We did some work on the Red Hen this morning, two days after Bud attacked her.
I removed some of the bloody and damaged flesh in her rear and cut and pulled out the wound hanging loose. I rubbed our antibiotic ointment fully into the single wound. Bud could have killed her; he contented himself with getting a mouthful of feathers.
She ate and drank this morning and walked around, although she still seemed in shock. Sometimes they recover from that, sometimes not. The thing we are most worried about is flies and maggots infecting the wound – thus a wide application of a medical spray and also antibiotic ointment we always keep on hand for the animals.
The social media police are near hysteria over the names of the Red Hen and the two new white ones. I don’t want anyone’s blood pressure to go up too high over my chickens. Poor Thoreau would have hung himself if there was Facebook.
We gave up naming chickens a few years ago; we were losing too many to get too attached.
But we have to call them something.
I call our brown/red hen the Red Hen; Maria calls her the Brown Hen. This has become a running joke between us, but some people clearly find it troubling, even criminal. How empty are some lives that they have nothing to do but freak out over chicken names of other people?
The social media police were up and out early.
One woman nearly accused me of animal abuse, saying I didn’t know the name of my own chicken.
The story behind the story is pretty lame, it’s not quite Watergate. Maria named the two new hens Kitty and Anne, after two of her friends, but the white hen and the injured hen were not given names. And this is the reason why. Almost every animal on four legs will eat a chicken.
I hope the social media inspectors can live with it. Is this what it is like in Russia or China?
So the bottom line is that the Brown/Red hen has no name. Except I call her the Red Hen, and Maria calls her the Brown Hen. This conversation would be funny if it weren’t pathetic. What are we coming to? What am I sinking to?
I checked on her after our surgery this morning. I still think it’s 50-50, but she looks better than yesterday. I do not have much of my emotional life invested in chickens, but I hope she pulls through. She is walking with the white hens again, and the other white hen – she has no name either – keeps a close eye on her and sleeps next to her all night.
This is sweet to see.
OH MY GOODNESS! I guess people have nothing better to do than decry the anonymity of a poor unnamed hen. I doubt the hens will need therapy but perhaps the people do. I appreciate every post you do. It’s your life and I enjoy following it on your blog.
I have two cats named Orange Kitty and Grey Kitty. Love them both but couldn’t decide on names and 12 years later they come when called…Orange Kitty and Grey Kitty.
Good grief!! I know several people who don’t name their chickens. You and Maria are model chicken owners! Unbelievable that blog/post trolls have nothing better to do than harass you about that.
Glad the red/brown hen is doing better and hope she heals completely. Good that she has a caring friend, too. These birds can be tough, yet so fragile.
And yes, dogs will be dogs, especially terrier types. We volunteer for border collie rescue and can’t tell you how many want to dump theirs for chasing and/or killing chickens, among other livestock, but can’t be bothered to make it tough, if not impossible, for the dog to get to them, along with some much needed training, at least. That prey drive can be very strong.
You guys are doing great! Accidents do happen.
Well I am melting down because of the social media po-lice. This is why I keep my distance from them. My message to them: Go do something constructive with your time.
well…..I hold out hope for red/brown hen. You (in my experience) are doing all that can be done…… she will pull through, or not. I had a hen once that got half her butt torn off by a coyote…….I nursed her back exactly as you are doing……….. she did survive, but it took a long time to heal…..and a lot of work…..which I did gladly. Chickens are such odd beings…….. tough as nails in one way……and very fragile in others.
Susan M
and PS….. a crusty old farmer that used to live near us here always told me *never name ’em and never look them in the eye*.
Shaking my head in amazement over some of your correspondents… They ARE rather funny in a daft kind of way. The care you give to every living thing is spectacular. The naughty little Bud is treated with respect–he is a dog. Your little kingdom is near to Heaven in its living together most of the time.
I hope you gave Bud a little ass-chewing too. That little stinker!
No, I was annoyed with him, but he is just being Bud..can’t blame him for that. I did want to strangle him but it passed…:)
A friend just said goodbye to her well loved, 16 year old, D.O.G.
Yes, many thousands of people lose their pets every day, my heart goes out to all of them.
Names! My god children maned all kitchen cabinets and utensils. If you asked for the soup ladle you might be told Elizabeth is in Haroldl!