Then I brought Lucy out to join them. She staggered around a bit and sat down to graze. Soon Hatsy was at work on a new tunneling project in the corner of the tractor. Lil’White sauntered about and paused, standing over Lucy.
And then Lil’White snapped.
She struck Lucy with her beak. Whack, right on the comb. I winced. Lucy ducked. Whack. Fierce and precise. Whack. Lucy struggled to stand, but Lil’White was in the way. Whack. Lucy sank down onto her haunches and lowered her head. The attack continued, rhythmically, methodically. I reached in and brushed the vicious Orpington out of the way. Lucy lurched toward my hands and I helped her out of the tractor.
I put Lucy down and kneeled on the lawn beside her. A bubble of dark blood oozed from her ripped comb. I looked back at Lil’White. She pecked daintily at a piece of clover as if nothing had happened. Hatsy was still digging. Her pit was now formidable, and she retained perfect focus. I stayed with Lucy for a while and then returned her to the crate on the porch.
I thought that Lil’White might just need some time to adjust after those ten days without Lucy, so the next day I tried to integrate them again. Immediately Lil’White attacked. I removed Lucy again and placed her outside where Lil’White couldn’t reach her. But Lucy’s head remained low.
Lil’White had made herself clear.
I was shocked and horrified by Lil’White’s behavior, but I wasn’t angry at her. Chickens will peck at an injured or sick flock member, sometimes to the death. They have wild roots, these girls, traced back to the jungle fowl of Indonesia. So while my girls are domesticated animals, life in a coop is not a natural existence for them. Domestic chickens get along well only if they have plenty of space to get away from each other. Chicken keepers know that vigilance is key. If a bird is injured, the wounds must be addressed promptly to reduce risk of further injury from the flock.
I did my best to understand Lil’White’s behavior. I supposed she had been acting on her instincts. In the wild, a sick bird like Lucy could attract predators and put the whole flock at risk, so it might be best if Lucy were not around. Lil’White was still as kind as ever to Hatsy.
Lil’White’s charming behavior didn’t change toward Danny or Sarah, either. Lil’White and Danny still shared a special rapport. And Sarah refused to see any quality but sweetness in her favorite chicken.
But I have my reservations about Lil’White’s supposed charm. Because I am a victim of Lil’White, too. Even now, whenever I enter the coop, Lil’White brutally attacks me every chance she gets, appearing innocent and curious all the while.
My legs receive most of her abuse, but whenever I squat down to chat with the ladies, Lil’White quietly slips around back and pecks mercilessly, maniacally, at my rear end.
I believe that if she had the appropriate weapon, she’d kill me, drag me into the woods, and bury me in a shallow grave behind the compost pile. But all she has is a little beak and a twisted mind. She doesn’t scare me one bit. She’s a wonderful beautiful mystery, Lil’White. But she’s also completely off in the head.
Inside the chicken tractor, Hatsy had witnessed that second attack on Lucy, but she hadn’t joined in. She was just as kind toward Lucy as ever, and her pleasant relationship with Lil’White remained intact as well.
I made a slight change to our daily routine by setting Lucy out in a cage beside the tractor. Sometimes Hatsy stayed with Lil’White, and sometimes she grazed in the cage with Lucy.
I was still devastated by Lil’White’s brutal gesture, but Lucy took it in stride and adjusted to the new setup just fine. She was getting stronger, and I stopped worrying whether or not she would survive. But she still hobbled and limped on those bent toes, and walking and climbing the ramp were a challenge for her.
It was apparent that her feet had been damaged by the Marek’s disease, and they weren’t healing.
I wondered again about Lucy, about autumn and beyond. She was going to need a real home. She was going to need a special-needs coop.
11
Wintertime
I designed a compact coop for Lucy.
The footprint was about four feet square. Its construction was pretty simple, though it was just as painful to put together as the big coop thanks to that pesky hardware cloth. In the end a nice coat of paint hid my bloodstains on the wood, and from a distance the coop looked just darling.
I wanted Lucy to live as near to her flock mates as possible, but there is a really nice boulder at the back edge of the yard that has always been a scenic focal point in winter, so I placed her coop to the right of that rock. Carefully placed pots of geraniums completed the bucolic look.
In her new home, Lucy had every comfort.
She had a nice log to perch on, and I hung food and water in recycled yogurt cups all around the edges, upstairs and down. There was even an open-air balcony for warm nights. No matter where she was, Lucy would always have a clear view of her flock in the big coop. I gave her a window that faced our own house too, since I knew that all the girls enjoyed watching us as much as we enjoyed watching them. In the back of the coop, a multitude of doors ensured that I could reach Lucy easily, just in case she needed me.
On these crisp autumn days, the three girls enjoyed spending time together and digging in the leaves at the edge of the yard. Lucy enjoyed being one of the flock at these times. She was safe from Lil’White’s aggression as long as Lil’White was busy bug hunting.
The cooler weather seemed to give Lucy a boost of good health. The summer’s heat had been a challenge for her, especially since she slept on warm pine shavings instead of on a cool roost. On the hottest days, Lucy panted like a dog and spread her vast wings to cool her body. She was by far the largest of the three hens, and while she wasn’t as fluffy as Lil’White, she did have a voluminous coat of downy feathers. Now during the cool autumn days, Lucy was more animated and even mustered the energy to help Hatsy with her digging.
When Lucy’s energy ran out, she sat down and became the watch chicken, scanning the skies for danger while Hatsy strip-mined the forest floor.
Eventually Hatsy and Lil’White moseyed to the next leaf pile, leaving Lucy behind. Too exhausted to stand, Lucy could only sit there and watch them go.
It was an exercise in patience.
Lucy waited as long as it took for me to happen by and transport her to the next locale.
Sometimes I put Lucy and Hatsy together in a cage on the lawn so that Lucy could feel safe and included.
Hatsy was perfectly contented hanging out with Lucy. Anywhere she could dig a pit, Hatsy was a happy gal.
Nearby, wicked Lil’White enjoyed a cage of her very own.
While the girls genuinely delighted in the cool days and nights of autumn, I wasn’t too sure about their ability to keep warm in the frigid winter. In the big coop, I always left the door to their sleeping quarters open because the food and water were down below, and the ladies enjoyed coming and going as they pleased within their safe confines. The entrance to Lucy’s nest box had no door at all, for the same reason.
But on the most blustery winter nights, as I huddled in bed under my own warm comforter, I imagined the girls in their coops, shivering and miserable. When the weather report predicted a cold snap with nightly temperatures dipping into the teens, I rigged up cozy heat lamps in the sleeping quarters of both coops.
That night, all three of my ladies chose to sleep out in the cold rather than in the warmth of those glowing lamps, and I felt like a fool. I unrigged the heat lamps the very next day.
When the first snow fell, I shoveled a path to the coops and opened the doors to the girls’ new experience.
Lil’White took a flying leap and landed, stranded. She didn’t move. Didn’t look around, didn’t struggle. She waited. For the thaw, for the rescue, for whatever might come.
Of course I rescued my golden girl from the snowdrift and placed her on an old pallet from which she could observe her beautiful white world.
On really cold days, Lil’
White looks more like a basketball than a chicken. Her secret:
Double-shafted feathers. Double the insulation. Makes me feel all cozy just thinking about it.
Her Orpington pantaloons are extra fluffy in winter to protect those dainty ankles.
She even puffs her head feathers to protect that petite comb.
Every freezing morning, I carried a teakettle of hot water to the coop to thaw the ice in the water bowls. When I had the time, I let the girls out to explore their white wonderland.
Lucy was looking prettier and healthier every day.
But the cold and the snow didn’t appeal to Hatsy like they did to Lucy.
Hatsy preferred to perch high above it. Here on her perch she hunted for shiny things to peck at: buttons, zippers, eyeballs …
Hatsy was truly impressed with Lucy’s private coop.
Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she rushed in and took a thorough tour. She sipped Lucy’s water, she sampled the multiple cups of feed, she tried out the nest box. She inspected every corner and crevice as if she were hunting for Lucy’s secret stash. When her investigation was complete, she sat down on the log beside Lucy and the two friends preened and conversed.
Sometimes when I closed up the coops, Hatsy refused to leave Lucy’s, so I allowed her to stay and visit for the day. Other times she stayed for a sleepover.
As dusk fell, Hatsy squeezed in beside her oversized friend on the open balcony, and Lucy’s voluptuous bulk kept them both warm through the frigid night.
Hatsy’s visits helped break the monotony of winter.
But for the most part it was a lonely time.
Winter is just not the easiest season, for any of us.
I couldn’t let the girls out unsupervised, even with the fencing I had put up, because Lil’White tended to corner Lucy and peck the living daylights out of her.
I left Lil’White locked up sometimes, so Lucy could relax and enjoy her free time with Hatsy.
When I had the time, I brought my sketchbook and pulled up a stool and hung out with the flock.
Lucy bumped deliberately into my leg to let me know I should pick her up.
When Lucy was sitting on my knee a safe distance above Lil’White, she loosened up and launched into animated conversation. She and I had some nice discussions while I sketched. I wish I knew what we were talking about.
Lucy’s plumage was breathtaking against the white snow. Bright red coloring had returned to her face and wattles, and her eyes sparkled. I could tell that she felt healthier, and I was so pleased. I only wished Lil’White would change her mind and allow Lucy back into the flock.
Lucy, however, didn’t appear to harbor such wishes. Or any wishes. I wished that I could “live in the moment” as masterfully as Lucy did.
Marky is pretty good at living in the moment, too, as long as the moment doesn’t include thunder and lightning.
He also loves the cold weather as much as Lucy does.
I gave my staunch outdoorsman this fancy doghouse, but he never entered it willingly.
He prefers to face the elements head on.
Marky’s a snow dog, and that’s that.
So the doghouse went to the chickens.
Marky didn’t miss it at all, and the ladies appreciated their new diversion.
One afternoon I found Hatsy tucked into the corner of the doghouse. I thought she might be trying to lay an egg in there, but then I watched her eyes begin to close, and her head drooped forward. This was surprising; I had never seen her so subdued.
When Lucy hobbled in and stood beside her friend, I thought that something must be wrong. Lil’White poked her head in too, took a quick look and moved on. But Lucy stayed with Hatsy. When Hatsy’s head tipped so far forward that her beak rested in the bedding in front of her, I knew for sure that Hatsy was ill. I thought about pulling her out for a closer look, but she seemed to be in good company beside her big speckled friend, so I decided not to interfere. I left her in Lucy’s care and came back to check on them from time to time. It took a couple of hours for Hatsy to snap out of her trance, but when she did, she and Lucy returned to their chicken pursuits like nothing had ever happened. I was puzzled but relieved.
The next morning Hatsy greeted me with all her usual vigor and spunk. When I checked the nest box for the morning’s gifts, I discovered a fresh Lucy egg, a fresh Lil’White egg, and a third, frightfully enormous, pterodactyl egg.
That one had to be Hatsy’s. I guessed that its horrific size must have been the cause of her discomfort, and I sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be popping out any more of those monstrosities. When I brought the eggs to the kitchen, I took a last good look at the dino-egg and chucked it into the trash. That egg represented Hatsy’s pain, and I just didn’t want to know what was inside.
After that horrific egg appeared, Hatsy continued on her sprightly way, and weeks went by without incident. The flock and I moved happily through the season as if it had never happened.
Layers of fresh snow blanketed the yard in clean, cold loveliness and the girls’ world shrank to just their two coops and a small path between them that I kept shoveled and trampled. There were stretches of bad weather when I just couldn’t let the girls outside at all. To break the monotony, I hung piñatas of apples and broccoli in the coops.
Other times I hid sunflower seeds and peanuts, which kicked off an animated treasure hunt. And on mornings when I cooked oatmeal for my family, I made extra for the girls.
Occasionally Lucy came into our house for a visit.
She wandered comfortably from room to room, checking the place out and offering the occasional comment.
I had read about “chicken diapers” for house chickens and decided to try one out on Lucy. I found a pattern online and stitched her a pretty blue one.
Once I had wrestled her into it, the diaper was nearly invisible beneath her feathers.
But she carried on as if I had given her a horrible wedgie, so I took it off.
We kept our house visits pretty brief, so poop wasn’t an issue anyway.
I loved our one-on-one time. I loved that Lucy seemed to enjoy it too. She’s the one who initiated our social engagements. Sometimes when I opened the door to her coop, she just looked at me and bupped, unwilling to move or even to chat much. On those days I gave her a raisin, shut the door, and that was that. But when Lucy wanted to get out, she made it known. She tottered as quickly as she could through the open doorway, greeting me with a moan, “Errrrrrrb,” and bumping her chest into my shin. I bent down and offered her my arm and she stepped onto it, and then we were on our way. Lucy and Lauren.
Chicken and her vehicle.
Sometimes I fancy myself a falconer—my regal Barred Rock clenching the gauntlet with mighty talons of death …
Lucy enjoyed being my muse. She served obligingly as an artist’s model and proved capable of holding a nice long pose while I sketched.
We launched other creative exploits together, and as long as they didn’t involve chicken diapers, she was usually happy to work with me. One day I set up a photo shoot for the fun of it.
She humored me for a while,
then she walked off the set.
Spring arrived none too soon.
The snow melted, the warm sun shone, and the ground thawed.
Hatsy’s rototilling drive kicked in,
and our yard once again became a field of small perilous pits.
Lil’White sauntered around the garden beds in search of one particular delicacy:
plastic plant tags, the skinny labels that poke out of a flat of seedlings from the nursery. Whenever she found one of these tags, she picked it up and whacked it on the ground, attempting to break it into bite-sized pieces. I followed her around and snatched them out of her beak before she could swallow them and die. Each time I grabbed a tag, she moved on to discover another. I didn’t recall leaving these tags all over the garden, but Lil’White sure dredged up a passel of them.
While Lil’White
and Hatsy frolicked joyfully in the bright spring sunshine, Lucy wanted none of it. I had a heck of a time prying her out of the shadows of her coop. She just did not want to leave the nest box. I grasped her firmly and lifted her out and shut the door so she couldn’t get back in.
Once Upon a Flock Page 5
