Our flock took a major hit in 2023. We are down to half. We are no longer collecting egg cartons or giving away eggs. I shamefully have resorted to buying eggs at the store.
One Rooster- this guy will never ever die. He thrives on anger and a severely overdeveloped need to both jump and protect his hens.
Two Hens- Sadly we are down to one Fluffypants and the Rooster’s girlfriend, good old Black ‘n White.
Two Ducks- Gary and Howard- Howard is a girl.
One of the hardest hits just came a couple weeks ago. We lost Little Red, also known as Hospital Chicken. She was a great little hen. She became “Hospital Chicken” mid-summer this year. For some reason the Rooster attacked her. He chased her down and pecked her comb until she was trembling and bleeding in the corner of the Bird Fortress where he couldn’t reach her. It was truly sad.
They say that chickens know when one of their own isn’t well. They will attack and eliminate the weak for the benefit of the safety of the flock. It matters not that the safety of the backyard is not questionable. The Rooster is a true dinosaur. There is no reasoning with him. He lives by instinct alone.
As far as we could tell there wasn’t anything wrong with Little Red prior to the Rooster attack, she wasn’t sick, lethargic or buggy. She had been laying eggs and running with the flock. She had been eating and drinking normally.
Chickens are very much flock animals. Little Red was so sad to not be with her friends, forced to hang out in the Quack Shack turned medical facility until she healed up. She would talk to the other hens through the makeshift gate. She would cower whenever the Rooster came near. He made it clear he meant to kill her. She spent her days in the Quack Shack for a good month.
The day finally came that she was healthy and her comb stood straight again. She had fattened up and we let her out into the yard with everyone else. The Rooster left her alone for maybe an hour before he attacked her, and once again Little Red cowered in the corner with a bloody comb, re-relegated to the Quack Shack.
It was clear that Little Red would never be part of the flock again.
Now, just so you understand, I’m not the sort of chicken mom that will let one of her babies suffer at the chicken feet of another. I also really didn’t think it was fair for the Little Red to suffer alone when it was the Rooster’s fault. Something had to be done.
Thus began the days of Little Red the Duck. It used to be that everyday the Ducks would come out of the Fortress to be followed by the chickens and they all spent their merry days romping around the backyard together. We started the every other day protocol. Each morning the Ducks would come out to the yard and either the Little Red or the other Chickens would join the them. This was the best option, but very tough on the babysitters.
The Little Red became a Duck out of necessity I think. She craved companionship and no longer had her Hen sisters to depend on. Usually the Ducks will chase away the chickens if they’re getting too close, but not Little Red. She would lay in the yard near them, eat from the food bowl with them and even drink the water from the pond when the Ducks swam.
That wasn’t really enough for her though, so Little Red became a Dog. She started following us around the yard outside, begging for special treats, which she received daily. She let the Littles pet her. She followed my Human Rooster around with no abandon while he mowed or weed whacked. Anyone could pick her up and hold her, she came when she was called.
I took to calling her whenever I was outside. “Little Red, Little Red”! She would come barreling across the yard every time, looking to be rewarded with peanuts or a cracker.
One day in early December it was the Little Red’s turn to be out in the yard for the day. When I returned from work, something was definitely amiss. The Rooster and Hens all greeted me at the garage door and I had a momentary lapse of memory. Wasn’t it the Little Red’s day to be out? OMG, where was the Little Red? The door to the Fortress must not have been all the way closed.
LITTLE RED! LITTLE RED! Where are you Little Red?
She did not come running……..
I put the rest of the chickens away and continued to call for her. Just when I was in full panic mode and sure that I would be finding her poor feathered body, she came out from under the boat…. very slowly. She appeared uninjured and I sighed with relief.
But something was wrong with her. The next day I was going to give her an extra day out with the ducks, but she didn’t rush the door like she usually would. She stayed in the cage, as far away from the door as she could. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She didn’t even move. So she stayed in that day.
The next day was more of the same, except now she was lying down.
On the third day, we put her in a box full of straw and brought her into the house. We hand fed her some farm aid vitamins with a syringe and she perked up. She ate some meal worms and a little grain then laid down again to rest.
On the fourth day, she could no longer stand and her breathing became shallow. She started making some funny noises, none of which were good. She spent much of the day lying on her side.
On the fifth day, her very last day, she had a mighty poop that stunk up the entire kitchen. She no longer ate or drank and my Human Rooster put her down. She lays in the garden now, under the dirt, waiting to be tilled into the soil in the springtime, when she will become and stay part of the very garden she so very much loved to dig in.
We miss her.
Everyone once in a while when I put the birds to bed I still say out loud, Little Red, Little Red.
It sucks being a bird farmer.