Oh, this one hurts. You know that sick feeling in your stomach when you realize you did the thing you *knew* you shouldn't have done, and now a tiny feathered life is paying for it? That's exactly where this poster is. And we've been there. Not with a dog and a bantam, necessarily, but with that moment of "I should have, why didn't I just, " that loops in your head while you're trying to figure out if you're about to become a chicken hospice nurse or a miracle worker.
First, let's talk about the guilt. It's sitting right there in the post, heavy as a wet bag of feed. "I know I should have put the dog away first, I'm so mad at myself." Listen, we're not here to pile on. You made a mistake. It happens. The real question is whether you can turn that guilt into action without letting it turn into paralysis. And from the sounds of it, this little bantam is *not* ready to give up. She's eating, drinking, pooping, which, in chicken terms, is basically a full performance review. If she were truly shutting down, she'd stop doing those things. So you've got a window.
Now, the leg situation. One foot stuck forward, the other weak but with curled toes. That suggests something neurological or muscular, maybe a pinch, a stretch, or a mild spinal tweak from the dog's jaws. You checked for breaks and didn't feel any, which is good, but a chicken can have soft tissue damage that feels like nothing and acts like everything. You don't need to spend four hundred dollars on a vet to do something useful here. What you *can* do is create a mini rehab ward. A small, padded space where she can't wander. Shallow food and water dishes she can reach without having to balance. And yes, you can try a light splint on that stuck-out foot, just use something soft, like a popsicle stick and vet wrap, and only if she lets you handle her without stress. Watch her toes for color changes. If they go dark, you've gone too tight.
Here's the hard part, and we'll say it straight: you might not save her. Some chickens bounce back from horrors that would fell a dinosaur, and others fade over a week for reasons nobody can explain. But you're not out of options yet. Give her a quiet, safe corner for five days. If she's still eating and trying to stand, you're in the game. If she stops eating or starts listing sideways, you'll have to make a call, not because you failed, but because being kind sometimes means knowing when the fight is over. Either way, you did the thing that matters: you asked, and you're trying. That puts you ahead of a lot of people. Now go set up that recovery pen, and try not to blame yourself every time you look at her. She's not judging you. She's too busy figuring out how to get to her water dish.