Killer (her new name is almost official) aka Dottie is currently sporting top of the line, designer, peepers. These "Pinless Peepers" are supposed to help with feather plucking and general pecking. I was in Boston when Travis put the peepers on Killer. Oh how I wish I was a fly on the wall. He said it took him a while to get them on. He steadied her between his legs and held her little, twitchy, neck still while he put these things on. I wonder what he was staying during this process? "Hold still Killer!"..."I swear I will eat you."
So far, the peepers MAY be preventing Dottie from pecking, but I can't be sure. Littlefoot has taken shelter in the nesting box. My theory is that since everyone was picking on her, she had no friends, and decided to turn broody. That's what these chicken people (I guess I'm one of them now) call it when the hen's biological clock starts ticking and she wants to have a baby. She sits in the nesting box all day long... on the eggs... hoping one of them will hatch. Obviously she's had no luck since we don't have any roosters (if you want to know about this process in detail let me know...).
Every day I have to reach under her warm body to gather the eggs. She isn't mean about it, but acts annoyed that I've disturbed her. I have to force her out of the coop because I'm afraid she hasn't eaten all day. She gets up, flaps her wings, takes a HUGE poop (because she's been holding it all day), eats, sometimes she takes a dust bath, but then goes straight back to the box. I'm going to have to research whether chickens can get depressed if they can't have babies. Poor Littlefoot. I feel bad for her.
|At least she still takes dust baths|
Since we've still got naked booties in the flock, I'm pretty sure another chicken needs these designer peepers. But I CANNOT figure out who is doing the plucking! I know who it's not...
|Dottie's naked butt... not the feather eater|
|Ginger's naked butt... not the feather eater|
I don't think Littlefoot is doing the plucking because, let's face it, she's a wimp (I love her, but she's just too dang pretty and not tough enough - her mother must have been killed and eaten really quickly). It's got to be big mama Scramble or Miss Bunny. They both have beautiful fluffy rear ends. Look at them....they are discussing whose feathers have grown back the most so they can pluck them out again.
These chickens, I swear. They really have issues... like people. I can only imagine what is going to happen when it gets cold out and they want to cuddle, but won't let Littlefoot join in the huddle. I think I might get her a soft, stuffed, toy chicken to put in her box with her. Maybe she will think she's made a new friend. Or I could strap a chicken diaper on her and send her home with her grandma....
|See... she loves her grand-chickens|