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.
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.
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Glad to hear from you, but criticisms will be ignored. It's the beauty of the web. I will answer all friendly remarks. Buck handles the rest.