Not another chicken blog

So, anyone who knew me as the next Gordon Gekko back in the day might be confused that I'm blogging about chickens most of the time these days. No one is more confused by this turn of events than yours truly.  But it's what's been going on here. So without further ado: 

Circle of life, tragedy, pathos, amputations in the field with no anesthesia, fear, doubt, and finally an ending saccharine enough for Disney to buy the rights to. 

To recap, a random hen decided to nest right outside my front door, much to the unbridled enthusiasm of my scent hound Jethro. (See previous posts if you need to catch up)

On Friday, mama hen’s eggs finally hatched, and I saw 9 little fuzzy chicks vs. the 11 or so eggs I had seen a few days earlier. I figured that was a pretty good yield (?) but I’m by no means a poultry expert.

Next morning, I see mom out and about with the kids following along and chirping; it was all very cute. Only counted 8 chicks still around, but with the snakes/dogs/cats/other chickens about, not too surprising. 

But, what I really noticed was 7 chicks (5 black, 2 white) were all bounding around close-ish to mom, and the 8th was a good deal behind, stumbling around like a drunk looking for an open diner at 4 a.m.

He was much smaller than his sibs, and on closer inspection had a gigantic right foot. My keen medical brain kicked into action and I said “Bumblefoot”. I said that for two reasons, the signs fit and it was the only bird disease I could pull out of my ass at the moment.  After a second of contemplation, I realized that was an odd disorder for a < 2 day old chick to have. I took a step closer, and, ugh, discovered the reason for the swollen foot. Chick had a compound fracture, proximal tibia, bone the size of an 18 ga. needle just sticking out. Foot hanging on by a few millimeters of skin. Little guy trying to keep up with everybody, Falling over every third step.

Oy. Decision time. Doing nothing meant that the bird would be dead in 4-24 hours, starvation, predation or septicemia, take your pick. Since it was ‘my’ bird, born in ‘my’ yard, I had to act. [Yeah, I’m an idiot like that. But if you know me, you knew that already. ]

What to do? I’m a moderately good dog doc. This patient was way out of my zone. I thought about the first vet I ever worked for, Dr. Sims, who would pin bone fractures in bats that weighed (literally) 3 grams. But he had gas anesthesia. And pins. And expertise.
I was 0-for-3 there. so....maybe a splint?

If the bird could ambulate, I figured, it could keep up with the rest, eat, drink, get stronger....ehhh, not my best idea ever, but I decided to try...
Scooped up the little guy in my baseball cap --on third attempt after playing Ole with a charging, pissed off hen twice--& Brought him inside. I did fashion a Ridiculous Chick Splint (RCS) out of a small, C-section I cut from a 3ml syringe. Taped it to his upper limb, and watched him proceed to nose plant and drag said splint behind him. FAIL. Probably a weight thing more than anything else. Shit!

What now?? While I was playing chicken doctor, Jethro decide to come over and investigate. After the 23rd time I shoed him away, I looked at his silly tripawd self and said, A-HA! That’s the ticket.

***THE NEXT PART MIGHT BE CONSIDERED GROSS BY SOME READERS************************************* SKIP DOWN TO NEXT ROW OF STARS*****************

I picked up the chick, who was a tremendous patient by the way, held 
an alcohol prep pad on the bone and stump for a few seconds, then transected the skin attachment. I think I got mostly necrotic tissue. 

My operating table. VMSB would not approve. I don't care!

   



  
Dabbed the area again, then closed the stump with tissue glue. 

The brown tape in the hat is my would-be splint. I really thought that could work. Oh well.







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My plan was to drop him back in the nest, easy peasy, and that’s that. ‘Cept mom and the kids had disappeared into the jungle for the night. No more nest by my front door. M'kay....

So chick got to sleep in the extra bedroom. I went on to syringe feed the chick with coconut milk overnight, cause, it’s what I had, and I told myself it was essentially Ringer’s + Dextrose. Chick was BAR and chirpy, so I did OK.

Today, I had to hope that the hen would continue to feed in my yard. Sure enough, around 8 am, I hear them outside my window. I scooped up Nemo (Yes I named him. For his lucky fin/leg. See above for discussion of how I’m an idiot) 
and went out to see if I could return him to his family group. 

First Sib to greet Nemo

After a few tense seconds, they was like peas and carrots again. He’s hopping along like a champ. So, there’s that. Odds are still significant that he will not last very long, but you can’t fight nature, only give the kids a chance.  I am pleased I was able to complete the big important step, returning him to fam. 

Nemo on the right

Everybody back to the jungle

I promise the next post will be about food or music.