Brigid

We interrupt this month's blog entries to bring breaking news of Brigid, our 3 1/2 yr. Buff Orpington.

Brigid was always second.
She was in the second batch of Becky's original birds gifted to us back in the Spring of '11.
She was second in the pecking order, though she fought long and hard to be on top.
And now I fear she might be the second of our hens to die.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she wasn't keeping up with her sisters, running around the property all day, poking, nibbling, scratching and doing all that stuff I've come to expect from them- mostly making a wreck of things by tearing shit up.
I caught her resting more, and not necessarily in her usual, favored spots, but random, rather uncomfortable places in the yard.
She wasn't preening or dirt bathing as much and CAM said when he let them out in the morning before work, she'd become the last one out the door, whereas before she'd always pushed her way to the front of the line: it pained him to witness her trying to navigate descending the roost.
And, she wasn't her usual bitchy self.

With Lucy-Lu (Black Australorp) & Large Marge (Plymouth Barred Rock)

After Lucy died, Large Marge took over the #1 spot in a classy, respectable manner; she did not wield her power unnecessarily.
Brigid, her self-appointed first lieutenant, came down hard on the 2 pullets and interloper (Rogue Chicken/RC.)
For some chicken reason I'll never understand, they were all okay with this arrangement and B finally chilled the hell out and wasn't as wicked as she had been in the beginning while asserting her position.
They 'liked' her; like she was some frienemy or something.
Whatever.
When they started to share duties of taking breaks with her instead of concentrating on usual crazy chicken things, I knew something wasn't quite right.
In addition to all the naps, she seemed super spacey, as if she'd undergone a lobotomy.
At first I thought it just might be the weather- this all transpired at the height of our hottest summer days, upwards in the 90s.
But no one else seemed affected.
Recently becoming birdseed addicted hens, as soon as the coop door opens, they all make a beeline for the apple hey, it's a PLUM tree! where the feeder for the Stellar's Jays is hidden in the branches.
She seemed confused with both why everyone was off in a shot and what to do once she got there.

Time to come in! 

Spacing out with RC (bonus sneak peek at the new coop)

Sequester, quarantine, separate, call it what you will, but while we humans do an assessment on your health and well being to determine what is wrong with you, you must stay away from the rest of the flock, lest you infect them.
Problem was, it's nothing obvious.
Over the last 10ish days, after much research and outreach, we've concluded no virus (especially the dreaded cocci which we believe did in Lu), bacteria, worms, mites, or... anything.
We have absolutely no idea whatsoever could be the matter with this bird.

We gave her a round of antibiotics just to be on the safe side, after which you can't consume their eggs.

No problems there since she'd quit laying earlier in the summer, strangely.
She'd always been such a reliable egg maker, and was well onto another productive season.
Looking back, maybe this has been going on longer than we realized. 

And most troubling of all was that she'd forgotten how to eat and drink.

Even mealworms, which are like chicken caviar.
In fact, I've served just about everything I can possibly think of to entice her, but no.

Nothing seems to pique her interest for long.

We began hydrating her with an old dental syringe- but that was ineffective in its limited delivery system.

Picking her up for the first time to do this, CAM felt just how light and emaciated she'd actually become.

A frightful discovery, because she still looked full and fluffy (and there was no tell tale sign of 'diarrhea-streak butt'.  Hey, you're welcome for that visual.)

Thus, THE talk happened.

I'm a pretty realistic gal.
Or some might say, morbid.

I think about mortality and death and energy and transitions to another reality in a better place and all that probably more than normal people do.

And money.

There's a cruel 'Sophie's Choice' that plays out here and sadly, the hens are on the short end.

Furry, (usually) loving animals living inside with us get the benefit of the DVM visits.

Where we live, chickens of all ages can be purchased for very little, making a costly trip to the vet counter-intuitive.
Especially since they are riding that fine line between pet and livestock.
Though we have a guy for the cats and another for Z Dog, it's been difficult to find a bird-specific one out here in The Sticks, oddly enough.
And honestly, Brigid's never been particularly touchy-feely, bringing out any kind of great connection to her, tugging at my heart strings like RC, who's my favorite, remember?

However, I certainly didn't want her to suffer.

Enter Google.

Dispatching chickens is a nasty business.

Violent, messy, traumatic and that's just us.
What of the poor birds?

We couldn't bring ourselves to do it.

Yet the alternative of watching her wither away didn't sound like much of a death, either.

I -know- circle of life, nature, hospice, dignity and such.

That's why the more humane manner of benzocaine and/or ether (I will spare you the details of how those work exactly) was more acceptable.

CAM would pick up all the necessary supplies, do the deed Thursday night, then Friday morning I'd drive her up to OSU for a necrospy.
We opted out of Lu's having a pretty good idea of what killed her.

But with Brigid thought she could be a learning opportunity, as cold hearted as that comes off.

If, or more likely when, this would present again in the future, we'd know better what it was and how to treat it, or not.

Unlike some states, they aren't free, so we were being judicious in our decisions and justified Brigid's sacrifice for the greater good.

Bah for best laid plans. Bah, I say!

CAM came home with a G-Tube, syringe and baby parrot food.

At first Dr. Cat Vet thought it was a joke when he stopped in after work asking for the hardware.

But my ex-EMT spouse had a decent convo re. his abilities, Brigid's symptoms and poultry physiology, after which both doctor and receptionist were convinced this could prove beneficial.

(They sold it to him for a song. 'Danny Boy', in fact. J/k.)

She just had too much spunk left in her.

Other than this lethargy and general dopiness, her signs were good:
Poop appears normal, and I've spent a lot of time gazing upon poop lately, both in person and on-line, comb color and elasticity, tail position and mannerisms and she still agitates when handled.
Previous sick and injured birds allowed us to administer to them when in that state.

Brigid had (and does) not.

She just wasn't *there* yet.
So now we tube feed her.

Three times a day.

It's actually easier than you might imagine and seems she knows we're helping her.

At the beginning of her infirmary, when she was a bit more active

Spending her nights on the Dining Porch in the Pet Taxi, then because it's pleasant outside, days on the new back porch, of which she's made a damn fine mess.

Yesterday I added a kiddie pool with straw and some corn goodies that I'm hoping triggers some sort of muscle memory to peck and scratch.

I had to place her into it, but she's choosing that to under the patio table where she'd been camping out before.

Not a great deal of moving or walking, but some preening and stretching.

And still so much voiding.
Nope, can't get away from that, no matter where they are or what their state.
Damn chickens.

But I really need for her to go one way or the other soon.

Because sneaking her into our Anniversary Suite over Labor Day isn't quite how I wanted to celebrate.

In summary: If you've any ideas, experience, advice and/or encouragement, please get in touch.

We are at wit's end as what to do for and with our dear Brigid.

With younger sisters, Obrahma, Rhoda; interloper RC & matriarch, Large Marge

Always very loud & proud at announcing an egg

 

Brigid in better days