Chicken tending started differently this morning, as little Edith, the butterscotch calico Viking, is still in the chicken infirmary. Two things you should know: (1) Edith is the only butterscotch calico Icelandic Viking chicken in the history of the world because I made up the butterscotch calico part of her identity. Those two words perfectly describe her appearance, and she is who she is. (2) The chicken infirmary is currently my bathtub.
Under normal circumstances and during warmer times of the year, chickens that need a soak for either medical or grooming reasons have their spa day outside. They soak, get a bit of a towel dry, then finish drying in the sun. If one is ill or injured and needs to be isolated, I put them in a dog kennel on the bench in the barn where I can easily monitor them, and they have the comfort of being near the other chickens. Unfortunately, Edith's illness or injury occurred when it was too cold to have allowed her to go outside until her feathers were completely dry. I also did not like the idea of her being confined in a kennel when I knew rats were getting into the barn.
And so, to the horror of the wonderful person who cleaned the bathroom on Friday, there has been a chicken in my bathtub since Saturday morning, doing everything chickens do. I will leave the details to your imagination. Edith is currently not using her wings to jump up or fly, so her activities are at least contained within the tub. I promise I will clean the bathroom top to bottom with every antibacterial product under the sun once Edith is released back to the general population.
She greeted me sweetly when I entered the bathroom this morning, which is a return to her usual demeanor. Yesterday she ate a thin mixture of oatmeal with apple bits, dandelion, chamomile, bee balm, and cinnamon. I also added electrolytes and probiotics to her water. She is eating and drinking (this morning, she had oatmeal with the same herbs, plus rice and peas). She does not appear to be egg-bound; she most definitely is not constipated, nor is her crop impacted or sour. Her comb is still an excellent, bright red, which leads me to think she may be dealing with an injury instead of an illness.
Her movements seem a bit more steady/less wobbly this morning, and I think she is improving. Keeping her in the infirmary allows her to stay warm and dry and access food and water without much movement and with no competition. As long as she tolerates this change in circumstance, it is in her best interests to keep her indoors to improve her chances of recovery. But the second she is well enough to hop up onto the edge of the bathtub, she is going back outside where she belongs.
I care a great deal about my chickens. I have a strong spiritual and ethical commitment to caring for them. But they do not belong in the house. Nope.
When I finally went outside to tend the other birds, Mary made it very clear he has not forgiven me for taking Edith away yesterday. The hens seemed concerned, so I informed them that Edith is improving and should return to them soon. By the time I finished filling the feeders and waterers and mucking the coop, all was well with the flock.
There was a hen-pecked brown egg in the nesting boxes, and I used that to do an egg cleanse of negative energy before I left the barn. Five minutes of earnest conversation with Brigid at her altar which overlooks the barn, then I was ready to move on with my day.
Of course, no morning is complete without time spent playing with Hank in the south yard. That routine is essential to his well-being and has become part of the ritual that is essential to mine. I sit on the porch of the woodshop and wait for the first kiss of sunlight on my face - and that is when my day truly begins.
"Mother, keep me mindful..." the first line of my daily prayer, cast upon the ley lines between earth and water, fire and air...
Good morning, peeps.
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