Shhhh! Don't tell her she's a chicken.

Since her return to the backyard, Maggie has taken up residence in the maternity ward goat pen. 

Most chickens like to roost at night, finding a high pole or branch upon which to perch.  Maggie, however, hunkers down in the goat shed between Razz and Honey, who appear to be honing their mothering skills.  Maggie drinks from the goat's water bowl and anxiously awaits their morning grain feedings.

Since she suffered such abuse during her stint in the chicken wagon, I've decided to just let her continue under the delusion that she's a goat.  I mean, really, what could it hurt?  The goats are certainly more accepting of her than her fellow chickens are, and Maggie seems to be quite content fattening back up and growing in her feathers under the mothers' tender care.