Conversation about a woman's "house chickens"

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One of the interesting things about my part-time job selling bird seed, suet and feeders is the conversations with customers. Yesterday, was a good one. A woman remarked that her "house chicken," named Frieda no longer like the seed she had bought to feed them. I said, "House chicken?". She went on to tell me about Frieda, a disabled hen for whom they constructed a plexiglass enclosure that allows her to walk around it by leaning on the plexiglass wall. Then there is Lily, the chicken that was injured by a hungry bobcat, but lived to cluck the tale. (I may write about that separately). She lives in the house too, a rescue chicken, I suppose. Ilsa is one sick chicken. She has an "impacted craw" and must be monitored, meaning that they must keep track of what she takes in and, ummm, puts out. I did not ask how that is done, although she did mention using a lot of paper towels. Besides these house chickens, there are still eleven more in the yard, waiting their turn to live inside. I wish I had asked what area she lives in; it must be be a rural part of the county, outside of town. Have you raised chickens? Ever nurse any back to health? Did you take them into your house? She was telling me too how each chicken seems to have her own personality, likes and dislikes and habits too. I had no idea.