First of all (and this will ruin the drama), Trouble is okay. You remember Trouble, my favorite hen? The one I originally thought was a rooster? She’s fine. She did not suffocate, and I don’t think she’s blind, though it was touch-and-go there for awhile.

My partner and I were on the way out for an evening walk a few days ago. The chickens were behind the fence after a gloriously sunny day of free-ranging.  Deidre noticed that Trouble was sticking her head through the chain link fence, maybe trying to get some tasty nibble of cracked corn just beyond her reach. In. out. In. Out. Then, head halfway between out and in, she stopped.

She was stuck. Not just between the little diamonds of the chain link, but wedged good and tight between the end post and the tension bar. She couldn’t breathe.

To free her, I’d have to release the tension on the bar, which keeps the fence fabric pulled taut. I grabbed the bar and yanked, hoping to budge it enough for avian escape. Nothing doing. I sent Deidre scrambling for bolt cutters (which I realized about 30 seconds later that we don’t own). Meanwhile, the other hens mobbed me while I tried to keep Trouble calm and alive. I finally opened the door and let them all out in the yard.

Deidre appeared with a pair of tin snips. Undersized for the job, but likely the best we had on hand, I set the blades so they’d cut fence and not neck. I had to summon my super-hero powers to squeeze the handles together. Snap! The fence wire sprung free, but Trouble did not. I gathered my strength again and cut another fence wire, and Deidre lifted Trouble free with a loud squawking gasp (Trouble, not Deidre).

Her eye was gouged and bleeding. She was so weak she just laid limply on my lap. I supported her droopy head, soothed her feathers, dabbed her wound with antibiotic ointment. I found myself comforting her like my mother did for me when I’d fallen off my bike as a kid.

Eventually, she was strong enough to lift her head for a moment or two. Then, she opened her unhurt eye (did you know that chickens open their eyelids from the bottom?). She tried, every now and then, to open the other eye, but it was clearly bothering her.  While she rested, I worried she’d lose her sight in that eye and, with it, her spirited and curious approach to life.

She stayed on my lap for long while. When she was stable, we set up private accommodations for her: a dog kennel with food and water, so the other hens wouldn’t pick on her. In the morning, she seemed eager to return to her chicken activities, so we let her out to wander the yard with the others. When I checked on her a few hours later, I found her in the nest box, laying a perfect egg. What a champ!

The fence is now rather inelegantly patched. Imperfectly functional. I guess I could say the same for Trouble, who I continue to adore, despite  — or because — she certainly  lives up to her name.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 11th, 2008 at 8:42 am and is filed under Chickens. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.