Well, the chickens are chickening.

The recent storms seem to have scared our volunteer hen away. We don’t think anything happened to her, because we still hear her particular little clucks sometimes. We think that her route in and out of our yard got messed up. While we were spared the worst of Helene, there was a ton of flooding and damage to the area as a whole.

The rooster, who has been lonely with the volunteer awol and our pet hen indoors has become unusually friendly with us. He’s always been the sort to prefer a bit of distance in our interactions. But he’s started taking treats directly from hands and even squawking outside the window to get our attention to get us to come out, where he struts his stuff.

The pet hen is doing much better with her foot, and is absolutely queen of the house in her mind. I’m kinda proud of how well the foot is doing. I was worried it would be something I would screw up, but my research paid off, and it’s darn near healed now. Technically, she would be fine going back outside during the day, but I’m not only making sure there isn’t a recurrence, but she’s been a delight recently.

She’s turned into a bit of a cuddle bug.

She’s trained to go on pads when she needs to poop (which was hard to achieve), so she’s got the run of the house now. When I stretch out on the bed to unkink my back, it isn’t long before the clitter-clack and pitter-pat of little claws are heard. Then there’s the rustle of feathers.

Those sounds make me smile because they presage a period of goofiness and sweetness.

She struts around, preening after the jump to the bed, getting my attention by any means necessary, including stretching her neck around and staring at me from a few inches from my face. She demands I watch her preen for five minutes or so. If my attention wavers, she scolds me and struts around until I tell her she’s pretty and speak sweetly (which is just me talking nonsense in a high voice, but she likes it lol).

Once she has been worshipped properly, it is time for cuddles.

She will peck my arm until I wrap it around her. She then nestles her beak into the crook of my elbow and do her little feather ruffling waddle as she settles in place.

At that point, there is no petting allowed. There is no nothing allowed; no reading, no watching anything other than her. Music is allowed, though I am expected to change songs when she growls. She has developed a deep love of bluegrass, Mongolian folk music, melodic death metal, and a specific singer named Carson McKee.

She is also the only thing on the planet that enjoys my singing, which is akin to a bullfrog being stepped on by a braying and drunken donkey. We sometimes sing together, me and the hen.

But not during cuddles! No, I am allowed to sing softly to her while she trills and naps. And I can speak sweetly to her, telling her how sweet and pretty she is. I doubt she understands the words, but she can sure tell when I make jokes about her while speaking sweet. She’ll detect whatever it is in my voice that changes and scold me softly before ruffling her feathers back into place.

Chickens don’t nap long, luckily. Five to ten minutes at most. Then she’ll wake up, shake her little tail, and do her ballerina stretch. She extends one leg behind her, and both wings back along her sides and then out before ruffling again and pecking at me until I help her down to the floor.

She’s just barely a year old. We got her because you can’t just keep one chicken, they need their own kind. But she was too young to stay outside at low temps, which were pretty much all day and night when we brought her home. She’d go out to the run for an hour or two while I piddled in the yard, with the rooster strutting for her instead of following me.

But as soon as she was feathered enough, she started spending days outside, but coming in at night. She was supposed to be a regular, outdoor chicken. But we missed her too much. I had forgotten in the intervening spring and summer how much she fit into our day.

Last year, if someone had told me I’d be cuddling with a chicken I would have told them they were insane.

Now? I can’t imagine what life would be without her.

Lady is old, fat, and we’ll deserving of her nap after toast and a little ham. Paya is visiting while our son is traveling and she likes to make sure everyone is up early so she can have the bed for her…after some ham, of course.

So spoiled and sleeping would be the short answer.

My 10yo former stray is still frustrated she can’t go outside. I’ve done what I can to make the indoors appealing, but I live in an apartment and I can only customize it so much.

She did wear the harness for the first time last night, though! She immediately shoved one leg into the neck hole, tried to take a step, and fell over. But it’s progress.

My cat claimed a big box i had sat beside my bed while i was putting together the chair that came in it, now i don’t think I’ll be and to toss it this month. She prefers that box with a blanket thrown over it to any bed I’ve ever gotten her.