Yesterday on a walk, Fancyhats and I spied a chicken in a coop in the yard of an empty house for sale. On closer inspection, this poor bird had no water or food and was navigating her way around about 20 dirty eggs. Chickens are social animals and will die of loneliness without other birds around. Not to mention dying of thirst or hunger. So we liberated her and brought her to the abbey.
After cross referencing our chicken library, we’ve come to the conclusion that she’s a Bantam Belgian Bearded d’Uccle. She’s such a sweet little hen and after a few nips on her head from our old hen Trixie, she’s settled into life in the abbey with no problems.
I think it helps that she was starving when she got here and couldn’t be bothered to interact with the other hens. She just wanted to eat whatever she could find. We gave her scratch grain and dried meal worms and she was cooing and singing. This morning, Fancyhats found the three hens all perched on the bar in their coop.
I love my husband and he’s very good at so many things, but naming animals is not one of them. He named one of our first chicks after his grandmother. We got this chicken when it was a baby and it turned out to be a rooster. After that, I took over naming duty.
I am excellent at naming animals. It’s my super power. But after I heard Snowshoe, my naming synapses went a little berserk and I threw out Yeti. It riffs on Snowshoe, and has a bit of irony because she’s a bantam and will always be a miniature chicken.
But as I was about to fall asleep last night, I realized her real name was Mouse. I tried to take back Yeti, but it stuck. So Yeti/Mouse, welcome to the abbey. Keep laying those eggs. Show those other two lazy hens what’s what.