House Hen

I seem destined to have a chicken in residence, my residence.  Once again the laundry room has been called into duty as an infirmary.  Saturday night, Satomi (or it might be Yuki; they're indistinguishable) was lying flat out and motionless in the Silkie pen.  With a sinking feeling, I picked her up, only to have her snuggle against my chest.  She was alive!  A houseful of people was not the time to bring her in, so she spent the night tucked into a soft cat bed in the feed room.

Bessie Anne believes that all chickens are her chickens.  Never having had puppies of her own, she adopts chicks and chickens with a mother's instincts.  From outside the fence, she herds any reluctant bird into the coop at bedtime.  When the chickens were free ranging, it was her job to round them up in the evening and bring them home to the pen.  Under Bessie's supervision, I got new quarters set up for Satomi with water and feed in the house.  It appears she has an injured leg.  I suspect it was an overly amorous, hormonally driven rooster who caught this little hen unbalanced and unprepared.  The nurse in charge (Bessie Anne) sniffed the patient from beak to butt, nosing under the feathers to assess her condition before I was allowed to settle Satomi in her room.  Throughout the day, Bess would come to me and whine.  No, she didn't want to go outside.  It was time, in her opinion, to go check on Satomi, so down the hall we would go, make sure the hen was all right, and then Bess would settle back down to whatever she was doing before.  Why I had to accompany Nurse, I don't know, but she was adamant.  Satomi has chosen the feed dish as her nesting spot.  I wish her a speedy recovery, so we can all get some rest.