Meet the Chicken

We have added a chicken to the homestead. Gee. I didn't even know I had a homestead. I just have a small town home a garden, some grape vines and blackberries. And a bunch of herbs. And a penchant for canning. And a hobby of learning to use herbs for more than cooking. Not to mention the knitting and sewing. And... And... When did this become a homestead?

Now, about the chicken?" you ask. She is a rescue that my daughter-in-law brought home.  Lisa, the daughter-in-law, drives a semi. She found the chicken running loose in the parking lot at a Tyson slaughter house. Since no one claimed the feathered refugee, Lisa popped her into the cab of her truck and brought her home. I have no idea what breed of chicken she might be, but we've been calling her Lucky Leghorn.  We are pretty sure she was a caged bird, but I am very pleased she never had her beak trimmed.  It took her a week to become accustomed to walking and exploring a small cage at my son's house. Today Lucky was introduced to her new home: the 10x20' former dog pen in my back yard.

As soon as Lucky was released into the pen, my black cat Loki found his way inside. He went to sniff the chicken and Lucky pecked him on the nose. Ouch! He retreated to the water dish to check out the beverage on tap. Lucky spotted a long, black, fuzzy wormlike thing and pinched it. Ouch, again! If you look closely at the photo, you will see Loki on the right side of the pen, staying as far away from that Evil Chicken as he can get. Shortly after the photo was taken, Loki made his escape and got far, far away.

My first priority was to get the top of the pen enclosed so neither my cats nor any visiting hawks or raccoons could get inside. Son Joe, granddaughter Lala, and I strung netting across the top of the pen.  It was hardly finished before another of my cats, Lonesome, jumped up to check out the handy work. He must have been talking to Loki, because he didn't even try to get closer to Lucky.

Now Joe is building Lucky a small hen house where she can get out of the weather. I have a bit of straw I can tuck inside later for nesting material.

Dad built the dog pen in 1961 for his hunting dogs. I bet both he and Mom are in Heaven laughing about this latest use of his 53 year old dog pen.

UPDATE:  The chicken's name didn't stick. We got to calling her Mrs. Cluck, from Disney's Robin Hood. That worked fine until "Mrs. Cluck" started crowing. Oops!

So now he is Mr. Cluck.  He's such a lot of fun. Whenever we go to the pen to feed him he runs to the gate to greet us. Technically we are not supposed to have a rooster inside the city limits, but no one has complained and I will keep my happy chicken until I have to move him. Fortunately, Joe and Lisa live 1/2 mile outside of town on 5 acres. If the city complains, I can see if the kids can take him.