Front Porch: 11-year-old Miss Chicken dons support bra, still clucking

This was supposed to be about Miss Chicken and the happy life of the 16 chickens in her flock, all living luxuriously in the Hilton of henhouses operated by my friend Joan Nolan.

But sometimes a story doesn’t work out the way you think it’s going to.

Miss C is the formerly feral chicken who appeared in my driveway one cold day in December 2009, young and with bright yellow feet and shiny black-brown feathers. Wild and as untouchable as could be, she hung around the neighborhood for a year, where my next-door neighbor Marilyn and I put out food for her. We’d see her up in trees, on top of my husband’s work truck or anywhere she needed to be to remain safe from the coyotes, raccoons and other perils in our neck of the woods. What she wasn’t was catchable.

However, as the winter of 2010 began approaching, my husband managed to trap her, an extended and patient process of working for a week with a pre-baited live-animal trap, and we relocated her to Joan’s home, where she has lived a pampered life among the other injured or rejected or abandoned chickens Joan has taken in – learning how to be a flock member, raising chicks, dusting, sunning and resisting with all her might being picked up and held. It took until the past few years that she finally relented and willingly accepted human touch.

I’ve been writing about Miss Chicken’s life and adventures for more than a decade.

And now, she’s not well. She’s come back from the brink before, when two or three years ago, her gait was off balance and she exhibited stroke symptoms. Several vet trips later, it was thought to be neurological, possibly occurring from an injury due to falling off the roost (she always sought the highest perch she could find). Since that time, Joan has been giving her a low-dose steroid, administered by squirting it into her mouth using a syringe.

She tolerates it pretty well, even doing bit of chicken vocalizing (“singing”) afterward. Her balance has returned and she has marched strongly into her new status as the most senior member of the flock royalty.

Miss C is 11 now (most full-size birds don’t usually live that long, Joan tells me), and her current ailment may well be the one that does her in. We hope not, and Joan is doing all she can to keep her standing on those distinct now-pale-yellow feet of hers.

When Joan lifted her up on April 9 to administer morning meds, her majesty’s crop felt squishy. I learned from Joan that chickens like to go to bed at night with a full tummy, greeting the morning with an empty crop, the pouchlike organ where food begins the digestive process before moving down into the gizzard.

Thinking Miss C might have sour crop, indicating the possible presence of bacteria or a fungus, she did the normal things she knew to address the situation. But as symptoms got worse, it was back to Ponti Veterinary Hospital, where it was curbside service only, due to current social distancing protocols. The crop was flushed, and home they came.

Now there’s an antibiotic being administered twice a day, a crushed pill dissolved in water and administered orally by syringe. It’s a long process, involving 20 squirts per dosage, in addition to the steroid. And Miss C goes along gently and agreeably – such a change from the wild, haughty and flighty bird I first met.

“I think animals know intuitively when you’re trying to help them,” Joan said when we talked the other day.

Plus, bland chow is the new menu. First attempt was cooked oatmeal, which Miss Chicken rejected after a few days. Then, spaghetti, which was cut up to look like small worms. Also spurned a few days later. Now it’s cooked quinoa, which she still seems to love – especially since she gets to eat it out of a bowl while Joan holds her.

There have been blood tests. Some diluted apple cider vinegar has been added to the drinking water. An antifungal has been prescribed and is now being compounded so Joan can administer that, too. Still, things aren’t improving all that much.

I’m pretty sure Joan heard me hesitate a bit during our phone conversation. “Yes, I know,” she volunteered . “This is totally nuts.

“I don’t have any other vices. This is my pleasure, caring for these chickens. Miss Chicken isn’t in pain, which is an important factor. I will throw in the towel when I feel I’ve done all I can. I’ll know when.”

Strangely enough, even in the midst of this effort to keep my favorite chicken in the whole wide world going a while longer, some humor has emerged. Life is like that sometimes, even for chickens.

It was recommended that Miss C wear a crop bra. I couldn’t help myself when Joan told me, and I laughed out loud. “A what?” I asked.

A crop bra helps support a heavy pendulous crop, preventing it from dropping below the opening leading to the gizzard, thus assisting the proper passage of food.

It’s a real thing, and one can be ordered online.

But since it would take 10 days or longer for such a garment to arrive, naturally, Joan set out to custom make one. She took a 6-inch-wide ace bandage and cut it appropriately to fit. The first attempt, requiring safety pins, was a failure, and Miss C hated it. The second, with thinner and shorter tie-straps, is tolerated by the patient, and is working. But it’s quite a sight. A chicken with a bra.

So, we wait and see what the outcome of all this will be. She’s an old girl now, and this may be her time.

But in the meantime, Miss Chicken enjoys her carefully cared-for life and being out in the yard with Princess, Peaches, Miss Sophie, Red, Gray, Toshio, Snowy and all her fine-feathered flock mates.

Every day singing and hanging out in the sunshine with friends is a good day.