This is My Pet Chicken

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She is currently living in my kitchen, where she has been defrosting.

It took about three days.

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I found her about a week ago keeled over in the snow when I accompanied my friend, Janet to a neighbors house to do chores while owners were out of town.

Initially I picked her up to dispose of the body, but . . . turns out

SHE WAS STILL BREATHING!

So, that’s how she ended up going home with me to defrost.

She and I have not left the kitchen since.  There is a nice tall electric heater in here that rotates, sunlight streams through the windows on the south, and I can always bake banana bread or muffins, then leave the oven on for the rest of the day.

You get the picture.

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She will sit on my lap as I browse the Internet. I learned that she is a Silkie, so named for fluffy plumage that feels like silk. They are a favorite of children and known for their broodiness. That means they like to sit on eggs, often stealing eggs from other chickens!

 This is what a Silkie looks like when it’s not defrosting:

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Ridiculous, no?

I learned that people either LOVE or HATE Silkies. One of my chat buddies from Backyardchicken.com calls them “Walking Asphyxiated Dust Bunnies.”

Then goes on to say:

I had one before and it was always vanishing for days.  I would find it trying to hatch cucumbers, rocks, acorns, squash or whatever it could sit on. The rooster was afraid of her and the hens pecked her so much I had to keep her in a separate cage. I even bought a silkie rooster for her because I had some compassion because she was alone. He was scared of her too.  She was too slow to escape a cat. Never laid one egg in two years. I secretly cheered for the cat.”

NOW, what to do???

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I can’t imagine returning her to her former digs which did not have heat, nor can I imagine adding her to my small flock in a cold and drafty barn.

My “brooder” outside is covered in a snow drift, also with no heat.

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Every day we face yet a new winter weather challenge.

Even when it doesn’t snow, my how it

B   L   O   W   S

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or . . .

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A tree I would pass daily when I commuted to St. Charles:

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How grateful I am I can remain safely at home.

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To commune with my chicken.

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