Delilah seems slightly improved this evening, managing to eat a few beakfuls of weetabix from a spoon and flexing her left leg a bit. She's also been preening a little. This sudden worry over her feathers has made me relax a little bit. Surely a hen at deaths door wouldn't concern herself with feather shininess?
In between hen intensive care, I pottered about in the garden today. Poor little Mini followed me about like a puppy. She's not sure what to do without Delilah. Feeling sorry for her, I kept sneaking her treats. This led to her deciding I was her very best friend, and when I bent down to fill the watering can she decided to move our relationship up a level.
I managed to water the greenhouse with a small chicken on my shoulder, but it wasn't easy. She happily chattered in my ear and occasionally peered around to stare me in the face (quite unnerving). In order to stay perched, she dug her talons into my jumper and at least the top layer of my skin. Ow. More disturbingly, she decided to turn around. I then found myself cheek to chicken arse. Not particularly fragrant.
In order to get her down, I had to bend low to the ground so that she could sort of abseil down my back. She promptly ran around to the front and pecked my hand to check for treats. Finding nothing, and deciding that my usefulness was therefore all used up, she waddled off to eat a snail.
Got to love hens.