How Chickens Do Halloween

The other day the kid and I went out and wormed the chickens...a good time had by all, as always. In two weeks we get to do it again, as you must to catch any hatching worm eggs and break the cycle. Some of the implements of chickeny terror:

Broad-spectrum paste wormer, which kills everything, both mixed with water to be given orally and applied straight to that little bare spot in each wing pit and masssaged in, so:

 Chickens do not appreciate a wing pit massage and resist this procedure. Especially proud pretty bois like Milton, here.

Dog toenail cutter to trim any claws/spurs that need it and Adams Flea and Tick mist, sprayed liberally deep into the No Man's Land of chicken butts (where angels fear to tread, sister) and fluffy thighs and feet to take care of any mites. Since the kid holds the bird while I do all these things to the chickens, I am also free of worms and/or mites since I never fail to get that stuff on me. Not pictured: the goodie dish holding bits of diced ham, a few pieces given to each bird at the completion of worming along with a sincere apology...and boy, you'd better make it sound good, they can tell the difference.

But what the hey, it was also a good time to get a few pictures of pissy chickens!

Because most of the time when you try to photograph chickens while doing the semi-annual worming, they know what's coming and get all snotty and squirmy, so you wind up with pics of thrashing poultry like this one of Tater Tot:

It was also a good time to update on Blossom, my half-Silkie who this year decided to start shedding toes like a maple tree in Fall. We figured it was frostbite from last winter and her toes waited until months later to actually fall off.
Blossom *had* ten toes--Silkies have 5 toes on each foot instead of 4 like normal chickens. Blossom being a little weirdo from the get-go, she had two of her toes fused together at hatch, the two rear-facing toes of her left foot. I expected for her to have problems with *those* toes, if she ever did have foot troubles...

Nope. Weirdo mutant fused toes are just fine, as is ONE other toe. Blossom has shed all of the rest of her toe tips, though.
Even worst, she did this while staying in the house recovering from another injury...all of a sudden I started finding the ends of her toes, claw and all, lying in the middle of the living room.
FREAKY.
To make things even MORE gruesome, I never found two of her toes. Either the dog ate them or they are lying in wait somewhere in my house for me to have forgotten all about it and then pop up someday.
ICK. Zombie Chicken.

Speaking of zombies...
Happily, some of the other chickens posed nicely for head shots. Although I didn't realize until later that my daughter's zombie bunny Tshirt had lined up perfectly...

 Cam, my big Americaunas/Giant Cochin mix Head Rooster doin' the zombie bunny thing...

Several others got in on it.

 Pie, an Americaunas/Buff Brahma mix hen

 Tater Tot again, (once she calmed down) a bantam Cochin/MilleFleur Belgian d'Uccle mix hen

...and Rambo, the Head Hen, a 7 year old buff Brahma hen who is WAY too dignified to wear zombie bunny ears and is NOT amused by all this tomfoolery.

Chicken Site Missing For Now!

Argh, my stupid site provider has taken down my chicken info site with no explanation and won't respond to our repeated emails. I KNOW it's all paid up and there are no problems with the site content, so I don't know what the heck is going on--but I suspect the provider is going under. We're working on moving my site to another provider, for now if anyone needs my help with anything chicken just let me know here.

Bloody frustrating though!

Our Head Hen, Bear, who is turning 9 years old this year has been under the weather. I'm not sure what her issue is but I'm treating for for a few likely causes (God, my kingdom for a microscope so I can do fecal smears--!)...but it may simply be her age. Phoenix the Head Roo is fretting for her and staying close by her side. We had her in for a few nights this last week when the temps got really cold overnight and learned after the first night to bring Phoenix in, too. He was SO worried about her the morning after that first night and was overjoyed to see her the next morning, he danced and danced around her for several minutes, chuckling and talking to her. I felt really bad, I didn't realize he'd think the worst the next morning!

We'll have to watch them both closely, I still remember when my first Head Hen, Wild Child, died from old age--my Head Roo, Jack, died about 24 hours later, out of the blue--I'm convinced of a broken heart. Phoenix is Jack's son, and has the same personality. But Bear is looking better the last two days, and the weather is FINALLY cutting us some slack on all the damned rain.

Wild Child Passes

Well, we have lost another one.

This time it was our flock's Head Hen, a lovely Silver Laced Wyandotte with the clunky and graceless name of Wild Child. She gained that name nearly ten years ago when we brought her and her two sisters home from the feed store. Then they were tiny, day and a half old baby chicks with their egg tooth still attached. For those that don't know, on birds the egg tooth is the small, hard tip of their beaks that assists them in breaking out of their shells when they hatch. It falls off within the first three days of life.

The reason she was named Wild Child was because we had given the three chicks temporary names to help us tell the new arrivals apart from each other. We figured that we would come up with real names for the chicks shortly. 'Wild Child' was what we called her since she was a very boisterous chick, running around and jumping on her sisters' heads when they weren't looking.

Unfortunately for her, the name stuck. So Wild Child she became for good and all.

Wild Child naturally took on the position of Head Hen--she can peck everyone else but no one pecks her, she is leader of the flock. She is the one in my previous posts that climbed up on top of the coop, couldn't get down and had to call us out in the yard to rescue her. She was the one who would call out and alert us to trouble in the yard.

The day before yesterday we noticed that Wild Child was refusing food and simply standing, eyes closed, in the shade under her favorite bush. Yesterday was the same, so we knew that something was up and strongly suspected that she was making her exit. She wasn't sick, just old.

I brought her into the house around 3PM and offered her a small dish of goodies, which she looked at but politely shook her head, refusing. Now when a chicken won't eat, something is wrong. Her body temperature had also fallen. I wrapped her in a bath towel and sat with her on my lap for the next 5 1/2 hours, gently stroking her head and talking to her as she slept. I had mixed up a small amount of baby bird handfeeding formula with some other things, and this I gave her with an eyedropper every 45 minutes to keep her comfortable and hydrated. Around 7PM I had gotten up to stretch my legs and as I walked by the back door, I noticed that every single chicken of our flock had crammed themselves up onto the back porch, something they had never done.  Jack, our Head Roo, was in front, looking at me and waiting.  I knew what they wanted and opened the back door so that they could come in and visit Wild Child, which they did quietly and one at a time before filing out again.

Over the final several hours Wild Child got quieter and quieter and we knew the time was near. Finally it was 8PM and my daughter's bedtime. She gently petted Wild Child and told her goodnight and goodbye.

Not two minutes later Wild Child gave a single flap of her wings and died.

We'll miss her. Today the other chickens are wandering about looking lost, Jack is especially distressed. She would have been 10 years old this coming April and was the cornerstone, guardian, mother, flock representative, disciplinarian and matriarch of the flock. She led the group out of the coop in the morning and called them to roost in the evening.

When you have a pet for that many years they are a member of your family, no matter what kind of animal they are. They become as much a part as your personality and entangled in your family history as any other member of your household.

Our most affectionate farewell to Wild Child.