This is the story of Hilda, the rescue hen who had to be rescued again.
About a week after we brought the Warrens to the Food Forest Garden it started to become apparent that one was being picked on. It was easy to identify the victim, she spent most of her time separate from the others. If they were outside, she was inside; if they were inside, she was out. And there would be a kerfuffle and squawking whenever she got too close to the other three.
Clair had noticed that she was being bullied away from the food so was doing her best to make sure she received a little food and attention on her visits.
By the weekend, we knew we had to do something or she wasnt going to make it.
We’d been at the garden for the morning and it was hot. The poor, bullied hen had been sat outside for the whole time: in the sun, perched up as high as she could get to be out of the way.
She hadn’t even attempted to go inside for food or water.
We discussed our options again. We hadn’t been able to identify the “bully” as the other three still looked so similar.
Clair had already considered taking the victim to her house and letting her take her chances free-ranging in her garden. She’d ruled this out though because it would set her hens off to see another in the garden.
We weren’t ready with another run although there was already the possibility of a run in another garden.
So Lauren and I said we’d take her home to recuperate but we didn’t have a run or a coop for her. Clair suggested a rabbit hutch she’d had a young chicken in the year before. Not big enough for a full grown hen but better, temporarily, than starving to death where she was.
We knew this was an irreversible step. She would not be going back to the Food Forest Garden and rejoining the other rescues. Another solution would have to be found. And soon.
We drove round the corner and picked up the rabbit hutch, a cardboard box and a container of food. Then we went back to catch the hen. She was quite placid and ridiculously light in the box.
We drove her home, put her in the rabbit hutch and gave her food and water. Even though it was late afternoon when we got home, she ate her full day’s portion of food in about an hour and drank a lot.
Daniel constructed the chicken equivalent of Fort Knox using the old playpen (just in case the local foxes came investigating) and we kept our fingers crossed. She took herself into the little nest box (that was so small she could barely turn around) and settled down for the night.
The next day she ate less frantically and appeared more relaxed. She even laid us an egg.
Over the next week, she ate what she wanted and the girls fed her leaves and goodies from the garden. We let her out as often as we were around and she found a good spot for a soil bath.
As she started to gain weight and confidence, she gradually acquired the name Hilda (after the hen in a book by Jill Tomlinson that I’d read to the girls). In spite of everything, she laid an egg almost every day.
We loved having Hilda to stay, but we all knew she needed some friends and a much larger run.
So after two weeks, a coop and run were ready in another garden in Ewart Street. We picked up 2 Bluebells, 2 Cuckoo Marans and 2 White Leghorns (all point of lay) from Willow Farm poultry and introduced them to Hilda.
After a few initial power-struggles this group seems to have settled down into a relaxed flock, with Hilda firmly in charge.
She is still very friendly and loves an adventure around her new garden. She still lays very well and is much fussed over by everyone.
Kirsty
– having way too much fun!