one poor chook…

This morning started early again for me, as Mrs. B has been working in the field. Mrs. B didn’t have to leave quite as early and then the baby slept a little later, so I was able to eat my breakfast in peace, even if I still had to get up at 6am. Then she left, and things were going well, for a bit. And then… their eldest daughter went tearing out the back door, yelling at the dog. Not sure what was going on, and having the baby on one hip, I looked out towards the pen, and could see one chicken standing in the middle of the dog pen. Just standing there.

She brought the chook inside, where we discovered that the dog had ripped most of the chook’s feathers out, with the exception of her wings. My poor girl was crying, as she carefully examined her chicken. The bird looked a bit like a piece of raw meat with feathered wings. Thankfully, the 3 year old slept through the whole thing, and the 4 year old was a trooper, being extremely well behaved, and not annoying her sisters. While we waited for their ride to arrive, there were many tears, and I tried to keep from crying myself, because I tend to, when anyone else is upset over something. Throughout, the chook just stood there, not moving, with her head tucked in as far as possible.

My girl said, “Maybe it’s silly to cry over a chook, but…” and went on to explain how she’d raised her, and there had originally been four of them, and the other three died. But I assured her that it was not silly to cry over a beloved pet, chicken or not. And yes, if you’ve read Rainbow Valley by L. M. Montgomery, then I did think of Faith and her rooster, Adam.

The lady who’s been driving them in to school, she took the chicken in the pet crate, and visited the vet on the way back. Thankfully, the vet said that there weren’t any puncture wounds, and the poor chook was just in shock. We’re to keep her inside where it’s warm, as she doesn’t have too many feathers to assist with that, and see that she gets plenty of water. Hence, the powder room has it’s floor covered with newspaper, now, and the finally-out-of-shock chook is scratching and clucking to be released from her strange prison. Maybe we’ll let her loose during the day, but then she’d probably be fair game for the cat. If you look in the above pictures, you can see the tail missing (her wings have to be up to see the rest of the featherless mess), but the other pictures below are of what she should look like.

And so, for a little while, my morning was quite crazy, but as the chook will recover, all’s golden. And considering how badly they took the chook being injured, I’m really glad that Scully the pony recovered from his injuries, the other week. That would have been much worse, if Scully hadn’t made it.

The chook will live to annoy me again, and grow new feathers. Meanwhile, I’ll continue to have my varying disagreements with the cat. For some reason, I can never remember to refer to Dusty as “her”, so I get corrected by the three year old, regularly. Today, I pushed Dusty with my foot, to get her away from something, and the three year old told me “we aren’t allowed to kick him”. I said, “I didn’t kick him, I pushed him… but if he gets into that again, he’s gonna be in trouble.”  She promptly reminded me that Dusty’s a girl, and “you’re ‘apposed to say, ‘I pushed her… but if her gets into dat again, her gonna be in trouble.”

It’s amazing what kids can remember, and correct you on, even when they don’t always do it correctly, themselves!

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