My mom moved to Colorado to be closer when I had my first baby. She moved here to help take care of him in time for my husband and I to go back to work. She retired in order to do this and loved her career as a veterinarian. I thought she'd keep working some part time but in the end, she decided she was ready to let her career go.
Except, she still holds on as a kooky animal person. She has 2 dogs, 2 cats, and 7 chickens. She has had as many as 9 chickens. Having a cluck of chickens isn't that odd, it's more the way she has hers.
When one of her chickens was attacked by a dog, she ran into the yard upset with Scarlet O'Hara-like intensity.
The chicken was terribly wounded. But my mother did not give up. Instead, she slept with the chicken inside her shirt with a water bottle.
Did I mention the chicken had a broken neck?
Well, it healed. Crooked.
The chicken's name is Sandy. But I call her Gobbles.
My mom does not appreciate my naming her beloved saved chicken Gobbles.
Sandy/Gobbles has been the best egg producer of the cluck. But the other bitches are jealous. They peck at her.
My mother is always upset at the injustice of the other chickens pecking at Gobbles. She rushes to her defense, swoops her up in her arms and kisses her. I'm not kidding.
My mother's church, a progressive Lutheran church filled with retirees, does a blessing of the animals every year. This year, my mother gave Gobbles a bath and brought her to church.
She just stopped by my house to tell me that one, she'd lost her phone which is why she just stopped by instead of calling, and two, Sandy/Gobbles is sick, her beak is hurt. She thinks the other chickens pecked it. Gobbles isn't eating. My mother is very upset about this. I want to be sympathetic but I just keep looking at her and going, "it's a chicken."
Meanwhile my mom still brings me eggs even though I'm a heartless asshole. She's gone home to forcefeed Gobbles in hopes that she returns to health.
If you think I'm weird, I'm just saying, I came by it honestly.