During our seven years of keeping chickens, I’ve found it to be a rewarding and entertaining hobby, thanks to the beauty, intelligence and quirks of our feathered pets. (Plus the fresh eggs, of course.) But life becomes a bit more complicated when things go wrong.
More than a month ago, one of our two Rhode Island Reds — Hope — developed a deformity. Her chest expanded, becoming more pronounced than normal. I took her to a veterinarian who not only treats chickens but has some of her own.
As is often the case when chickens take ill, there was no simple, obvious explanation for Hope’s condition. The vet speculated that Hope might have an obstruction because of something she ate, or she might have a tumor, which could be either benign or cancerous. We returned home with instructions to change Hope’s diet for several weeks, to see if that made any difference. But the long-term prognosis was not encouraging. Hope and Nellie are both more than six years old, which the vet described as the upper end of middle age. She stated matter of factly that, even if Hope survives her current dilemma, she probably won’t make it through another winter.
So, for the past month we’ve been keeping a close eye on Hope. The obstruction or growth or whatever it is hasn’t shrunk, but neither has it grown any larger. Perhaps more importantly, Hope still has a good quality of life. She has a voracious appetite and gets around perfectly well. She is alert and bright-eyed and interested in her surroundings.
I suppose Hope could die tomorrow. Or she may deteriorate so badly that she has to be euthanized. Yet I feel relief, even a momentary burst of joy, when I go out to the coop at dawn and watch her flap her wings as she heads down the ramp from the coop to the pen. Instead of obsessing over what the future may bring, I’m grateful for the sight that greeted me this morning: a ravenous Hope taking a quick break from her breakfast to lift her head and stare at me for a moment, her beak slathered with mash.
More than a month ago, one of our two Rhode Island Reds — Hope — developed a deformity. Her chest expanded, becoming more pronounced than normal. I took her to a veterinarian who not only treats chickens but has some of her own.
As is often the case when chickens take ill, there was no simple, obvious explanation for Hope’s condition. The vet speculated that Hope might have an obstruction because of something she ate, or she might have a tumor, which could be either benign or cancerous. We returned home with instructions to change Hope’s diet for several weeks, to see if that made any difference. But the long-term prognosis was not encouraging. Hope and Nellie are both more than six years old, which the vet described as the upper end of middle age. She stated matter of factly that, even if Hope survives her current dilemma, she probably won’t make it through another winter.
So, for the past month we’ve been keeping a close eye on Hope. The obstruction or growth or whatever it is hasn’t shrunk, but neither has it grown any larger. Perhaps more importantly, Hope still has a good quality of life. She has a voracious appetite and gets around perfectly well. She is alert and bright-eyed and interested in her surroundings.
I suppose Hope could die tomorrow. Or she may deteriorate so badly that she has to be euthanized. Yet I feel relief, even a momentary burst of joy, when I go out to the coop at dawn and watch her flap her wings as she heads down the ramp from the coop to the pen. Instead of obsessing over what the future may bring, I’m grateful for the sight that greeted me this morning: a ravenous Hope taking a quick break from her breakfast to lift her head and stare at me for a moment, her beak slathered with mash.
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