Spotty, my lovely hand-reared hen
Spotty, my hand-reared hen
About a year and a bit ago, I was lucky enough to be asked to care for a small chicken that was possibly dropped by one of the kinder kids, during a chicken hatching and bonding experiment.
I work from home, so Spotty lived inside with me, in my office, for nigh on three months. The room was alive with untidiness. There were towels on the floor, toys made of paper clips, which were strewn about, cats locked out of the room, budgie mirrors and small bird feeders clipped to a cat cage full of straw and there was straw on the floor. Oh, and a 40 watt lamp was constantly on.
Spotty and I became very close during this time. She sat on my lap as her leg repaired, climbed into warm places in my clothes often getting close to my neck. She made a high and contented whirring purring sound as she relaxed. She joined me in Skyping my friend Sonja when we were co-lecturing a technical communication subject for Swinburne.
When she was a about three months old, she was old enough to join the big hens outside. I bought her a surrogate mother and a chick about her own age and, happily, the match worked and she soon seemed comfortable with her new surrounds.
Most mornings when I feed the hens and ducks, Spotty runs down the stairs after me and comes inside to get first dibs.
She still comes upstairs now and again and has a look around. She still likes to sit on my lap when the sun is shining. As before, she climbs up high and buries her head in my hair. The difference now is that when she sags to sleep and her little eyelids close from the bottom up her purring sound is now much lower. To me she sounds like I imagine a small dinosaur would.
I drew a picture of Spotty last night. If you ever get the chance to save a little hen, take up the challenge and reap the benefits of crossing the species divide and loving a chicken, and having a heap of fun as you learn new experiences.
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