Littlest Chicken vs Einstein the Hen

Einstein the Hen is a good hen, but it’s a lot of responsibility being the hen at the top of the pecking order. It can make a hen grumpy.

That’s the only way I can explain why she did what she did.

I was nearly finished an illustration for the next book in the Turkey Trouble series when, just as I was about to paint the pupil in Turkey’s eye I heard a loud, blood curdling Squaaaaawk!

Einstein the Hen was on top of Littlest Chicken with her talons digging into Littlest Chicken’s back. She pecked ferociously as Littlest Chicken objected vociferously.

I ran down the steps from my studio and out into the pasture.

I shooed away Einstein and picked up Littlest Chicken to comfort her. I didn’t see any outward signs of injury and she seemed OK.  After a while of comforting her I held her low to the ground so she could jump from my hands into the grass below and rejoin the flock. But she didn’t jump. She just sort of toppled out of my hands, flipping momentarily upside down. When Littlest Chicken righted herself and tried to walk, she fell over.

That’s not good, I thought.

I picked up Littlest Chicken and brought her to a stall in the barn so she could recuperate in safety. I put a little food and water next to her and went back to work.

When I returned after an hour or so to check on her, she hadn’t moved from the spot where I placed her. When I came back at the end of the day, she still hadn’t moved or touched her food or water.

This went on for the next two days.  She just sat there, eyes slowly opening and closing.

There comes a time in every farmer’s life when he or she must make the tough decision to put down an animal. I thought this might be that time for me. I Googled how to humanely kill a chicken.

I went into Littlest Chicken’s stall to check on her one last time. I held her withering body in my hands and pleaded with her.

“Littlest Chicken, just let go,” I repeated softly.

As her eyes slowly opened and closed, I hoped she might die peacefully in my hands.

I didn’t want to do it.

I talked the situation over with Farmer Krista, and since Littlest Chicken didn’t seem to be in pain, we decided to give her one more day.

Certain Littlest Chicken was on her way to chicken heaven, I made her a nest on the widow sill of her stall so she might at least enjoy one last earthly sunset before she passed on to the next world.

On Monday morning I found Littlest Chicken right where I left her, still clinging to life. I offered her a little water, and she drank. I offered her some food, but she still wasn’t eating. She wasn’t walking either, but the drinking was an improvement. I noticed that there was some yucky stuff forming around her vent, so I gave her a warm bath in soapy water. She passed a partially formed egg. I dried her up and set her on the warm stones of our ‘sunset deck’. Afterwards I decided to make her a nest in my studio so I could hand-feed her throughout the day. She continued to drink, but still didn’t eat or move. She was one sick chicken.

On Tuesday I brought her into my studio again. I was beginning to like having a studio mate, even if it WAS just a half-dead chicken.

I played her some of my favorite Mozart piano concertos. I talked to her in the few chicken words I know.

“Buc buc.  Buc buc buc boc. Buc buc bwak buc.”

By the end of the day, she began eating some of the worms I hand-fed her. Then, with newly found strength, she stood up. She did a half circle in her nest, then sat back down, exhausted by her effort.

That evening, I wrapped-up Littlest Chicken in a blanket and she joined Krista and I for our rite of Cocktails with Chickens. We set her down on the ‘Sunset Rocks’. Littlest Chicken was very wobbly on her legs but seemed to gain strength from the sight of her flock. Determined to re-join them on the other side of the fence, she walked a few wobbly feet to the edge of the rock deck and tumbled into the grass. She then hobbled another foot or two and squawked in the direction of her flock mates. It was obvious Littlest Chicken wasn’t yet recovered, but really wanted to be with her friends.

But for her safety, we thought it best for her to spend another night on her own in a stall.

The next day Littlest Chicken only spent the morning with me in my studio. Because she was now eating, she was also now pooping. No longer a good studio mate, I let her spend the afternoon in the pasture inside a little fenced-in area that protects a newly planted Rosebud tree. That way she could be near her flock, get a little rehab exercise, but would also be protected.

She still wasn’t her old self, but she really perked-up when it was the flock’s feeding time. And for good reason. Feeding time is the most exciting time of day for a chicken. That’s when the fresh food and water is delivered, and everybody has a lot to say about it.

Excited by all the commotion, Little Chicken jumped up onto a branch of the Rosebud tree to escape her confines and join the others. She temporarily made it to a lower branch, then wobbled and fell off.

At sunset Krista and I decided to put her up on a perch next to her sister in a coop that didn’t include Einstein the Hen. We thought there was a good probability she’d fall off the perch and we’d find her on the floor the next morning, but decided it was worth the risk. The companionship of her sister would be good for her spirits.

I leaned over the fence to pick up Littlest Chicken but couldn’t reach her. I called to her, using the same words and soft tones I used to talk to her while we were studio-mates.

In the past, she was one of the chicken’s that never let me pick her up. Maybe because she was the littlest chicken, she was always extra wary. But this time — to my delight — she came to me and jumped into my hands. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I got a little choked up.

Littlest Chicken was going to be OK, and she and I now had a special connection.

On Thursday we let Littlest Chicken and her sister Second Littlest Chicken free- range together in another separate fenced in area.

By Friday we reintegrated Littlest Chicken with the flock. She spent the first couple days in the coop, but by Sunday she was almost completely recovered.

On Sunday night we left it up to the chickens to sort themselves out and decide which coop they’d sleep in. The three Henriettas, Littlest Chicken, and Einstein the Hen ended up coop mates. The three Henriettas slept on a perch in the run.  Einstein and Littlest Chicken both slept on a perch inside the coop. Littlest Chicken gave Einstein a wide berth.

All were fine in the morning, so I guess they worked things out.

At the time of this writing, everything’s back to normal in Chickensville and Littlest Chicken is as good as new.