I don’t think I was fully prepared for the challenges that I
would face here on the farm. I had an idyllic vision of a life shared with
animals of all sorts. I imagined gathering eggs every morning as I clucked
along with the hens. I envisioned possibly milking a goat or cow (a very small
cow). I even had thoughts of a few piglets who would all be as terrific,
radiant and humble as Wilber in Charlotte’s Web. What I did not anticipate was
acting as caretaker for a handicapped chicken.
I ordered my first batch of chicks from McMurray Hatchery. I
carefully chose a mix of rare breeds who were proven to be good egg layers. I
specified all females and placed my order, then anxiously awaited delivery. For
those of you who have never ordered chickens by mail, let me tell you what the
process is for receiving your day old baby chicks. You are given a delivery
date, and very early on that date (like 4:30 a.m.) you get a call from your
local post office. The person on the other end of the phone informs you that
your chicks have arrived. You hurry to the post office to collect them and are
met by a frazzled looking postal worker with a small box that is cheeping to
beat the band. You take them to the car and open the box to see 25 chicks
crammed very tightly together. It is vital that you keep them warm, so you
hurry home with them and lovingly place them into whatever you are using as a
brooding area. In our case it was a plastic wading pool with a heat lamp
suspended overhead.
The chicks seemed very happy to be out of the box they came
in and immediately begin to explore their new habitat. We placed a small chicken waterer and a chick
feeder into the wading pool. These are both designed to prevent the chicks from
roosting on the edge and pooping into their food and water. They are moderately
successful. You would be astounded at how much baby chicks can poop.
After a day or so the chicks were adapting well, all except
one. This little chick seemed to have a problem with one wing. She held it a
little awkwardly and couldn’t flap it like she could her other wing. We also
noticed very quickly that she was at the bottom of the “pecking order”. She was
the one who got picked on (or should I say pecked on) by the other chicks. She
would fall over, could not get herself up due to the left wing problem, and the
other chicks would pounce. She was obviously not able to hold her own in the
flock, and we were advised to let nature take its course. Well, I couldn’t
stand to watch the tragic way that she was being treated so I made her a little
brooder all her own and lovingly cared for her. I watched over her, hand fed
her, set her up right if she fell over, and watched her grow. I named her Wonky Wing because, well, she had
a wonky wing.
Chicks grow very quickly and within a week the chicks were
all escaping from the wading pool. We put a chicken wire barrier around it to
keep them in. By the end of three weeks it was time to move them outside to the
chicken coop. Since we couldn’t keep Wonky Wing with the others we housed her
in the dog kennel right outside our back door. We had an unused rabbit hutch
that we outfitted for her to roost in at night. This was an ideal situation
because I could keep a close eye on her and put her back on her feet when she
fell over, which she often did. Mainly she would get excited and start flapping
her wings. One wing would flap madly while the other caused her to lose her
balance and down she’d go. Then she would flail around in the dirt trying to
get up, to no avail. I tried to teach her how to right herself when she was
down, but she could hardly ever do it. It became a regular thing for someone to
holler “Wonky Wing is down!” and whoever was closest would set her upright.
One morning my oldest daughter, whose bedroom was closest to
the dog pen said, “That chicken sounds like and elephant.” I asked her what she
meant and she demonstrated the “Errrrr” that Wonky was making in the morning.
After a few days it was “Errrr Errrr.” Then it was a full fledged “Errr Errr Er
Er Errrr!” Damned if Wonky wasn’t a rooster. Are you seeing a pattern here?
(See Duck sex change.) Luckily his name was unisex so we were good on that
front.
Wonky continued to live in the dog pen for several months.
The other chickens were free ranging so they would come and hang around outside
the pen and taunt him with their freedom. It’s like he was grounded,
permanently. Eventually we moved the rabbit hutch next to the chicken coop and
built a fence around it so that he would be more a part of the flock.
Contrary to what you might think, roosters do not only crow
at daybreak. That is when they begin, and they continue to crow throughout the
day as the mood arises. Some find this annoying. I, however, found it to be
quite reassuring. Every time I heard his joyful noise I knew that he was on his
feet and announcing his pleasure to the world.
With winter coming on I had serious doubts about his ability
to survive the cold. I was sure he would fall over and freeze to death before
we realized he was down. We checked on him several times a day, giving him a
lift as needed, and sure enough, he survived to see another spring. He lived
through the summer, and one early autumn evening he was snatched from his
enclosure by a predator. As heartbroken as I was to lose him, I felt a great
satisfaction in the knowledge that we had helped him to overcome his handicap.
He added a richness to life here on the farm that none of us will ever forget.
