Mail Call(^4) September/October 2019
THE
HANDICAPPED
HEN
My husband and I have been
raising chickens since the early
years of our marriage, and we’ll
soon celebrate our 40th wedding
anniversary. We raised our first batch
of Rhode Island Reds from chicks.
They’d just reached egg-laying age
when some neighborhood dogs
broke into their pen and killed them.
It was a sad day, but we weren't
discouraged. We simply started
again, this time with some sex link
hybrid hens from a neighbor, and we
later got our first broody hen.
When the kids got older, I went
to work, and we no longer had farm
animals. In 2012, we moved into an
old farmhouse in the mountains in
north Georgia. One of the first things
my husband did was build a chicken
coop. Soon, we had a menagerie of
chicken breeds. Eventually, all but
Tyrone, a Cochin, and Oz, a banty,
died, so we added another six hens.
One day while we were at work
and unaware that the pen door was
unlatched, the birds got out and were
attacked by a hawk.
Only Oz and a pullet named Auntie
Em survived. Auntie Em had a lot of
severe injuries, but we treated her
wounds daily, and kept her safe while
she healed. Oz sure was lonely out-
side by himself, heartbroken by the
loss of his hens. But he and Auntie
Em would talk to each other across
the yard. After about three weeks,
Auntie Em was well enough to go
back in the coop, and soon we added
more chickens to their family. As a
fearless, 5-year-old rooster, Oz was a
great guardian of the flock.
One morning, I found Oz lying
on the floor of the chicken coop,
rolling his head around. It wasn’t
until the sun came up that he
snapped out of it and began acting
normal. This went on for about a
week. I decided to give him a
sauna bath, thinking maybe
his equilibrium was off. We
were elated that the sauna
bath helped him overcome
whatever illness he was
experiencing. A couple of
years later, though, the
strange sickness with Oz
began again. Unfortunately,
he didn’t recover. He wasn’t
a friendly rooster, but on the day
he died, I held his head to my chest.
Sometime later, Whitey, a large,
pure-white Ameraucana who lays
pretty pink eggs, was running toward
me when she suddenly collapsed.
After that, she wasn’t able to get up
and walk; she had immense power
in her wings and legs, but she just
couldn’t stand. After a week or so,
she was barely able to hold her head
up to drink, and we thought about
putting her down. I didn’t want to do
it, so we decided to wait. Meanwhile,
we fed her melons, grapes, bananas,
corn, mealworms, and fruit pies.
Pretty soon her comb was bright-red,
the brightest of all the chickens.
She still couldn’t get up, but she
was determined, and she got around
using her wings. After a couple of
months, to our astonishment, she
even started to lay eggs again. She’s
still laying eggs and using her wings
to get around. She's an amazing
handicapped chicken, and we're
happy she's alive!
ARLENE JENNESS
BLAIRSVILLE, GEORGIA