Ethel is limping much less. In fact, you would have to be some kind of crazy obsessive chicken owner in order to notice the limp at this point.
I still notice the limp.
But it’s getting better, and I’m sure it will be gone soon.
(Sorry for the crappy cameraphone picture. I forgot to take my digital camera down with me, and I just couldn’t be bothered to make a second trip.)
In other chicken-related news, I was shocked to see Martha (the other Buff Orpington) drinking from that crazy-ass waterer! No one else seems to be drinking from it at this point. It’s like Martha’s private water fountain.
I also learned about an interesting thing this week. Bleaching is the phenomenon whereby the hen’s body robs itself of yellow pigment in the process of laying eggs.
I thought I was crazy for thinking that the legs of Harriet, my Rhode Island Red, had gotten more pale over the summer. I thought it was just the way the sunlight washes colors out. But no, they really were a more vibrant yellow last winter.
It made me feel a little bad about the whole thing. But they color right back up over the winter months when they stop laying. It’s not fatal or anything.
Dang. Now I want to own a pub in–whatever you would call Charles Dickens’ time (Victorian Era, Google tells me)–and name it “The Limping Chicken.”
Call me cruel and insensitive, but the image of a limping chicken makes me laugh.
She’s probably just doing it to get attention. You know what Drama Queens chickens can be…