Conversation of The Secret Sisters...chicken speak

The Secret Sisters are the clan of Buff Orps that live at Apifera. They have separated themselves out from the Barred Rocks who are under the domain of Father, the Rooster. The Secret Sisters now live with Opie in the front of the barn, away from the constant demands of Father. 

"No, really?" the hen said.

"I kid you not," said the other hen.

"He really said that?" said the first hen.

"Quiet, here she comes," said the third hen.

"She does't speak hen," a chicken said.

"Oh, yes she does, I converse with her all the time."

Silence.

By the time I walked by the hens, they had repositioned themselves near Opie, sprawled out on his lawn chair as if he had just worked a six day week. I went onto the barn.

"So tell me again, what did he say?" I heard a hen ask.

Opie's blind chicken-the pig names her Henneth but Opie calls her Pickles

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Apr 24, 2018 at 2:25pm PDT

Our latest Apiferian is a one eyed blind chicken. Opie immediately seemed to understand the chicken was unique. When she first arrived, I kept her in a bunny hutch on the floor of the barn where Opie, and his other pet chicken, and some Buffs, could get to know said blind chicken. Now Opie is feeling pretty full of himself these days, with Spring air, and the fact that he now seems to have not one, but two pet chickens. He made it clear in this video not to bother his new blind chicken!

He had not even named the first pet chicken, one of the four Buff Orpingtons who I took out of the flock to be away from Father, the Barred Rock rooster who is very rough on the girls. The Buffs don't tolerate him, but this poor hen would cower for hours in a corner, so I took her out. Then the other Buffs began separating out from the Barred Rock girls. The Buffs were here first and were grown when the Barred rock hens arrived as chicks. So be it, the Buffs now live with Opie, Sir Tripod and Else in the front barn, and the Barred Rocks live with Father in the other side of the barn. You gotta go with the flow.

So when my friend asked if I might be able to take her one eyed blind chicken, how could I say 'no'. Blind, one eyed? It's right up the Apifera alley. I had met the chicken formally at my friends home, where she was working hard to get the chicken back in good enough health to return to the flock. We don't know what happened, but she thinks a predator, perhaps a hawk, freaked out the flock and this hen damaged her eye. Whatever happened, she was in my friend's care in her studio for weeks, so she was really personable and used to being handled since her eye was being cleaned daily. But her land is different than ours, and she feared the hen was a sitting...er, duck...to prey, and I suspect she was right.

When I first took her out of the crate on arrival, I thought,

This chicken is not long for this world.

But as you know well, I am often wrong.

I knew she had been in a cage for many weeks, so it was clear she was a bit wobbly. Her beak was long, as were her toes. But she just seemed off. She would lay down and tuck her head down. I know that could have been a defense too, but she was thin and you know once a chicken, in my experience, and I am not a chicken guru, but once a chicken gets really sick it seems to take a lot of them. Her 'good' eye was also goopy, and her wounded eye was like a Marty Feldman eye and really weird looking. After about for days of cleaning it, I noticed a piece of straw stuck there in the ooze, pulled it out, and magic, the eye just exploded with liquid. Sorry for the graphics, but not only did the chicken seemed relieved, so was I. Now that eye is sort of there, but dark. She is definitely blind, as she runs into any objects that are new. but she knows her area now.

In fact she was laying an egg every now and then-a beautiful brown one. I put her in her bunny hut at night but each morning she comes out and free ranges. She knows my voice and comes to me, and I still hold her and clean her eyes. I love that I can do this. I have missed personable chickens, which I had many of out West. For some reasons, my hens here have been less personable. But the Buffs, free from Father, are warming up.

Well, it was time to name that chicken.

"Pickles," said Opie.

"One Blind Mouse," yelled out Wilbur the Acrobatic Goat.

"I've been called her Henneth," said Earnest the pig, as he napped.

Well, the pig is often right, so her name is Henneth. But Opie still calls her Pickles. It is after all, his chicken.

Opie and Henneth, er, Pickles

On arrival, I put a harness on her, thinking the hens might peck her eye

Old else, with Henneth

Her right eye now deflated

Well, I guess for now my goat has a pet chicken

A post shared by Katherine Dunn / Apifera Farm (@katherinedunnapiferafarm) on Mar 31, 2018 at 7:24am PDT

Opie has been very good to his chicken. The chicken has laid regular eggs and seems very content, especially since she is out of the path of Father and his overzealous love machine behavior. The chicken also has the ability to fly into Earnest's stall and out the back door to freedom, and if she chooses to do this, in order to be outdoors or back with the flock, that will be her statement to me.

I told Opie,

"I have decided you can keep your pet chicken, but if she shows she wants back with the flock, that will be her choice."

"Then will I go live with the flock?" he asked.

"No, you are not a chicken, you live in here with the goats," I said.

"But she is not a goat and she is living in here as a chicken with goats," he responded.

Good grief.

It is very seductive when you write a blog, and have a bent for story telling, and an over active imagination, to let these things get carried away. The last think I want to do is to have the chicken become some kind of blog prop. She is after all a chicken and I want her to remain a chicken, and be...well, chicken like.

But I have to tell you, she seems to enjoy her new altered life of living separate from the flock. And she can at anytime be with them, and can see them too through the chicken wire walls that are at the end of the goat barn. When I put down Opie's breakfast yesterday, I was amused at how polite he was with his chicken, actually stopping to let her eat a bit before he devoured his food like any healthy goat. Was I imagining this? I don't think so.

Opie was enamored, for a brief moment, with his chicken's egg. It being Easter and all he assumed it was an Easter miracle.

"Are you a rabbit, too?" he asked his chicken.

"No, I am a pure chicken," she said.


I think for now, she is happy. So I told Opie,

"Do you want your chicken to have a name? I will leave it up to you."

We shall see.

"Opie, whatever you do, don't name that chicken!"

I was minding my own business...you know how these stories usually turn out...doing my nightly chores when I saw one of the Buff Orpington hens huddled in the corner of the coop. This was not normal behavior for her. I noticed she had a bloody comb. I assumed that Father, the rooster, was being overly loving with her. Father is a Barred Rock, and he came as a hatchling along with the other Barred Rock chicks. But the Buff Orpingtons were already established here and kind of just tolerate Father, and don't fall for all his sexual provocations. I have noticed that the Buffs flee Father, and the Barred Rocks have had there back feathers pulled out from overly demonstrative love making chicken style. Chicken sex is a tough business.

So anyway, Father entered the coop right after I had noticed the hen and she made a beeline for another corner to get away from him, and went down into a sitting duck posture. I decided to bring her out to live temporarily with the goats in the front barn, where she could have peace and quiet away from Father. She seemed very content when I did this, and she still could see the other flock through the chicken wire.

That was a couple days ago. And each morning I go in and there is that chicken with Opie. She has laid two eggs in the back of one of the sleeping cubbies. When I call Opie over breakfast, along comes that chicken.

"Thank you for getting me a chicken!" said Opie this morning.

"Um, it's actually my chicken, Opie," I told him. "Or it is our chicken, perhaps," I added.

"But I have always wanted my own pet chicken," Opie said.

"You have chickens you can see through the coop door," I told him. "Besides, how will you feed your chicken?" I asked.

"I will request that you spread out extra breakfast for me, so I can share with her," Opie said.

"Will you clean her water dish, because she will make a mess of her water dish, you know?"

"Oh...yes, I promise. I will push the water dish out to you and the hose each morning," Opie said.

"Well, I don't know, Opie, she might need to go back in with the flock. I'll think about it today. Whatever you do, don't name the chicken!" I warned him.

I kind of forgot about it, to be honest, I had a busy day and lots of office details I was behind on. So when I went back out to do some barn clean up, there was that darn chicken, and right by her side was Opie. Opie looked up at me and then ran off to the hay room, the chicken followed. I looked down at the nest in the sleeping cubby and noticed she had laid another egg. That's when I saw a sign, crudely written in mud,tacked to the wall nearby the nest,

"Opie's Chicken Do Not Disturb"

Stay tuned.