Tweety: A Legendary Setter

by Ida Livingston

More years ago than I wish to name, I was a half grown kid on a farm in Ohio. A neighbor with failing health sent his Heinz 57 assortment of chickens to join ours. Among them, and the only one remembered was a young game bird that my sister named RoseRed.

RoseRed became a setter that few could equal and so when we moved to Tennessee, she got to come along. Once there, she resumed hatching off at least 3 clutches of chicks a year. However one year, tragedy struck. Squirreled away snug in a brushy hiding spot, the peeping from her hatching chicks gave her away and a fox got her and the chicks. All but one. Sometimes it pays to be late.

A Home for Tweety

The last chick hatched by daylight and its lonesome protests found some attention. The trouble is, orphaned chicks can be raised without a mother but a lone chick will usually die without company. So Tweety, as she was named, came to live in the house.

In the house we would swat flies on the floor for her. We would tap the floor by the felled fly and imitate the high pitched mother hens’ come-and-get-it cluck. She’d spin out on our slippery tile floor in her haste to get to the fly. This was fun until we ran out of flies. Somehow mom wasn’t keen on us leaving the door open to let more in.

Tweety rode around in our pocket when we went anywhere. We each did a part in babysitting. Until she was big enough to go to the chicken house, she stayed in ours. I’m sure she had some culture shock when she was moved out there.

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Tweety went on to surpass her own mothers’ setting skills. She learned to extend her season by hatching off her first batch in our house. She observed that on warm days we always kept the back upstairs door open. If she couldn’t slip in through the front door, she’d try ‘round back. If she found the back door open, she’d hop down all 12 steps and try to lay her eggs in the woodbox.

The woodbox was just not going to work. Mom finally gave in and gave her a milk crate with straw behind the woodstove to lay her eggs in. She’d come in every day, lay her egg, and then go to the door to be let out. When she was ready to set, she did the same thing. Every day when she was ready for her lunch and bathroom break, she’d hop off the nest and stand by the door so we could let her out. She didn’t loiter in the house and make a mess.

Every night after her chicks hatched, she’d stand by the front door to be let in. Then she would usher the chicks directly to the crate where they settled for the night. Then early in the morning, she would take them out for the day just as soon as someone would open the door for her.

Fighting for Them

Tweety had her nighttime routine such that she had the safest chicks after dark. But during the day she contended with the same dangers as any other mother hen. Her time in the house didn’t make her a soft mother though, she was a fearless defender of her chicks.

One summer afternoon, I heard a commotion up the hill behind the house. Running around the house I was too stunned by what I saw to respond in time to help. There was Tweety in an out-and-out ground battle with a hawk! Evidently the hawk dove for one of her half grown chicks and she dove for the hawk. There they were in a feather flying fight. Dad’s dog Curly wasted no time in breaking it up.

Another summer she had a close shave with the veil when she took on either a rattlesnake or copperhead, more likely the latter. The snake naturally was attracted to the little happy-meals following her around and when he went to select one, she objected. This fight saved her chicks but dearly cost her.

She made it back to the house but was in bad shape. We could see the bite mark on the side of her head and that explained her dire complexion. We took her chicks away as she was in no shape to care for them. She stood quietly with her eyes closed most of the time in the shade of our produce stand for a little over a week without eating. We used an eyedropper to give her water but otherwise left her in peace.

When she began to have an appetite again, she found food and water beside her so she didn’t have to go anywhere. After about 10 days she began to wander around some. Most of the flesh on the left side of her face and down one side of her front sloughed off. She made a full recovery, regrowing skin and feathers, but she had a droopy eyelid ever after on her left side.

She was not the first that we had seen survive a snake bite. We had a cat who had been bitten repeatedly over the years and survived. She was always bringing dead snakes to her kittens. We also had a guinea hen who had survived a snake bite to the head when she was setting on eggs. Although Tweety was smaller than these, we knew she had a chance at making it from our past experiences. What she needed most was rest and help drinking water.

Coming Home to Roost

Tweety lived for another 4-5 years after that snakebite. She raised many chicks in her career. As she aged she grew dissatisfied with the chicken house in the off season. It became obvious one fall evening when she slipped in the house, that she wasn’t looking for a nesting site, she was looking for a roost. She appeared to deign the chicken house beneath her and wanted her home to be with us again.

With a little consideration, her appeal was granted and a shelf near the kitchen table was cleaned off and laid over with newspaper. This became her in-house roost. It took a little getting used to for our dinner guests. Some eyed her with the resignation and tolerance that they lent towards our other eccentricities. But others came to be quite fond of her. Our longtime friend Tim Ramey, was a frequent dinner guest who would offer spoonfuls of ice cream from his bowl. Lucky ladybird!

The Last Summer

Her last summer found her raising chicks as she was wont to do. It was her second clutch of the season. Dad got out the horses and plow to turn over the expired early garden and Tweety came a’running! Plowing and discing days were her favorite. She’d follow the plow as the soil folded over, bringing her chicks along to feast as they scratched fresh soil and chased bugs that were disrupted.

This day was the same as the others, she and her peeps were happily indulging themselves when after a couple hours she tipped over. When someone got to her, she was found to have left her body behind. We guessed that she’d had a heart attack. We felt our loss, and yet her gain. She moved on as we all will, but in the midst of doing what she loved most.