We have an Only Chook, Henrietta.
She turned up at a local country school with her husband and, with a picture of a delicious brown egg a day, I took her on (Cocky had to go elsewhere as crowing is not allowed in town).
She has been in residence for two months and so far has laid zero eggs.
I like chooks and usually have a little flock of six or so. When I get sick of the garden looking too tousled, I pen them up and move the pen around, but it doesn't seem worth it for just one.
When Henrietta came to us, she would only eat bread. She didn't appear to know even the rudiments of poultry behaviour, e.g. Scratching = Food; Worms = Good; Humans = Too Busy to Feed You All Day. She just stood around waiting for her daily bread. I wondered if I'd been wise. She seemed a really dumb cluck.
But over the last two months she has learnt a great deal. She found out where the mash was and helped herself until it was better stored. She now enjoys the gourmet treat of wriggling worm. She has learnt to scratch a living for herself. She discovered the back porch is dry in the rain despite having a whole hen house of her own. She had us all fooled at first, but it appears she's a really bright chookie.
Unfortunately the flappy bit doesn't stay affixed since the Shelly-Pippin chases through it. So it's open most of the time.
Henrietta spent a considerable portion of her time standing out in the porch listening to the voices of the Bread-Givers inside.
Yesterday I looked up from my desk and she was strolling past, and out the front door. Incursion by a solo chook.