A friend of mine said she really felt that chickens were the Devil's pets. I thought that at least biblically it was goats, but goat aficionados tell me that goats are smarter, sweeter, nicer and more useful than chickens. I have only the experience of my brother's neighbors keeping goats many years ago, so my response is that chickens smell better than goats.
But I'm getting off the track.
This morning I awoke with the hope that today the chicken saddle would arrive in the mail. I wanted to buy one [they are cheap] before I try to make one and get it all wrong.
One of the three new girls has been a target of aggression on the parts of Buck's Ladies, and possibly, though I hope not, the other two girls who came with her. Somebody didn't like the angle of her beak before she got here, because she was missing her feathers on a 14" square area of her back, and her wings had been partially stripped. No pictures of this. Not charming.
Now that the electric door is working, I can sleep a bit, but I still go out and check on everyone first thing, make sure they have decent amenities and collect eggs. This morning I found Bibs with blood all over her lower back and tail and a drop of blood above her beak.
She resisted being scooped up. I stalked her around the garden for a few minutes until she was addled enough to go into the fenced in part of the garden where she was less successful in evading the towel.
I brought her in, speaking encouraging words to her, put her in the tub and cleaned off her skin as carefully as possible, put some crushed comfrey leaf on her wounds and wrapped her up again. I do not know if anything I'm doing is right. I wasn't encouraged by the vet's lack of knowledge and resorting to the usual doctor trick of giving me anti-biotics to feed a chicken, so I'm just trying to do what is logical. The next problem presenting itself is how to keep the other chickens from killing her, so she is going to stay separated from them in the hen hospital until she's got feathers again. I suppose if it gets cold, she's going to be in the house at night. At the moment, she has a medium sized airline grade dog carrier to herself, in the shade, with bedding, food, water and treats. I have spotted Stella circling it and muttering threats and promises.
This bullying brings up stuff for me, I have been horrible to other people, other people have been horrible to me. It happens. In the chicken world, it is so naked and unapologetic. "C'est Comme ça" as my grandmother would remark. The pecking order. The underdog. The Lottery. The Scapechicken.
But I'm getting off the track.
This morning I awoke with the hope that today the chicken saddle would arrive in the mail. I wanted to buy one [they are cheap] before I try to make one and get it all wrong.
One of the three new girls has been a target of aggression on the parts of Buck's Ladies, and possibly, though I hope not, the other two girls who came with her. Somebody didn't like the angle of her beak before she got here, because she was missing her feathers on a 14" square area of her back, and her wings had been partially stripped. No pictures of this. Not charming.
Now that the electric door is working, I can sleep a bit, but I still go out and check on everyone first thing, make sure they have decent amenities and collect eggs. This morning I found Bibs with blood all over her lower back and tail and a drop of blood above her beak.
She resisted being scooped up. I stalked her around the garden for a few minutes until she was addled enough to go into the fenced in part of the garden where she was less successful in evading the towel.
I brought her in, speaking encouraging words to her, put her in the tub and cleaned off her skin as carefully as possible, put some crushed comfrey leaf on her wounds and wrapped her up again. I do not know if anything I'm doing is right. I wasn't encouraged by the vet's lack of knowledge and resorting to the usual doctor trick of giving me anti-biotics to feed a chicken, so I'm just trying to do what is logical. The next problem presenting itself is how to keep the other chickens from killing her, so she is going to stay separated from them in the hen hospital until she's got feathers again. I suppose if it gets cold, she's going to be in the house at night. At the moment, she has a medium sized airline grade dog carrier to herself, in the shade, with bedding, food, water and treats. I have spotted Stella circling it and muttering threats and promises.
This bullying brings up stuff for me, I have been horrible to other people, other people have been horrible to me. It happens. In the chicken world, it is so naked and unapologetic. "C'est Comme ça" as my grandmother would remark. The pecking order. The underdog. The Lottery. The Scapechicken.
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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.