dalguiyeowang
Songster
*Edit: it's good to admit when one is wrong. I stand corrected. According to breed information, Australorps can live 6-10 years. I apologize for the incorrect information.
All of us on here have lost at least of our chickens. While my story is not unique, I do want to share my experience with those who might be in the same boat.
I have raised Easter Eggers, Silver Laced Wyandottes, and Australorps. Out of the kind of girls I have raised, Australorps will be the closest to my heart. I lost my best girl, Hildegard (aka Hildy) on Monday. Her death hurts. Back in September, I found her straining and panting on the nest at 8 in the evening. Being my favorite hen, I brought her inside. Since I had to work, I entrusted my mom to take her to the vet for me. She revealed to me much later that she was afraid that Hildy wasn't going to survive the car ride. Since no vets in the immediate vicinity practice on avian/exotics, she had to travel to a different clinic. The vet could find nothing wrong, but she prescribed Baytril. My mom and I took turns feeding her Baytril using a syringe. Hildy hated it, but being the sweet girl that she was, she took it. After about a week and a half, she got better.
Thanks to BYC, my mom looked at various threads and determined that Hildy probably had salpingitis. We were warned not to eat any eggs that Hildy laid while on the Baytril, but we didn't have to worry--this illness rendered her sterile. Prior to her vet trip, Hildy started laying ombre eggs. We chalked it up to stress since she survived back to back to back predator attacks (our home became an all you can eat chicken buffet). Her flock mate was beheaded right in front of her by a hawk. She and the rest of her sisters were actually shaking in their coop that night. Right after that, most of her sisters were gobbled up by coyotes. A few days later, her remaining sister was grabbed in front of me by a coyote. I bolted after it (I'm a runner), but I couldn't catch up with it. Poor Iris became dinner. The last memory I have of her is her eyes looking at me, wide with terror, as if she were begging me to save her. I try to find comfort that at least she didn't just rot, that her death served a purpose.
We're not sure on the details, but Hildy must have taken refuge in a tree. The next day she laid an egg and let my sister know that she had done her job. The call that she was found and safe was the most welcome phone call I had ever received in my life. Since Hildy was the lone survivor, she was moved into the house and shared a bedroom with me. We bonded. Every morning she woke me up with her dulcet tones. I would open her crate door and she would run downstairs. She'd then peck at the door until you opened it and would proceed to deposit her "marshmallow" on the porch (we would keep a cup of water handy to rinse off the porch). By 2pm, she'd be asking to come back in. If you didn't let her in from the back, she would hop the fence and peck at the front door. Once you'd let her in, you would see her run upstairs and deposit herself in her crate. I admit that I pitied my poor girl, so I gave her a mirror (so she could think she wasn't the only hen), a fan, and fresh veggies. While I was folding laundry, I would put my phone next to her crate and play her Youtube videos of chickens doing chicken things. I loved watching her listen to the various sounds that would show up on the videos. Sometimes she would "boop boop boop" back (I had a "booper" not a "bawker").
Fast forward to our new hens being integrated into Hildy's hierarchy. Most of the girls were also the victims of a mass coyote attack (6 girls snatched up in one afternoon). Hildy survived again. We erected an enclosed run (much to Hildy's chagrin).
Anyway, Hildy's eggs became ombre and started being laid with calcium deposits. We didn't think much of it until she started pushing out shell less eggs. Right before her episode on the nest, she had passed an egg that I can only describe as patchy. Part of it looked like a normal eggshell, other parts were almost transparent (I wish I had kept a photo). Imagine a hardboiled egg that was broken in some pieces but intact in others. We saved the egg for the vet trip. Through no fault of her own (since her speciality wasn't chickens. Rather, she specialized in parrots), the vet was unable to conclude what caused the deformity (in hindsight, all signs point to salpingitis).
Now we had a sterile hen, but she was otherwise healthy. For some people, this would be the cause to cull her. I have no qualms about people making that decision, but it's not a decision I could personally make, especially for a hen as special as Hildy.
She survived the nasty polar vortex this winter (if you live in the Midwest, you know how cold it was). It wasn't until these past few weeks that I noticed a shift in her behavior. Her tail started pointing down. She wasn't as vocal. She didn't push the other girls away for treats (she ruled the roost). And then she started hanging back. I would find her hanging out near the side of the run just standing there, low to the ground. I rushed her inside. Her behind was covered in tacky poo. I got a washcloth and some warm water and gentle soap and washed her off. I let her air dry in the bathroom and gave her some fresh food and water while she waited. No matter what I did, though, that poo would come back and coat her butt feathers. So I brought her in to stay.
I took her to the same vet and explained her symptoms. The stool sample I brought it wasn't a good enough sample for them to work with. She had started passing yellow, yolky looking diarrhea with small bits of white foam. The vet took an x-ray and said that her x-ray was unremarkable. We were sent home with more Baytril. After a few days of medication, she started getting better. This past Thursday she was able to go outside and dig in the garden. She pulled up a couple of worms and had no interest of resting in her crate (and what I mean by crate, I really mean an enclosed pet taxi designed to hold an extra large breed of a dog (German Shepherd mom, here)). We really thought that she would be fine as long as we could get her to stop with the diarrhea.
I have to take a second to talk about poop. Not only was her poop runny, but any "firmer" stools were emerald green. The texture of her diarrhea was like that of slightly drying glue. And her bowel movements smelled strongly of ammonia. I would have to wash her behind twice a day.
This same Thursday, my mom and I attended a seminar about raising chickens (we've only been doing this for 4 years). The speaker joked that, "if you don't like your rooster, feed him laying pellets". This made us A) feel terrible and B) pointed at a possible reason why Hildy was declining so fast--kidney failure. I will touch more on this later.
By Saturday, she as starting to decline. Instead of moving around, she would kind of turn in circles trying to walk straight. Every bit of movement was laborious. Sometimes she would fall. It was not looking good. We trimmed and filed down her claws since she was spending so much time resting in her crate. It didn't make a difference. We gave her electrolytes. Nothing was helping.
Sunday we knew that it was time. I begged my mom, on the verge of tears, to make the call as I know that they vet's office wouldn't be able to understand that I was requesting euthanasia (though crying clients usually means something bad). She promised that she would. Hildy had no interest in coming out of her crate. No interest in eating. No interest in her water. Nothing. All she wanted to do was sleep. She wasn't even having bowel movements. She spent the majority of her day sleeping on my lap as I stroked her feathers and sang her as many comforting songs in my repertoire. That night she hopped onto the back of the couch and roosted briefly. When she tried to turn around, she lost her balance and got caught between the wall and the couch. It was like falling in slow motion. I grabbed her and held her against me, bawling. I kept reminding myself that she could be put out of her misery in just a couple of hours. I put her back to bed.
I had to go to work on Monday, so I cleaned out her crate, washed her bum, and gave her a couple of cuddles. Something in me said to go say goodbye to her one last time before I left for work. I stopped by, told her that I loved her, and that her pain would be over soon. [I had planned on meeting my mom at the vet's office for her euthanasia]. At 11, I received a phone call that Hildy had passed in my mom's arms. She fell asleep and didn't wake up. My mom held her for a little while after, keeping her warm and then wrapped her in some towels to slow down the cooling process. When I came home, I had completely lost it. My little princess had died. All hope had been abandoned.
Miss Hildegard is buried right outside the house so she can always be nearby. To say I miss her is a huge understatement. I loved that cute little creature, and I wasn't the only one. A lot of my coworkers mourned with me (when you live in the county but work in the city, you tend to work with a lot of city folk--they are fascinated about chickens--can you blame them?). I have a lot of guilt, especially over the fact that she suffered. Part of our jobs as pet guardians is to protect, and I failed.
With this experience (and if you are still reading this, thank you, and I'm sorry it's so long), I wanted to share a couple of things.
1. Poop matters. Pay attention to how it looks, how it smells, and if you're brave how it feels (however, if you suspect parasites, please don't touch it--you can kind of gauge how it feels if you have to clean it off the floor). There are a lot of helpful resources to help you "diagnose" poop.
2. If you are not going to cull a non-layer, then change her food. Non-laying hens do not need the same nutrients as those that do lay. If you have a rooster, then give his feed to her. Conversely, you could switch to all-flock feed and then supplement your layers with egg shells or other forms of calcium. Kidney failure is no joke.
3. Production breeds do not live very long. Hildy died on her third birthday. She was at the right age. Yes, some chickens can live up to a decade (sometimes longer), but they are usually bantams or a non-production breed. If you don't handle death well, then don't get a production breed.
4. Ask your neighbors if they can suggest a vet that specializes in birds/livestock/exotics. There is usually someone that can help. Also check BYC. I love BYC because I can usually find the answer to my question.
5. A diagnosis of salpingitis gives a timeline of about 6 months to live. Hildy died about 6 months after her first episode. Reproductive issues will usually turn into something else. In this case, judging by her poo, her smell, and her quick decline, we're pretty sure she had ovarian cancer (I'll spare the details, but on Sunday, she smelled like she was rotting).
6. If the hen is in quick decline, don't do what I did. If you can put her out of her misery swiftly, then do it. If not, find someone who can.
7. Reflect on the good and try to use your experience to prepare for the future.
Many thanks to everyone on here. Your posts and similar experiences has brought me some comfort. I think chicken people are some of the nicest people out there. Thank you for being you.
All of us on here have lost at least of our chickens. While my story is not unique, I do want to share my experience with those who might be in the same boat.
I have raised Easter Eggers, Silver Laced Wyandottes, and Australorps. Out of the kind of girls I have raised, Australorps will be the closest to my heart. I lost my best girl, Hildegard (aka Hildy) on Monday. Her death hurts. Back in September, I found her straining and panting on the nest at 8 in the evening. Being my favorite hen, I brought her inside. Since I had to work, I entrusted my mom to take her to the vet for me. She revealed to me much later that she was afraid that Hildy wasn't going to survive the car ride. Since no vets in the immediate vicinity practice on avian/exotics, she had to travel to a different clinic. The vet could find nothing wrong, but she prescribed Baytril. My mom and I took turns feeding her Baytril using a syringe. Hildy hated it, but being the sweet girl that she was, she took it. After about a week and a half, she got better.
Thanks to BYC, my mom looked at various threads and determined that Hildy probably had salpingitis. We were warned not to eat any eggs that Hildy laid while on the Baytril, but we didn't have to worry--this illness rendered her sterile. Prior to her vet trip, Hildy started laying ombre eggs. We chalked it up to stress since she survived back to back to back predator attacks (our home became an all you can eat chicken buffet). Her flock mate was beheaded right in front of her by a hawk. She and the rest of her sisters were actually shaking in their coop that night. Right after that, most of her sisters were gobbled up by coyotes. A few days later, her remaining sister was grabbed in front of me by a coyote. I bolted after it (I'm a runner), but I couldn't catch up with it. Poor Iris became dinner. The last memory I have of her is her eyes looking at me, wide with terror, as if she were begging me to save her. I try to find comfort that at least she didn't just rot, that her death served a purpose.
We're not sure on the details, but Hildy must have taken refuge in a tree. The next day she laid an egg and let my sister know that she had done her job. The call that she was found and safe was the most welcome phone call I had ever received in my life. Since Hildy was the lone survivor, she was moved into the house and shared a bedroom with me. We bonded. Every morning she woke me up with her dulcet tones. I would open her crate door and she would run downstairs. She'd then peck at the door until you opened it and would proceed to deposit her "marshmallow" on the porch (we would keep a cup of water handy to rinse off the porch). By 2pm, she'd be asking to come back in. If you didn't let her in from the back, she would hop the fence and peck at the front door. Once you'd let her in, you would see her run upstairs and deposit herself in her crate. I admit that I pitied my poor girl, so I gave her a mirror (so she could think she wasn't the only hen), a fan, and fresh veggies. While I was folding laundry, I would put my phone next to her crate and play her Youtube videos of chickens doing chicken things. I loved watching her listen to the various sounds that would show up on the videos. Sometimes she would "boop boop boop" back (I had a "booper" not a "bawker").
Fast forward to our new hens being integrated into Hildy's hierarchy. Most of the girls were also the victims of a mass coyote attack (6 girls snatched up in one afternoon). Hildy survived again. We erected an enclosed run (much to Hildy's chagrin).
Anyway, Hildy's eggs became ombre and started being laid with calcium deposits. We didn't think much of it until she started pushing out shell less eggs. Right before her episode on the nest, she had passed an egg that I can only describe as patchy. Part of it looked like a normal eggshell, other parts were almost transparent (I wish I had kept a photo). Imagine a hardboiled egg that was broken in some pieces but intact in others. We saved the egg for the vet trip. Through no fault of her own (since her speciality wasn't chickens. Rather, she specialized in parrots), the vet was unable to conclude what caused the deformity (in hindsight, all signs point to salpingitis).
Now we had a sterile hen, but she was otherwise healthy. For some people, this would be the cause to cull her. I have no qualms about people making that decision, but it's not a decision I could personally make, especially for a hen as special as Hildy.
She survived the nasty polar vortex this winter (if you live in the Midwest, you know how cold it was). It wasn't until these past few weeks that I noticed a shift in her behavior. Her tail started pointing down. She wasn't as vocal. She didn't push the other girls away for treats (she ruled the roost). And then she started hanging back. I would find her hanging out near the side of the run just standing there, low to the ground. I rushed her inside. Her behind was covered in tacky poo. I got a washcloth and some warm water and gentle soap and washed her off. I let her air dry in the bathroom and gave her some fresh food and water while she waited. No matter what I did, though, that poo would come back and coat her butt feathers. So I brought her in to stay.
I took her to the same vet and explained her symptoms. The stool sample I brought it wasn't a good enough sample for them to work with. She had started passing yellow, yolky looking diarrhea with small bits of white foam. The vet took an x-ray and said that her x-ray was unremarkable. We were sent home with more Baytril. After a few days of medication, she started getting better. This past Thursday she was able to go outside and dig in the garden. She pulled up a couple of worms and had no interest of resting in her crate (and what I mean by crate, I really mean an enclosed pet taxi designed to hold an extra large breed of a dog (German Shepherd mom, here)). We really thought that she would be fine as long as we could get her to stop with the diarrhea.
I have to take a second to talk about poop. Not only was her poop runny, but any "firmer" stools were emerald green. The texture of her diarrhea was like that of slightly drying glue. And her bowel movements smelled strongly of ammonia. I would have to wash her behind twice a day.
This same Thursday, my mom and I attended a seminar about raising chickens (we've only been doing this for 4 years). The speaker joked that, "if you don't like your rooster, feed him laying pellets". This made us A) feel terrible and B) pointed at a possible reason why Hildy was declining so fast--kidney failure. I will touch more on this later.
By Saturday, she as starting to decline. Instead of moving around, she would kind of turn in circles trying to walk straight. Every bit of movement was laborious. Sometimes she would fall. It was not looking good. We trimmed and filed down her claws since she was spending so much time resting in her crate. It didn't make a difference. We gave her electrolytes. Nothing was helping.
Sunday we knew that it was time. I begged my mom, on the verge of tears, to make the call as I know that they vet's office wouldn't be able to understand that I was requesting euthanasia (though crying clients usually means something bad). She promised that she would. Hildy had no interest in coming out of her crate. No interest in eating. No interest in her water. Nothing. All she wanted to do was sleep. She wasn't even having bowel movements. She spent the majority of her day sleeping on my lap as I stroked her feathers and sang her as many comforting songs in my repertoire. That night she hopped onto the back of the couch and roosted briefly. When she tried to turn around, she lost her balance and got caught between the wall and the couch. It was like falling in slow motion. I grabbed her and held her against me, bawling. I kept reminding myself that she could be put out of her misery in just a couple of hours. I put her back to bed.
I had to go to work on Monday, so I cleaned out her crate, washed her bum, and gave her a couple of cuddles. Something in me said to go say goodbye to her one last time before I left for work. I stopped by, told her that I loved her, and that her pain would be over soon. [I had planned on meeting my mom at the vet's office for her euthanasia]. At 11, I received a phone call that Hildy had passed in my mom's arms. She fell asleep and didn't wake up. My mom held her for a little while after, keeping her warm and then wrapped her in some towels to slow down the cooling process. When I came home, I had completely lost it. My little princess had died. All hope had been abandoned.
Miss Hildegard is buried right outside the house so she can always be nearby. To say I miss her is a huge understatement. I loved that cute little creature, and I wasn't the only one. A lot of my coworkers mourned with me (when you live in the county but work in the city, you tend to work with a lot of city folk--they are fascinated about chickens--can you blame them?). I have a lot of guilt, especially over the fact that she suffered. Part of our jobs as pet guardians is to protect, and I failed.
With this experience (and if you are still reading this, thank you, and I'm sorry it's so long), I wanted to share a couple of things.
1. Poop matters. Pay attention to how it looks, how it smells, and if you're brave how it feels (however, if you suspect parasites, please don't touch it--you can kind of gauge how it feels if you have to clean it off the floor). There are a lot of helpful resources to help you "diagnose" poop.
2. If you are not going to cull a non-layer, then change her food. Non-laying hens do not need the same nutrients as those that do lay. If you have a rooster, then give his feed to her. Conversely, you could switch to all-flock feed and then supplement your layers with egg shells or other forms of calcium. Kidney failure is no joke.
3. Production breeds do not live very long. Hildy died on her third birthday. She was at the right age. Yes, some chickens can live up to a decade (sometimes longer), but they are usually bantams or a non-production breed. If you don't handle death well, then don't get a production breed.
4. Ask your neighbors if they can suggest a vet that specializes in birds/livestock/exotics. There is usually someone that can help. Also check BYC. I love BYC because I can usually find the answer to my question.
5. A diagnosis of salpingitis gives a timeline of about 6 months to live. Hildy died about 6 months after her first episode. Reproductive issues will usually turn into something else. In this case, judging by her poo, her smell, and her quick decline, we're pretty sure she had ovarian cancer (I'll spare the details, but on Sunday, she smelled like she was rotting).
6. If the hen is in quick decline, don't do what I did. If you can put her out of her misery swiftly, then do it. If not, find someone who can.
7. Reflect on the good and try to use your experience to prepare for the future.
Many thanks to everyone on here. Your posts and similar experiences has brought me some comfort. I think chicken people are some of the nicest people out there. Thank you for being you.
Last edited:
It can be so hard to lose an animal, especially one treated as well as your hen. 
