How can you teach a blind hen to forage if she can’t see what’s on the ground? That was the problem that presented itself to us when Hildy learned to go outside.
Miss Hildy, you can’t see it, but you’ve got a feather out of place.
When our blind hen learned to use the coop door to come outside, we were thrilled—but also frightened and worried for her. We were thrilled because, when she had stayed exclusively in the coop, that meant she didn’t have the advantage of foraging like all the other chickens, so exiting the coop meant that she had access to all sorts of healthy foods she didn’t have before. My hens free range and supplement their diets as needed. It produces healthier eggs. They get bugs and grass and seeds and all sorts of good stuff that way… but blind Hildy stayed in the coop and had to eat commercial feed only, as it was the only thing available in there. Mind you, eating only well-balanced commercial food is not a terrible problem to have; it’s just not the ideal situation. Coming outside afforded our blind hen the opportunity to improve her diet—and be more of a full-time member of the flock. However, I guess you can lead a hen to forage, but you can’t make her eat.
When she came outside she was essentially foodless, since she couldn’t see to forage. Her blindness meant the behavior just never developed in her. Plus, she never did learn to go back inside the coop of her own volition so she couldn’t go in and eat when she needed to. Instead, when she came out to hang with the flock, she also went hungry. What to do?
When I would call the others to come for treats, they all came running. Hildy learned to come running, too. Our darling little blind hen came to the sound of my voice, and also, I think, to the sound of her flock-mates’ running feet and flapping wings. But even though she came when we announced it was treat time, our Hildy would wander around amongst the other girls as they busily ate the sunflower seeds, seemingly confused as to what all the hubbub was about.
Here she is standing on my foot, asking to be picked up. while the rest of the flock is enjoying some treats,
Since she wasn’t eating treats with the other girls or even foraging on her own, to keep her from going too hungry, I’d carry her inside a few times a day so she could eat and drink at the feeders and waterers she was familiar with. But 10 minutes later, she had launched herself out the pophole door again, looking for her sisters. She had learned to go outside, and she just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
It’s not that I hadn’t tried to teach her to forage and eat treats. I had tried. Tried and failed. Occasionally, I would offer special treats to her like sunflower seeds, meal worms and the like… but I was never able to induce her to eat from my hand. A blind hen can’t see treats in your hand. When she felt my hand brushing the front of her chest, she’d try to scoot around it to get to my foot, on which she would stand until I picked her up and petted her.
Out of my way, Hand. I’ll just go around.
Or occasionally when she got very impatient to be cuddled, she tried stepping directly onto my hand as a perch. “You will hold me now!” she seemed to be demanding. How cute is that: Hildy the blind hen, settling down companionably on my treat-filled hand to preen her feathers, then closing her eyes for a nap? But it did nothing to alleviate the problem that she couldn’t eat from anything but the feeders she was familiar with—and the feeders were inside where she couldn’t get to them on her own.
However, my husband decided that he was not going to give up on teaching her to eat treats and forage. He was so patient with her. As I described, when we would toss out seeds or scratch, they would all come running, Hildy among them. Once he decided to teach her, he was there every time. As she wandered around wondering what everyone was doing–what’s with all the activity?–he would be holding his hand in front of her. Sometimes she would walk past, oblivious, or try to step up, and other times she would just stand there pressing herself against him, waiting to be petted. (Of course he obliged–who can resist such gracious affection?) But it wasn’t helping the cause, so he adjusted his strategy. He began raising his hand up so the food would rattle against her beak, hoping that a familiar sensation would trigger something.
Eventually it worked. One day our blind hen had her sort of Helen Keller (“water!”) moment. Rattle went the seeds against her beak. She stopped cold. And then pecked. Rattle. She had hit the food, but failed to retrieve anything. Still, it had dawned on her what we were trying to do, and what all her sisters were doing, why they were so excited. She pecked again, and this time she got something.
Then she went mad. If she had been a puppy, her little tail would have been wagging a mile a minute. Her aim was never good, but it got better and better with more practice. Eventually she was one of the great attractions at our farm for visitors: she would eat from your hands, allow herself to be held and follow you around like a puppy.
Hildy the blind hen charms a young visitor
Teaching a chicken to eat from your hand… okay, it’s not much of a “trick” for most birds, but it’s a breakthrough for a blind hen. Does your flock know any tricks? Or do you have a special needs chicken that was able to learn and adapt?