The good news is that Rudd is still miraculously alive. The bad news is that she appears altered.
I also saw this in Isabelle after she had recovered from a very severe illness. She was alive, but she was not really there. Poor little Isabelle was the first of our flock to be taken by a hawk because it didn’t occur to her to hide when she heard the hawk’s cry.
When you sit in the middle of an open yard, you make yourself easy pickings.
In Rudd’s case, she is eating and drinking, but there’s something not quite right about her. She’s doesn’t seem to be aware of what’s going on. Rudd’s spark is gone.
But to give her credit, if something had tried to take my head off, there might not be something quite right about me either.
We’ve let her mix (under supervision) with the rest of the flock and where before she was a flock leader, she’s now a loner. Rudd sits by herself and didn’t even get excited when I fed the flock some scraps of bread. She’s slow now and seems to lumber around.
One of my sons tells me that a chicken’s brain extends down its neck. If that’s the case, he explained, and she was attacked on her neck, it’s likely that she now has brain damage.
In Rudd’s case, it’s entirely possible that a portion of her brain was damaged (remember that I could see clearly see her skull above the neck wound) and that she might indeed have some kind of brain injury – sort of like a Fisher cat-induced-chicken-lobotomy.
Or she could still be processing the most traumatic night of her life.
In any event, she’s still alive which means that she has a place in our flock. Everyone is aware of her “difference” and we’ve all got her back. Carry on Rudd, be safe.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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