For the moment I decided to hang the hanging feeder from a cross-beam with a spare dog leash. With a knot tied in it, to bring it up to the right height.
Last week I noticed that Ethel was limping pretty badly. Her lame foot was also totally filthy. And so it is that I found myself in a position of having to give a chicken a foot bath.
“Why are you looking at me like that? You’re planning something, aren’t you?”
This is the kind of thing that makes me glad that A) I deliberately chose breeds described as “calm” and “friendly,” and B) I spent a lot of time handling them as chicks. Flipping a chicken upside down, washing its foot, and giving it a close examination can be unpleasant for all involved.
… But Ethel was mostly just curious.
Poor dear. You can see the others have been pecking the back of her head. (It’s not bloody – it’s just that her comb flesh is flushed.) And down there on the belly you can see where she’s plucked out her feathers when she goes broody.
Ethel is kind of a mess. I will not be entering her in the county fair any time soon.
Please do not peck me in the boob.
Anyway I didn’t find anything obviously amiss. (And she didn’t peck me – in the boob or anywhere else.) Maybe she just pulled a hamstring or something.