First of all, THANK YOU BYC!!! I do believe your wisdom has saved the life of one of my hens!
Dont you hate it when you get one of those youre going to need this feelings? Tonight it happened to me. While in the grocery store this evening I felt compelled to purchase cheap paper towels. I can use it for the kittens or something with one of the chickens, I thought. Buy a roll and see if they are so cheap to be useless or worth saving a few pennies on animal upkeep A dearly departed friend that was once an EMT said whenever he got the going to need this feeling, he just gave in and bought the thing for his medical bag. Within a week he usually had a pressing need for it.
Although the children assured me they had collected eggs and fed the chickens, I decided to do a full tour. Egg collection baskets sat in the middle of the yard. The single basket with the eggs had made it inside, but here was evidence that they were not following Standard Procedure. I searched with my big light and discovered two chicks on the wrong side of their fence. Huddled together, they peeped pitifully as I scooped them up and put them in their house. The Silkies tractor was fine. The Grumpy Ole Hens tractor was fine. The September girls pen was not.
Chocolate Chickie, a ten month old Partridge Rock, was flopped on the ground in an awkward position. She hasnt been feeling well and Ive been trying to watch her. Chocolate Chickie is a June girl, but I put her in the September pen to reduce her stress. Shes an upper totem pole gal and most of the Septembers are afraid of her. They leave her alone to eat, but sometimes snuggle with her if its cold. Cordon Bleu and Buff Boy do mate her and she doesnt seem horribly offended. With more than 20 pullets in that pen, Chocolate Chickie is just a face in the crowd to the two roosters and isnt harassed with excess attention.
I pulled Chocolate Chickie under the fence. Note to self: FINISH skirting around that side of the pen. It was way too easy to pull that hen out. I balanced the hen, the egg baskets, and the flashlight as we rounded the corner. Mr. Red was crouched by the fence. He needed to be put up for the night. Red refused to follow me and I wasnt abandoning Chocolate Chickie to grab him. I returned to the house and sent Dear Husband and Oldest Daughter out to put Red to bed.
Dear Husband returned to find me staring at Chocolate Chickie in horrid fascination. She looked pregnant. Chickens arent supposed to look pregnant! She flopped on the kitchen floor in much the same manner as I had found her outside. DH and I knelt on the floor and examined her. DH held her head and murmured reassurances to her. I began to trim feathers away from her belly. There was no sign of injury, but she was bloated from below the vent to her breastbone.
I started to make an incision. The skin parted beautifully and there was no bleeding. When I tried to cut a layer deeper, I had to grab the Blood Stop Powder. Dear Husband asked what the folks on BYC had to say about this. I havent had a chance to post and ask anything, I explained. Based upon the hens body language, taunt skin, and labored breathing, I really felt time was critical. I asked DH to leave for a little while. I needed to commune with the chicken without his influence. (I amuse him at times.) I prayed and asked for guidance as I placed my hands on the affected area and gently stroked the hen.
It was time to get off the floor. Chocolate Chickie slept fitfully as I cleaned the countertop and prepared for real surgery. A plastic tote lid became an easy to clean work surface when I had a feeling that I was going to need it. Gah! Again! A plastic entre dinner dish was grabbed because I was going to need it. Things were about to get messy. Lovely.
Remembering the thread about The Great Capon Experiment, I borrowed Toby the Turtles heat lamp. The lamp was clamped to the bar area above the work surface and was pointed at Chocolate Chickies head. Spa treatment, I explained as I laid her on her left side. Nice, warm, sleepy heat, I told her as I cut more feathers from her belly and back of her legs. I alternated petting her and trying to enlarge the incision. Apparently this particular spot was connected to her right leg. Every time I touched the belly with the scalpel, she kicked me. Finally I called Dear Husband to return and control the foot.
The incision had to be larger. I had a vision of the entire thing needing to be pulled outside. I had never done anything like this before. There was a moment of panic while I desperately applied Blood Stop Powder to a nicked vessel. For a moment we werent sure if the bleeding was stopping. I tucked a paper towel (aha!) under the hen. Once the incision into just the skin was about three inches long, I began to try to loosen the skin from the tumor.
The thing or tumor was yellow. I have yet to butcher a laying hen, but I did a necropsy on another Partridge Rock a couple of months ago. She hadnt started laying yet when she died quietly in her sleep. Was this part of her ovary? I prayed that I wasnt looking at intestines.
As I studied the situation, I got the message stab it. It was time to take a chance and do an exploratory poke. Liquid squirted out and began running everywhere! Paper towels (aha!) were grabbed. We tucked paper towels under Chocolate Chickies head, but I had to keep changing them under her belly. This liquid was NOT stopping! It continued to pour out of her. The sopping wet paper towels were chunked into the plastic entre dinner dish. I could hardly believe how heavy the dish was when I finally got to dump it in the trash. We went through half a roll of towels.
The liquid had a strong smell of eggs. Occasionally a chunk of yellow floated out. This had to be egg yolk. I guessed I was actually dealing with an oviduct rather than an ovary. Chocolate Chickie was starting to look deflated. I began to squeeze her to get all the liquid out. More yellow pieces came out. More paper towels were used. Hubby picked her up onto her feet and I massaged her belly until she stopped dripping. More paper towels (good grief!) were utilized to dry the work area and the hen. Hubby asked if I was going to suture the incision.
No. I had figured all along that this operation was going to require an opening for drainage. The skin gaping open a bit wouldnt be an issue as long as Chocolate Chickie stayed away from other chickens. Hello, New Back Porch Resident! We opened the nearly new container of Triple Antibiotic Ointment and I squeezed the medicine into the incision. The oviduct got about half the tube massaged into it. The skin on either side of the incision got gobs of ointment rubbed into them. I paused for a moment and panicked. Was she even breathing?!? Now that the pressure had been lessened on her insides, Chocolate Chickie was breathing quietly.
I papered the bottom of a box and we set the shaky hen down in it. She acted as though she was afraid to lie down. Hubby got a blanket and we covered her.
*****
I will post again late Sunday evening or early Monday morning and let you know how Chocolate Chickie is doing. I have to go to the store and buy some more Triple Antibiotic Ointment. Im going to need it.
So what do we call this? Prolapsed something? Egg bound?
Dont you hate it when you get one of those youre going to need this feelings? Tonight it happened to me. While in the grocery store this evening I felt compelled to purchase cheap paper towels. I can use it for the kittens or something with one of the chickens, I thought. Buy a roll and see if they are so cheap to be useless or worth saving a few pennies on animal upkeep A dearly departed friend that was once an EMT said whenever he got the going to need this feeling, he just gave in and bought the thing for his medical bag. Within a week he usually had a pressing need for it.
Although the children assured me they had collected eggs and fed the chickens, I decided to do a full tour. Egg collection baskets sat in the middle of the yard. The single basket with the eggs had made it inside, but here was evidence that they were not following Standard Procedure. I searched with my big light and discovered two chicks on the wrong side of their fence. Huddled together, they peeped pitifully as I scooped them up and put them in their house. The Silkies tractor was fine. The Grumpy Ole Hens tractor was fine. The September girls pen was not.
Chocolate Chickie, a ten month old Partridge Rock, was flopped on the ground in an awkward position. She hasnt been feeling well and Ive been trying to watch her. Chocolate Chickie is a June girl, but I put her in the September pen to reduce her stress. Shes an upper totem pole gal and most of the Septembers are afraid of her. They leave her alone to eat, but sometimes snuggle with her if its cold. Cordon Bleu and Buff Boy do mate her and she doesnt seem horribly offended. With more than 20 pullets in that pen, Chocolate Chickie is just a face in the crowd to the two roosters and isnt harassed with excess attention.
I pulled Chocolate Chickie under the fence. Note to self: FINISH skirting around that side of the pen. It was way too easy to pull that hen out. I balanced the hen, the egg baskets, and the flashlight as we rounded the corner. Mr. Red was crouched by the fence. He needed to be put up for the night. Red refused to follow me and I wasnt abandoning Chocolate Chickie to grab him. I returned to the house and sent Dear Husband and Oldest Daughter out to put Red to bed.
Dear Husband returned to find me staring at Chocolate Chickie in horrid fascination. She looked pregnant. Chickens arent supposed to look pregnant! She flopped on the kitchen floor in much the same manner as I had found her outside. DH and I knelt on the floor and examined her. DH held her head and murmured reassurances to her. I began to trim feathers away from her belly. There was no sign of injury, but she was bloated from below the vent to her breastbone.
I started to make an incision. The skin parted beautifully and there was no bleeding. When I tried to cut a layer deeper, I had to grab the Blood Stop Powder. Dear Husband asked what the folks on BYC had to say about this. I havent had a chance to post and ask anything, I explained. Based upon the hens body language, taunt skin, and labored breathing, I really felt time was critical. I asked DH to leave for a little while. I needed to commune with the chicken without his influence. (I amuse him at times.) I prayed and asked for guidance as I placed my hands on the affected area and gently stroked the hen.
It was time to get off the floor. Chocolate Chickie slept fitfully as I cleaned the countertop and prepared for real surgery. A plastic tote lid became an easy to clean work surface when I had a feeling that I was going to need it. Gah! Again! A plastic entre dinner dish was grabbed because I was going to need it. Things were about to get messy. Lovely.
Remembering the thread about The Great Capon Experiment, I borrowed Toby the Turtles heat lamp. The lamp was clamped to the bar area above the work surface and was pointed at Chocolate Chickies head. Spa treatment, I explained as I laid her on her left side. Nice, warm, sleepy heat, I told her as I cut more feathers from her belly and back of her legs. I alternated petting her and trying to enlarge the incision. Apparently this particular spot was connected to her right leg. Every time I touched the belly with the scalpel, she kicked me. Finally I called Dear Husband to return and control the foot.
The incision had to be larger. I had a vision of the entire thing needing to be pulled outside. I had never done anything like this before. There was a moment of panic while I desperately applied Blood Stop Powder to a nicked vessel. For a moment we werent sure if the bleeding was stopping. I tucked a paper towel (aha!) under the hen. Once the incision into just the skin was about three inches long, I began to try to loosen the skin from the tumor.
The thing or tumor was yellow. I have yet to butcher a laying hen, but I did a necropsy on another Partridge Rock a couple of months ago. She hadnt started laying yet when she died quietly in her sleep. Was this part of her ovary? I prayed that I wasnt looking at intestines.
As I studied the situation, I got the message stab it. It was time to take a chance and do an exploratory poke. Liquid squirted out and began running everywhere! Paper towels (aha!) were grabbed. We tucked paper towels under Chocolate Chickies head, but I had to keep changing them under her belly. This liquid was NOT stopping! It continued to pour out of her. The sopping wet paper towels were chunked into the plastic entre dinner dish. I could hardly believe how heavy the dish was when I finally got to dump it in the trash. We went through half a roll of towels.
The liquid had a strong smell of eggs. Occasionally a chunk of yellow floated out. This had to be egg yolk. I guessed I was actually dealing with an oviduct rather than an ovary. Chocolate Chickie was starting to look deflated. I began to squeeze her to get all the liquid out. More yellow pieces came out. More paper towels were used. Hubby picked her up onto her feet and I massaged her belly until she stopped dripping. More paper towels (good grief!) were utilized to dry the work area and the hen. Hubby asked if I was going to suture the incision.
No. I had figured all along that this operation was going to require an opening for drainage. The skin gaping open a bit wouldnt be an issue as long as Chocolate Chickie stayed away from other chickens. Hello, New Back Porch Resident! We opened the nearly new container of Triple Antibiotic Ointment and I squeezed the medicine into the incision. The oviduct got about half the tube massaged into it. The skin on either side of the incision got gobs of ointment rubbed into them. I paused for a moment and panicked. Was she even breathing?!? Now that the pressure had been lessened on her insides, Chocolate Chickie was breathing quietly.
I papered the bottom of a box and we set the shaky hen down in it. She acted as though she was afraid to lie down. Hubby got a blanket and we covered her.
*****
I will post again late Sunday evening or early Monday morning and let you know how Chocolate Chickie is doing. I have to go to the store and buy some more Triple Antibiotic Ointment. Im going to need it.
So what do we call this? Prolapsed something? Egg bound?
