- May 11, 2010
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George's free roaming lifestyle finally caught up with him. We don't really know what happened to him. While traversing my property in the jeep, I saw George laying under a tree. Aw, he's sunbathing, I thought. Then I felt something deep inside cause me to pause. George was not sunbathing. He was looking directly at me. I put the jeep in park and turned off the engine.
"George?" I called softly. "What's the matter?"
He gazed at me. I'm in trouble.
"George?" I hop out of the jeep and approach slowly.
George stands and I pause. He looks at me. I look at him. I see a dark green fly land on his back. I take one step. George hops, and with sickening dread, I see his right leg flopping grotesquely.
"Oh George," I murmur, and sadness forced tears to my eyes. "What happened?"
I need help.
"Yes, you do." I wipe the tears from my cheeks. "This is not good, George."
Do something.
"I will, but it's not good." I walk closer and he pants nervously. I hear him making his low popping noises.
He did not want me to touch him so I go to the jeep and find a towel. I return and toss the towel over him and pick him up. I smell the metallic odor of blood, see bone sticking out from an open wound in his leg. My heart was breaking.
"George, I'm so sorry. I don't think I can save you. And your pen is almost finished." I babbled stupidly just to hear my voice as carried him to the barn. I gently place him in his new pen. Not yet complete, the enclosure would do until I turned the garage into a hospital.
I gave George an injection for pain, retrieved my portable wire pen, blue tarp, and newspaper and got to work. I retrieved my padding, gauze, made a splint from cardboard, and retrieved George from the barn. He didn't argue when I set him down on the cement floor of the garage. I covered his head with a towel. For a moment, a quick moment, I wanted to snap his neck. I paused, and saw him peaking at me from under the towel.
I didn't come home to die.
"All right, but I can't guarantee you'll survive." I put the towel over his head and got to work.
I settled my butt bones on the floor, and placed my right leg around him to use as a table of sorts to examine his leg. There were two wounds with exposed bone. I grimaced as I palpated and worked the bone to normal position. I placed the gauze over the wounds and applied a layer of vetwrap. Then I applied the cardboard to each side of his leg to give support and added several more layers of vetwrap. I chose not to flush the wounds as splashing water was to stressful for George. The metallic odor of fresh blood filled my nostrils as I worked. Blood dripped on the floor. A green fly flew about.
When I finished, George was panting and making soft popping noises. I put him in the hospital cage and cleaned up the treatment area. The green fly seemed to lose focus so I swatted her. I squatted next to his cage and he sat quietly, blinking at me.
"That's all I can do for now."
He licked his beak and blinked at me.
The next morning he was alive. He ate a piece of bread and scrambled egg. He hopped on one leg and lay down. He was very quiet that day. The next morning I took some scratch feed, dog kibble and sprayed it with canola oil then rolled it around in the crushed antibiotic. George ate every bit of it. He hopped around on one leg then lay down. The vet came for a visit, took a radiograph (those minrays are wonderful!), checked the bandage, and left. She called me later to say the bone was set correctly and it was up to George to see what would happen.
On day 5 I changed the bandage with my husband's help. He really did nothing, because as soon as I placed a towel over George's head, he didn't move. There were a few maggots in one wound and I flicked them aside. Although I had not invited the maggots, they had done a wonderful job cleaning the wound. I followed up on the cleaning with my own chemicals and reapplied the bandage. There was no rotten smell, the the bandage, while caked with old blood, was dry and odor free. George's foot was warm. My fear is he will lose circulation to his lower leg which will mean he will be euthanized.
Right now George seems comfortable. My husband bought a mirror to place in George's cage, and the goofy bird is looking at himself. He hops about on one leg. I will do what I can for him, but he's made to have two legs. My brain is telling me one thing while my heart is telling me another.
I didn't come home to die is what he told me.
"George?" I called softly. "What's the matter?"
He gazed at me. I'm in trouble.
"George?" I hop out of the jeep and approach slowly.
George stands and I pause. He looks at me. I look at him. I see a dark green fly land on his back. I take one step. George hops, and with sickening dread, I see his right leg flopping grotesquely.
"Oh George," I murmur, and sadness forced tears to my eyes. "What happened?"
I need help.
"Yes, you do." I wipe the tears from my cheeks. "This is not good, George."
Do something.
"I will, but it's not good." I walk closer and he pants nervously. I hear him making his low popping noises.
He did not want me to touch him so I go to the jeep and find a towel. I return and toss the towel over him and pick him up. I smell the metallic odor of blood, see bone sticking out from an open wound in his leg. My heart was breaking.
"George, I'm so sorry. I don't think I can save you. And your pen is almost finished." I babbled stupidly just to hear my voice as carried him to the barn. I gently place him in his new pen. Not yet complete, the enclosure would do until I turned the garage into a hospital.
I gave George an injection for pain, retrieved my portable wire pen, blue tarp, and newspaper and got to work. I retrieved my padding, gauze, made a splint from cardboard, and retrieved George from the barn. He didn't argue when I set him down on the cement floor of the garage. I covered his head with a towel. For a moment, a quick moment, I wanted to snap his neck. I paused, and saw him peaking at me from under the towel.
I didn't come home to die.
"All right, but I can't guarantee you'll survive." I put the towel over his head and got to work.
I settled my butt bones on the floor, and placed my right leg around him to use as a table of sorts to examine his leg. There were two wounds with exposed bone. I grimaced as I palpated and worked the bone to normal position. I placed the gauze over the wounds and applied a layer of vetwrap. Then I applied the cardboard to each side of his leg to give support and added several more layers of vetwrap. I chose not to flush the wounds as splashing water was to stressful for George. The metallic odor of fresh blood filled my nostrils as I worked. Blood dripped on the floor. A green fly flew about.
When I finished, George was panting and making soft popping noises. I put him in the hospital cage and cleaned up the treatment area. The green fly seemed to lose focus so I swatted her. I squatted next to his cage and he sat quietly, blinking at me.
"That's all I can do for now."
He licked his beak and blinked at me.
The next morning he was alive. He ate a piece of bread and scrambled egg. He hopped on one leg and lay down. He was very quiet that day. The next morning I took some scratch feed, dog kibble and sprayed it with canola oil then rolled it around in the crushed antibiotic. George ate every bit of it. He hopped around on one leg then lay down. The vet came for a visit, took a radiograph (those minrays are wonderful!), checked the bandage, and left. She called me later to say the bone was set correctly and it was up to George to see what would happen.
On day 5 I changed the bandage with my husband's help. He really did nothing, because as soon as I placed a towel over George's head, he didn't move. There were a few maggots in one wound and I flicked them aside. Although I had not invited the maggots, they had done a wonderful job cleaning the wound. I followed up on the cleaning with my own chemicals and reapplied the bandage. There was no rotten smell, the the bandage, while caked with old blood, was dry and odor free. George's foot was warm. My fear is he will lose circulation to his lower leg which will mean he will be euthanized.
Right now George seems comfortable. My husband bought a mirror to place in George's cage, and the goofy bird is looking at himself. He hops about on one leg. I will do what I can for him, but he's made to have two legs. My brain is telling me one thing while my heart is telling me another.
I didn't come home to die is what he told me.
