The Tale of Spot

This is Spot.

I don't know exactly how he came to be called Spot, we just kinda started calling him Spot.

Spot sure is a cute little barred rock mix, but his flock mates sure didn't think so.

Poor little Spot was on the low end of the flock totem pole and was being a bit bullied, but not severally. 

Things took a turn for the worse though on saturday afternoon. I theorized that someone just got a perfect peck in and pulled out a pin feather, everyone saw blood and went NUTS.

I rescued poor little persecuted Spot from his ravenous brothers and sisters, applied hydrogen peroxide and antibiotic cream, filled him up with electrolytes and let him be that first night. 

Thankfully the hole scabbed up really well and he was back to being the perky little chick he was.

Poor little Spot is lonely, however. If he had a friend they would probably peck his scab off. So alas, Spot has no feathered friends at the moment. 

However, he does have back up human friends who are willing to give their best impression of cheeping.

In abject loneliness he cheeps and cheeps and cheeps... and cheeps...... and cheeps...... over and over again until he is able to be held by me or sit by me.

Yes little Spot will recover but until he no longer imitates a Turkin I apparently have a little feathered friend.

Cheep, cheep little Spot.