practice kill for some kits, or puppies or other young, because she was alive and alone when I found her, but extremely freaked out, yelling and ruffled.
I really have no business being responsible for any life forms at all, I don't seem to be able to stay focused on their safety long enough to keep them alive.
Today, Bette is refusing to leave the coop, not that I blame her, and Buck has plenty to say to me about dereliction of duty.
There have been nights when I have gone to a movie, and the electric door hasn't worked, [ I've pretty much given up on finding a timer that does]  and have returned home around 10 to find nothing worse than a stolen egg or 2.
There were 2 chickens that vanished mysteriously last summer, shortly after they came here, and one that died from a cough.   Otherwise, I've been fortunate in a low death rate.  
Buck has probably kept things together in large part because he never sleeps on the job during the day.  I am trusted to keep away the owls, the raccoons, the fisher cats, the coyotes during the night.  I failed last night.
 I hope that Bette gets through this.  I picked her up and examined her carefully and found no external damage beyond feather loss, I'm not really sure what I should look for.  No broken wings or legs, and she would probably not have stopped shrieking if she were in pain.
I am getting to the point of feeling certain that though I enjoy having these avians wandering around in my life, begging at the window, trying to find ways into the house, lounging on the deck and having their ongoing chat nearby, I'm really not a farmer.