DAISY'S ASTOUNDING BRAIN

Honestly.

While the other gals are stampeding willy-nilly through that puddle,

Daisy stands transfixed at the water cascading over the edge. 

How many chickens do you know who carefully observe the hunting techniques of a robin? 

Okay, I'll just say it.  
I think I have a genius in the coop.

Over and over again, Daisy displays phenomenal mental capabilities.

Of course a chicken's brain, no matter how capable, is a little bit skewed in its design.

Daisy is easily distracted.  And she has a tendency to panic.  Comprehension is pretty weak, too.  
But doesn't that sound like the average report card these days anyway?


Minor disabilities are no obstacle for Daisy.  
She earnestly perseveres, committed to exploring the farthest reaches of her universe.

The kitchen, for example.

Daisy is obsessed with our living quarters.

While none of the other girls shows even the slightest curiosity about our human lives,

Daisy seizes every chance to stalk around the back deck peering into windows.

That day I left the sliding door open, Daisy cautiously advanced. This was her first opportunity to actually step inside, and she was giddy about it. She carefully absorbed every detail during those precious few moments.

Those precious few moments ended when Marky hopped up onto the deck---

but the excitement of her expedition left Daisy longing to return.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Daisy's next opportunity came just this week.

She had been laying eggs with no shells for several days, and I was pretty concerned. 
Daisy wasn't behaving like a sick chicken, but I knew something was wrong.

Then one night as I locked up the coop, I noticed that Daisy was missing.

I hunted around,

and found her asleep in the nestbox.

...not a good sign.

My hens always sleep on the roost. There's plenty of roosting space for them, so the nest boxes stay clean and are used only for egg-laying.

I had to pause and think for a moment about what to do.

I recalled what Terry Golson of Hencam.com once told me... (or did I just think she'd told me....?)

"when in doubt, give'em a bath".

...and if Terry didn't say this, she'd probably agree with me anyway.  
It's a pleasant experience for the chicken, and it's a good chance to do a little physical exam. So I took Daisy into the kitchen, filled a tub with warm water and plunked her in.

She had a whole mess of raw egg stuck to her feet and her belly -- so I was glad to get her all cleaned off. As I bathed her, I was able to examine her crop, gizzard, vent, toes.

All those little body parts seemed normal.

She thoroughly enjoyed her blow-dry,

she fluffed up the final feathers herself,

and then suddenly realized

that she was in the.... kitchen.
A sense of awe consumed her.

She became perky and happy, alert and investigative, which made me confident that whatever ailed her was not imminently fatal.

I let her explore briefly and then I scooped her up and ran her out to the coop before she could plop a heinous poo on the kitchen floor.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day I began augmenting the ladies' chicken feed with extra calcium, and in a few days Daisy was laying eggs with shells again. I think that the abundant bugs and grubs and grass and clover of this lush season had somehow set her nutrient level out of whack.

Daisy continues to study her world-
I watched her warily approach a dead vole in the coop the other day.

When she snatched it up and gave it a good shake I guessed that it might have been she who was responsible for its condition.

So how can it be that this fearless, plucky, intellectually superior --- and did I mention beautiful--- chicken 

has landed at the rock-bottom of the pecking order? 

Stay tuned for the next post:    BULLYING