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The Big Snow took out the net above the chicken yard, and today some chickens figured that out and flew over the fence. We were dog-sitting for friends while they went skiing over the weekend, and the dog attacked one of the escapees. Adrian thought the chicken should be dispatched right away to put her out of her misery, but despite the deep puncture wounds in her back, she looked like she had a chance to me. 

So I brought her inside and, with Adrian step-and-fetching, held her on my lap while cleaning and dressing her wounds. She remained bright-eyed and calm throughout most of it. We wrapped her in an an old towel and put her in a plastic tub. 

Chicken hospital

It’s funny how conscious we are of the threat that wild animals pose to our livestock. Though owls, hawks, eagles, raccoons, and coyotes could all kill our chickens, none ever have. Three Four have been killed and one has been injured by the dogs of friends or neighbors. And unlike wild animals, none of them did it because they were hungry.

A postscript: the chicken died around midnight of the second night that she spent in my room. Rest in peace, little hen. Thanks for all the eggs.

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The other day, Adrian came in and told me (in his own words) that bucks are capable of self-administering fellatio.

I thought raising him on a small farm would be educational, I just didn’t realize how educational it would be.