The Story of Luckie Blue

One morning, a couple of weeks ago, I was in gym class preparing to be slayed by my Body Pump instructor, when my friend walked in just when class was about to start and whispered quickly in my ear, “Hey, I just got another chicken! I’ll tell you about it after class!” She grinned at me as she tied her blond hair up in a ponytail holder and walked over to her weight bar. The music began and our much-admired drill sergeant of an instructor began her gleeful torture of us.

Another chicken? I pondered. I looked over at my friend, who was by now hefting that weight bar high over her head, and thought, Wait, just one chicken? That seemed strange as she already had a good-sized flock and introducing just one chicken to an already established larger flock would be a difficult endeavor. But, if anyone could do it I knew my friend could. I couldn’t wait to hear the story.

Finally, the class came to an end and, gasping for breath, I hobbled over to her and said “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I can’t wait to hear about this chicken!” She replied, slightly more seriously than I had expected, “Well, it’s kind of a very sad story,” and she started to tell me about her friend who, just the other night, lost 39 of her 40 chickens in a horrible predator attack. It was a massacre, so much so that her friend never again wanted to keep chickens and asked my friend to take the lone surviving hen. Of course my friend, being the kind-hearted animal lover that she is, readily agreed and took the poor thing home, putting her safely in her smaller backup coop adjacent to the main one.

A week or so went by when one afternoon I received a text message from my friend, “Hi Kelly. Would you be interested in this chicken?” I was momentarily thrown off guard, but right away my gut feeling told me that I was. I know that my friend had her hands full with her already good-sized flock, and she didn’t want to further traumatize this poor chicken by making her fight for a place in the already established pecking order within her coop. She wanted to find a good home for this poor chickie girl without putting her through any more stress. I responded that I would be happy to take the chicken off her hands and a couple of days later my friend brought her over. This chicken was the same, blue egg-laying breed (an Ameraucana) as my Betsy, who I lost last year, and my flock was still small enough where the introduction of just one chicken would not turn into an all-out barnyard smackdown.

I decided to call the new hen “Luckie,” after all, she was, and then went out right away to reconfigure my poultry fence, making one large outdoor run for my existing flock of five hens, and a smaller, narrower separate run for Luckie. This way they could see each other up close through the fence for a week or two without being in the same space together, giving them time to get used to each other. Chickens can be very violent toward newcomers, so hopefully, this would help when the final integration time came. In the top photo below, you can see Luckie in the background separated from the flock by a portion of the poultry fence. In the photo below that, you can see her (on the left) in her longer, narrower run. This worked well because it allowed me to catch her easily before nightfall by trapping her in the corner with the crate where she would grudgingly hop in. Anyone who has ever tried to catch a chicken that did not want to be caught will understand this strategy! Luckie didn’t like it much, but at least she was safe from night critters.

After almost two weeks, I decided that I couldn’t put it off anymore and the time had come to put Luckie in the big run with the rest of the chicks. I was worried about her. After all, she was one chicken against five! It didn’t seem like very fair odds, so I brought out backup just in case she needed help. Backup consists of the water squirt pistol (a/k/a The Bully Blaster) that I purchased at The Dollar Tree, and a bowl of treats to use as a distraction if need be. I made my way out to the runs and carefully propped the fencing separating the two up with a small log. Within a few seconds, Luckie was under the fence and in the big pen with the others.

They had already gone through the intimidating chicken gestures such as puffing themselves and their feathers up to look big and mean, making threatening noises and glaring dangerously at each other through the fence, so I was taken aback when I heard . . . crickets?? All the anticipation of a violent introduction and this was it? Perhaps this slow introduction stuff really did work, but . . . wait, not so fast! At that moment Luckie reminded me of Clint Eastwood in the movie Dirty Harry, when he calmly narrows his eyes and asks the bad guys “You've Got To Ask Yourself One Question: 'Do I Feel Lucky?' Well, Do Ya, Punk?” before she launched herself through the air. In the next instant, Luckie was on the other chicks like a tornado, jumping on backs, pulling head feathers, and launching full-on talon attacks, letting them all know, in not so uncertain terms, that she, and only she, was now the boss (except for me of course)! Well, you can imagine my astonishment when I had to use The Bully Blaster on Luckie (the treats were useless in the melee)! And then I found myself cheering for her! This little hen was plucky (no pun intended), and so much more streetwise than my spoiled, soft girls, no matter how they tried to pretend they were tough. Luckie won the day and many days after that.

A few days after the introduction I texted my friend and updated her on the status in my chicken coop. She replied, “Yeehaw Luckie Blue! I think they are going to be fine….one happy family!” Hhhhmm, I like that - “Luckie Blue,” that suits her better than just plain Luckie (she’s now “LB” for short).

I had some concerns for my other chicks for about a week afterward since LB was proving to be quite food aggressive and territorial. I really can’t blame her though. She had gone through a terrible ordeal, but time heals as they say, and I am happy to have her. Fortunately, things have finally started to calm down and some semblance of order has been restored in my chicken coop as the girls have pretty much figured out the pecking order (although there are still the occasional adjustments). She will follow the other chickie girls into The Hen Den at night as well for safety from predators (and for treats, of course). I’m glad my friend was right, as I knew she would be, and the girls are well on their way to being one happy family.

Until next time . . .

K.