Poorly Hattie.

Hattie had been fine in the week since we bought her, a picture of chocolate health. Then I noticed she was squinting with her left eye.  I thought maybe one of the others had landed a well aimed peck, or she had something in her eye.   A check showed nothing, maybe something had been in there but had gone and leaving it feeling a bit sore.

The next day it was more closed than squinting.  No swelling, redness, no pus nothing, just the half closed eye. I couldn't think of any reason for it, so we went to the vets.

Hattie was a very good traveller, not too much fussing at all, just some enquiring clucks as to where we were and peering out of the door.  The vet gave Hattie a shot of all-round antibiotics as her temperature was slightly up and also to deal with the possibility of a respiratory infection, as eye problems can be linked to that.  We set off home with another appointment booked for a second shot in 4 days.

She didn't improve.  We went back for the second shot and after that she just seemed to slowly get worse.  She was withdrawn and sad and had moved onto scratching at her face.  So we went back again.

The vet was very good, chickens are always treated with as much importance as a dog or cat at our surgery and this particular vet has chickens of his own. 

We discussed what had happened since our last visit, and he decided to take a skin scraping.  He appeared two minutes later carrying a microscope, skin mites!   A definite cause for irritation of the face, scratching and general miserableness.  He administered a drop-on mite killer on the back of her neck and gave me a second and third dose to be given in 10 days and then 10 days after that.

Off home we went again, hoping this was it.  

But no, Hattie continued to get worse.  I could no longer leave her outside with the other girls as they pecked at her a little as she was still the 'new gal' but she no longer had the energy to move away.  She sat, feathers fluffed, under the hydrangea.

Both eyes were having trouble staying open and now it seemed she was having trouble eating.  Food would hang out of the left side of her mouth and she simply did not realise it was there. Her poop had changed, it was watery and green, a sign that bile was building up as she was not getting enough food through her system. 

There was no shadow following me into the kitchen for treats, just a sad and dejected fluff of feathers sat in the living room.  When she moved it was with weakened, uncertain steps.  I was desperately worried we were losing her.

We went back to the vet, Hattie just slept in her basket.

The vet was sad to see us, he was despairing over what was wrong with her. A stroke?  Allergic reaction to the drop on?  He'd tried everything he could think of.  

We had the talk,you know the one, the one no pet owner wants to have.  I assured him if I thought her suffering too much, I would do the right thing but that time was not yet.

He said he would be willing to refer me to a specialist Avian Vet, it would be very expensive but before he did, he had one last idea, his very last.  Steroids.

I was willing to try anything.  So Hattie had her shot of steroids.  It can produce miraculous results, or it can produce nothing.  He didn't know which it would be but with a 50/50 chance, it was worth a shot.  We left with the instruction to ring and let him know how she was two days later.

Cuddles for a poorly gal

And here we are, two days later and I have rung the vet and told him she is showing signs of feeling better.  

Not recovered, no, but better.  She is more active, following me into the kitchen for treats and managing to eat some.  More wandering around, less sleeping fluff ball.  She has even been in the garden with the girls and tried to dust bath.  She has missed that, I know as she tried to dust bathe in the rug.  She's not strong enough to roll and throw mud on herself but the cool mud between her toes feels good.

Hattie in the kitchen, waiting for treats

I don't know what is wrong and neither does my vet.  No amount of searching on the internet offered any suggestions for her ailments.  Another visit to the vet is in order and maybe another lot of steroids.

I just have my fingers and toes crossed she keeps improving x

.....

Bumble Foot - part 2

The vet's appointment was very productive.


I bundled Betty & Mabel into their wicker carrier and headed off to our appointment. The receptionist wasn't sure what bumble foot was.  As popular as backyard chicken keeping currently is in the UK, hens are not a regular at veterinary clinics and consultations are often an amalgamation of chicken keeper experience and veterinary knowledge.


The vet was very receptive to my internet babble, as she looked at the girls' feet.  Betty's black plug was more raised than Mabel's, rather like a scab on your knee when it's ready to come off, raised and puffy.  When she pulled it off there was, as text books would have it, cheesy cream-like pus and blood.


She said that Betty's feet seemed worse but Mabel was the one who was limping.  Bet's other foot and both of Mabel's were not as forthcoming, so the vet left them and suggested I remove them at home. 


As bumble foot is a bacterial infection (it seems to involve bacteria that live quite normally on the outside of the foot which get inside through a cut or damaged foot) the girls had antibiotic injections and an antiseptic wash to be used twice a day.  Mabel also had some pain killers, to be administered orally (fun!) as she was obviously finding one of her feet quite sore to walk on.


The girls behaved themselves, mostly.  Betty lay down on the table and considered a nap, Mabel stared at her surroundings and tried to eat the needle as the vet injected her. She has been labeled 'feisty' by the vet and I'm sure they've marked her card 'trouble maker' for future reference.


When we arrived home, I settled down to remove the remaining plugs.  I didn't use a blade, I donned gloves and eased the edge of the plugs up and pulled them off.  I was surprised to discover that one of Mabel's and the remaining one of Bet's had no hole or pus under it.  Mabel's other one bled but no gloop came out.  I am totally confused about whether this is a good or a bad sign.

Mabel's foot the day after the vet's visit.
Minus black plug and three antiseptic washes under our belts.

All four feet were cleaned with the antiseptic wash and washed with water after 10 minutes.  This is repeated twice a day.  We're back to the vets on Friday for another antibiotic injection.

My preferred chicken grappling position for foot cleaning.

And in case you're wondering, the oral pain killers took over 5 minutes to administer and I ended up wearing quite a lot of it.

.....

Mabel

Mabel is my 'special needs' chicken.  She has no vision in her right eye and on our arrival home I discovered she had the start of a respitatory infection. You know the saying 'The best laid schemes of hens and men, go oft awry'...?


It had all started when I had been considering the size of my flock.  Once I'd found Reggie a new home, I'd have not so much a brood of hens, or even some hens, more like...two.  Two chickens aren't quite enough, it needs to be at least three.  Don't ask me why, as I couldn't tell you.


So this was my plan. To relocate Reggie to his new home and have the new hen arriving on the same day.  Sometimes my level of expectation is way off the mark.


I was pretty particular about the new hen I wanted.  A Pekin, roughly 15 weeks old and a Milliefleur.  I thought, given my fastidious requirements, that my search would take at least as long as the hunt for Reggie's new home.


But no.


Two days, TWO!  What was that I meant about the best laid schemes. 


So Mabel was duly collected the following weekend, with Reg still in residence.  I swear, when I was collecting her and even on the drive home their was no noise, nothing untoward about her.  But, the moment I turned the car off, 'quark'.  Quark?  QUARK?


I went inside and opened the box to show my gathering family the new arrival. 


'Quaarrk!' 

The family just stood & stared.


Ok, I'll admit that wasn't a normal chicken noise and she would be going to the vets first thing on Monday.  


My husband then enquired as to why I insisted on buying broken chickens.

                                                          .......  

Our quarantine run doesn't have a coop attached to it, so Mabel has to sleep in our house.  And just as Betty had done before her, Mabel took to this very well.


If not a little too well...

It was during this indoor time that we noticed her rather odd and exaggerated head movements.  Craning her head left and right and banging it on anything that was in the way.  She was also quite jumpy.  Some frantic waving of hands on her right side produced no reaction, nor did holding titbits there.  But if it was held in front of her or to her left she ate it, usually second go after pecking at thin air.  If you look at the top picture of her, you can see there's a slight unevenness about her eyes.  


So, not only did she have a suspected chest infection, she was also blind in one eye.  I certainly do know how to pick 'em.


The visit to the vets confirmed my suspicions - an upper-chest infection.  The vet listened to her chest, took her temperature (always entertaining, though probably more so for me rather than the vet or patient) & weighed her.  Nothing too serious was declared as there were no accompanying snotty nostrils, unsightly discharge, watery eyes or fluffed up feathers.  She was active, eating and drinking.  We'd caught it early, phew!  One long-acting antibiotic injection later and we were on our way back home.


Back in her pen, it was rather a good job she was a safe distance from the other chickens. Reggie wandered up to see the new arrival and not with his usual 'Hellooo, I want to marry you and raise beautiful chicks together' swagger, oh no.  This was his 'I'm going to kick your butt and then I'm going to kick it some more' routine.  


Mabel was duly terrified.  Her lack of vision means that she panics much more than is usual and began running into the sides of the run.  It didn't help that the ever impressionable Brick, picked up on Reggie's behaviour and joined in.  I shooed them away but I knew they would eventually have to sort this out between themselves.  Though hopefully, when the time came for Mabel to leave the quarantine pen, Reg would be in his new home.


In the meantime, Mabel would carry on spending the evenings re-cooperating in the house.  And continue her most favourite activity...

...harassing my husband.

I think I can safely say, he is well and truly hen-pecked!

Brick goes to A&E.

One Saturday morning I trundled down and as normal, checked on the chicks.  Betty came hurtling over to see what delicious morsels might be on offer that morning.  Brick did not.  Brick is like a limpet - where Betty goes Brick follows.  Betty was here, Brick was not, so I knew something was definitely wrong.


She was lying on her side under the lamp.  Not unusual as they often lie spread out (remember the 'roadkill' reference from a previous blog) but they had been spending less time directly under the heat and would always come over and have a look-see.


Brick's breathing was a little laboured and she was keeping her beak slightly open, not something I'd seen her do before .  When I picked her up she was lethargic and not particularly interested in food or water.


Straight on the phone to the vet as it's been my experience that sick birds go downhill very fast.  I was relieved when my call was answered as it was a Saturday morning and I was unsure of their weekend hours.  But they were five minutes from closing and I was 10 minutes away.  A bit of panicky blabbering later and we were en route, me trying to drive calmly and Brick on a hastily grabbed tea towel in a box.  It seems my panicky blabbering was enough for them to hang on and offer me an out-of-hours emergency appointment which was a huge relief (I was blocking the cost of this appointment out of my mind at this point).


We arrived at the vets and checked in:


Nurse: What's your chicken's name?
Me: Brick
Nurse: Brick?
Me: Yes
Nurse: Brick? As in B-r-i-c-k?
Me:  Yes, Brick.


A short but inwardly frantic wait and we were in.  The vet gave Brick an all over check, could see she was unwell but was unable to give a diagnosis.  He explained that chickens are usually treated en masse, as vets usually encounter them on chicken farms in their hundreds, if not thousands.  A few chickens die of something, one is sent off for an autopsy, the diagnosis is confirmed and treatment ensues.  One anxious woman with a decidedly dodgy looking chook was not the norm.


To cover all bases, an all round poultry antibiotic injection was prescribed.  This was obtained, after a couple of minutes, from the depths of a storeroom, as the vet explained "we don't use it very often".  It was administered between my fingers as I held Brick in position.  Yes, the thought did cross my mind that I may be the recipient of the injection and that I would wake up the next day sprouting feathers and clucking.


I paid my (not too bad) bill and we headed home.  I am happy to report that by the evening Brick was a bit perkier and in a couple of days was back to her mildly annoying self.  We never did find out what was wrong with her but I am most grateful to the vets for hanging on for us.

B-r-i-c-k