While Business Chicken is on…..vacation, possibly permanently, life goes on. One of the Backup chickens has scaly looking legs, which is probably mites. We decided to clean both of them and dip their legs in oil to suffocate the mites.
For maximum hilarity, the cleaning bucket is popcorn and the oil itself is corn oil. They were curious about the setup.
I captured one and demonstrated proper chicken rotation, based on Rotate Your Owl.
We dunked their little legs in soap water, scrubbed with a toothbrush, and then dunked in corn oil. Hopefully this works.
Oh no, Business Chicken has flown the coop! Jason let them out a few days ago to run around the yard like they love to do and Business disappeared within a half hour.
The neighborhood is now plastered with posters on every light pole, and the neighbors on the lookout.
This afternoon I checked on the chickens as usual and didn’t see Executive Presence (nee Bossy) anywhere. I figured she was laying an egg, so I opened the nest box door; the worried look they give you is fairly hilarious.
Not in there either, though. Uh oh. She’s hunched down in the main area of the coop and not moving. I pull the roof off and she’s definitely not well, she doesn’t put up a fight at all. Betsy and I sprung into action and rushed her to the chicken vet, but she expired right after we got her inside. Unlike Shy Chicken, who had egg binding, the vet suspects reproductive issues that commonly strike chickens as they age; she was coming up on her 6th birthday.
In happier days, making a dust bath.
She had a magnificently large personality in addition to the sweet black feathers with purple highlights and red underfeathers.
We’ll miss you, EP.
….but you can’t make them eat it. They are still eyeing it suspiciously.
A friendly passerby helps a chicken in need.
Marc Klein was walking his dog, Cocoa, last Wednesday morning in Central Park when he spotted something rustling in the fallen leaves near the park’s entrance at West 97th Street.
It was a feathered creature, but not one of the more commonly seen wild birds in the park. This was a chicken, a handsome, reddish bird that Mr. Klein quickly scooped up because some other dogs nearby seemed a bit too interested in the animal for its safety.
“You don’t really see chickens in Central Park,” said Mr. Klein, 49. “I thought the chicken might be someone’s pet, because it allowed me to get real close. But now I’m holding this bird, and I can’t just go and put it down, because these dogs might eat it.”
So he carried both Cocoa and the chicken home to his high-rise apartment on 97th Street, drawing a stare from his doorman, and another from his wife, Laura.
Unable to immediately reach animal rescue groups, Mr. Klein, an advertising creative director, put the chicken out on his terrace, 16 stories up, and rushed to finish a presentation that was overdue.