So one of the reasons I wanted to be done with the Araucanas was that I needed the space for #12, the Brahma hen they (or at least one of them, but since there was never any way to know which did it they were punished collectively) attacked and ate a chunk out of. Since she’s a Brahma, and they seem to be bred for the specific purpose of fatally falling victim to things, I naturally assumed #12 would turn toes-up and die. At a minimum she would presumably do what #7 did when subjected to far milder injury, which is to hang around being terrified of everything for a month or two and then die. Instead she slowly recovered.
Purely for lack of more suitable space she did so in a cage in the middle of my powershed, where she made an enormous nuisance of herself and a terrible mess on the floor. Sometimes I took her outside and let her get some air in the shade, but mostly I kept her fed and watered and otherwise didn’t give her much thought. At first she just sort of lay there and didn’t eat much. But gradually she became more mobile and vocal, her appetite improved, the truly appalling hole in her side healed over to some extent, and she grew some feathers back. It was really time to get her out of her cage. I could have put her in with the Rhode Island Reds, who got along well enough with #7 before she croaked, but I didn’t feel she was ready for that. Maybe I was wrong.
I cleaned up the mess the Araucanas had made, propped up the side of Ian’s coop to provide some shade, and introduced #12 to the garden area. I assumed she would cringe, freak out, clutch her chest and faint, or all of the above. Instead she ignored Scary Man and proceeded to scratch for bugs with great enthusiasm – which explains the succession of really crappy photographs. She doesn’t seem particularly upset by any of this at all. So maybe I’ll try her with the RIRs after all.
