I promise this is the last part. For now at least. Because, chickens.
But I felt this story needed to be told. As this chicken seems to have super powers. And a chicken with super powers needs its own story.
At the moment, we were quite content with our number of chickens. Tyler was still in the “we have too many” phase, especially since, at that point we had 3 roosters to our 6 hens. Tyler was done getting more chickens.
Or was he?
You see, we have a Facebook group for our town that has become quite helpful at times. We learn the latest town drama, we know when stores are closing down for the day (this happens often in rural vermont), we learn where trees are down or other traffic related issues, and we even get the occasional free item (like a pool table/ping pong table).
But this particular instance, someone posted that they needed to find a home for their chicken. A fox had taken out their entire flock of 4 month old chickens. All except this one. They had decided they were done with chickens at this time.
Now, Tyler had told me about this chicken, hinting that we should take it. But he’s done this before. He’s teased me with ducks. Lured me in with other pets being offered by our community. Only to have me realize it’s all in jest and I got my hopes up for no reason. So this time I wasn’t falling for it. I laughed it off with a “whatever.”
So you can imagine my surprise when I’m sitting at the hair salon, hair wrapped in pieces of tinfoil like I’m warding off alien intervention, and I read on my phone “we are adopting survivor hen.”
To which I responded, “What is a survivor hen? Was she a contestant on survivor and got voted off? Because if so, I don’t want her. My hens are winners.”
Nope. He had apparently responded to the post and, despite being the third person to respond, somehow fate would have it that this chicken would now be ours.
And the next day, the chicken was dropped off at her new home.
Now, before I tell you the rest of this story, I have to plead our case. We tried to follow the proper “introducing new chickens to old chickens procedure.” Which involves enclosing them in an area separate but near the other chickens, so that they can get used to the new chicken before letting them mingle.
We tried. Really we did.
We placed her in a cage built of chicken wire in the corner of the coop. The same place we put the baby chickens when they are old enough to hang out in the coop but too small for the big kid area.
We checked on her often. She seemed fine. Made sure she had food and water and was settling well.
It all seemed good.
The next morning, Tyler goes out to the chickens, only to find survivor chicken snuggled up, roosting with the other chickens.
She had somehow gotten out of her cage to sleep with the other chickens.
ure she had food and water and was settling well.
It all seemed good.
The next morning, Tyler goes out to the chickens, only to find survivor chicken snuggled up, roosting with the other chickens.
She had somehow gotten out of her cage to sleep with the other chickens.
Now this was all very interesting. And I asked Tyler whether he was going to put her back but we decided that they seemed to be doing okay with each other, so we might as well see how it goes.
It didn’t take long for the others to realize they had an intruder in their midst and they got a bit territorial, but not terribly so. We weren’t concerned… yet.
It was later that afternoon that Tyler came running in saying “I can’t find survivor hen!”
We had somehow managed to lose the sole survivor of a fox attack, not 24 hours of getting her.
We were the worst chicken parents ever.
Now, at this point we weren’t sure what happened to her, but we were pretty sure it wasn’t a predictor attack. Tyler’s office is right next to the coop and can hear pretty much everything that goes on in there.
But what we figured was that the other chickens had bullied her so much that she decided to peace out of there any way she could. Which meant finding a way over the 6+ foot barrier we had around the run. The same barrier that not a single one of our fully grown chickens have managed to get over.
And she had managed it.
And now we had a chicken with no name to call, no understanding of our food calls to lure her back, and absolutely no knowledge of our land to find her way back to food at the end of the day.
Again, worst chicken parents ever.
So we started hunting. Making chicken sounds, shaking food, trying anything and everything to find this chicken.
But we have a lot of forest area.
And a lot of ground to cover.
And a chicken that doesn’t want to be found.
About an hour of searching Tyler finally heard something. A small chicken sound.
In an overgrown wooded area.
And so began the chase. Me on one side, Tyler on the other. Trying to lead this chicken to the other person.
And the chicken having none of it.
I tried putting out food that the chicken refused to go anywhere near. Tried to gently guide her, but each time she would find a direction further into overgrowth and opposite of any protective arms.
Finally, Tyler was able to get her.
And he became her savior from then on. Her perch to jump on away from the other chickens. Her tall shoulder to climb in safety.
She found a corner to huddle to stay away from the big chickens. The same corner the other two babies hung in to keep away from Count Rugan. And they quickly became their own little flock. Chilling with each other in their little safety corner.
She hasn’t tried to escape again, But this chicken will forever be known as the escape artist. Who has successfully escaped a fox, a cage, a six foot barrier, and the safe arms of her new owners. All within a couple of days.
Chickens. Am I right?