Since the buzzard attack, the question has been going round the village. Fifteen days on: lasting damage to her movement, meals given by hand, daily exercises — and a few steps.
For a few days now, the same question keeps coming back.
"How is Furiosa doing?"
People ask us when we run into them. The mayor himself asked after her, having been asked the question in turn. So did the first deputy mayor: a friend of his had been following the story and wanted to know how the young hen was getting on.
It seems that since the attack recounted in the previous episode, Furiosa has become, in her own way, a small character in village life.
The next photographs will come a little later. For now, since several of you are waiting for news of her, what matters lies elsewhere.
So let us begin with the most important thing: Furiosa is still here.
Fifteen days on
The first days after the attack were given over to treatment and antibiotics. Her injuries were serious, and Furiosa first needed time to recover.
Two weeks later, a new stage began.
The attack has left lasting damage to her movement. Furiosa still has difficulty coordinating her legs, as well as certain movements of her head. She still cannot rejoin the others and remains apart from the farmyard, in a large room of around 60 square metres where she can convalesce in peace.
For the past ten days or so, she has also needed help to eat. On the menu: sweetcorn, peas, flageolet beans and other water-rich foods, chosen to help keep her hydrated at the same time.
Several times a day, the same ritual starts over. And Furiosa has understood exactly how it works.
When she hears the person who looks after her coming, she now lets out a small "couac". Her own way of announcing her presence and, perhaps, of pointing out that a meal would be welcome.
When she is calm and content, she sometimes even makes an odd little sound, somewhere between a coo and a purr.
A few weeks ago, we were learning to know the Noires de Janzé. Today, we are learning to recognise Furiosa's sounds.
She is growing too… but more slowly
Furiosa keeps growing, but less quickly than the chickens born at the same time as her.
The others have carried on growing in the farmyard. Beside them, the difference is now starting to show: Furiosa remains smaller than the rest. Photographs will soon show it.
And yet these are the same chicks, who arrived together and were raised at the same pace through their first weeks. Since the attack, their lives have simply taken two very different directions.
Outside, the others run, explore and take their place in the group. Indoors, Furiosa puts all her energy into eating, into finding her balance again and into managing a few steps.
Learning to care for a hen
Since her attack, Furiosa will have taught us a great deal. First of all, that you do not treat a bird the way you treat a dog, a cat… or a human.
Some gestures that might seem obvious are not. You have to be particularly careful, for instance, when giving a bird water directly at the beak: their anatomy differs from ours, and badly administered liquid can find its way into the airways.
We also discovered the existence of air sacs, those pouches connected to the respiratory system that take part in the very particular workings of a bird's body.
Even an injection therefore has to be learned. To administer her treatment, the vet taught us to go under the skin, at the level of the breast muscles, angling the needle towards the keel bone at the centre of the chest. The gesture has to be precise, not least to avoid the air sacs.
These gestures were learned directly from the vet, for Furiosa and for her injuries. They are not advice: faced with an injured animal, it is a vet you should call.
The vitamin injections came to an end today. One more small milestone in a recovery now measured in days and in tiny gains.
Furiosa's physiotherapy
Because once the wounds were treated, another kind of work began. Every day, Furiosa does her exercises.
Laid on her back and gently held, her legs are moved one after the other to reproduce the motion of walking. The right one. Then the left. Again and again.
Then comes the moment to stand up. Furiosa is supported between two hands to help her keep her balance and carry some of her own weight.
The aim is not to walk for her. Simply to let her try. One leg. Then the other.
The movements are still clumsy. Coordination remains difficult. Sometimes Furiosa veers off sideways. But little by little, something is shifting: for the past few days she has managed, at times, with the help of her wings, to move a little straighter.
It is only a few steps. But fifteen days ago, we were wondering whether she would survive the attack. So today, a few steps count.
A very young assistant
Furiosa is not alone during her convalescence.
A small cat, barely two months old, arrived at the house a fortnight ago. She had been abandoned, and we took her in from the vet's.
Since she arrived, she has seemed particularly intrigued by this odd bird installed indoors. When treatment time comes, she is never far away. She watches. She comes closer. She sometimes climbs onto Furiosa's back. And now and then, she plays with her feathers.
It is hard to know exactly what Furiosa makes of this new veterinary assistant. But between meals, daily exercises and inspections by her young companion, her days are now well filled.
The little cat does not have a name yet. When her first photographs are published, everyone will be able to suggest ideas. Why not a Japanese given name, echoing the ties Baon is weaving with Japan, but simple enough to be pronounced easily in French?
We will introduce her to you very soon.
Meanwhile, outside…
Life also goes on in the farmyard. The other Noires de Janzé are growing.
The chicks that arrived a few months ago look less and less like the little balls of feathers of their first days. Characters are asserting themselves, habits are changing, and each is gradually finding its place in the group.
Meanwhile, Furiosa moves at another pace. Her territory is still limited to her large room. Her days are shaped by meals given by hand, by treatment and by exercises. Her progress is sometimes measured in a few centimetres.
We do not yet know how far she will be able to recover. We do not yet know when, or even whether, she will be able to rejoin the others.
So we carry on. One meal after another. One exercise after another. One leg after the other.
"And tomorrow, we will start again."