Orphan Chick
Yesterday morning when I went out to do chores, I noticed Miss “My Pad is a Purple Bucket” was still in the chicken pen. Well, there’s reason for the saying “up with the chickens.” They’re usually out foraging at the crack of dawn, and there she was, still in the pen.
Her little chick was huddled down underneath her.
When I got up close, the little chick went running around, but the mother hen never moved. She was dead.
The little peep looked so pitiful trying to keep close to the mother. It would go out every once in a while and eat some cracked corn I threw on the ground, but would go running back to scoot under the mother hen’s body every time another chicken came close.
I’m guessing the hen just died of old age. We’ve been losing one of the girls from our foundation flock every now and then. As you can see from her white feathers, she was getting old. In her prime, her feathers were all that golden color.
The Farmer disposed of the mama hen last night, and I have the chick in a cage on the back porch. I feel sorry for the little mite. It keeps peeping for a mama that isn’t going to come back.
