Doris, Again

Well, isn't this nice. Doris is now bubbling at both eyes. No signs of respiratory distress (wheezing, coughing etc). If I put my ear to her back there's no scary bubbling sounds. Her face doesn't smell bad, and here nostrils are clear. There is no swelling apart from some slight inner eyelid irritation. None of the other hens seem remotely symptomatic. I could scream.

I last treated Doris for something very similair at the beginning of last November. The vet prescribed Baytril, and I had to bribe my lovely chicken sitter with a bottle of good Merlot to fire the medicine down Doris's throat three times a day. It was a tad stressful for all concerned. I am quite disheartened to find myself back at square one.

Doris is one of four hens that I bought from one breeder. The others were Delilah, Belinda and Mini. Can you spot a connection there? Yep, the other three are all ex-hens, and were within a year. They all died of different conditions and cost a significant amount of money to treat. I thought that perhaps we'd got lucky with Doris. However, within weeks of bringing her home initially she'd had an eye issue. On and off, there have been flare ups of spotty eyelids and bubbling. I can only assume that Doris has dormant myco which comes to the fore when she is stressed/under the weather anyway. Since the New Year I have been adding various tonics and supplements to the girls' feed and water in an effort to ward off the nasties. I am still waiting for the colloidal silver to arrive.

So now I am once again contemplating the vet and  yet another course of Baytril. This is not really a good or smart move. I am loathe to go down the route I did with my beloved Mini, spending months and literally hundreds of pounds attempting to cure something which was ultimately uncurable. If I was a breeder, I'd probably be thinking of dispatching Doris off to that big coop in the sky. And yet. Yet, she is a pet. She has been with me now for two and a half years. I cannot and will not see her in pain or suffering. So when I finish this post, I will once again phone the vet. I will attempt to convince him to prescribe the Baytril without making me and a poorly hen trek down to the surgery. If I am successful, I will spend the next seven days wrapping Doris in a towel and forcing meds down her reluctant throat. I will do all this and hope that it works. And all the time I will know that it is probably pointless. That she will probably get ill again. That I am possibly risking the rest of my flock.

Sorry for the depressing post, but I am feeling really quite disheartened.

So, That Was 2010

Happy New Year! Nearly. As we approach the end of 2010, I find myself looking back at an eventful year in chicken keeping. This year, I lost my beloved Mini which was rubbish, but hatched my first ever chicks, which was amazing. I said goodbye to the Convent, and hello to the amazing Palace. I waved the Silkie sisters off to their fab new home, and welcomed four new girls. One of which was my much coveted frizzle. I performed emergency first aid on ASBO Chicken and kept all of my fingers (I am particularly proud of that). Yep, it's been interesting.

So, what does 2011 have in store? It's probably best that I don't know to be honest. I find that things run more smoothly if disasters are sprung upon me rather than giving me time to panic. Doris is currently sporting another bubbly eye minus any other symptoms. Rather than running off to the vet, I've decided to ignore the attention seeking faker and see if it miraculously improves. Just so that you don't think I am completely heartless, you should know that Doris has form. She also has a massive amount of tonic in her drinking water right now.

I hope this year has been kind to you, and that 2011 is downright generous.

Maeve aka ASBO Chicken and her incredible swivelling neck.

Gladys at her frizzly best.

Purdy, the only layer at time of writing (so she's my favourite).

Doris, Maeve and Mabel.

A super curious Hilda.

My beautiful Maude.

Purdy and Mabel.

Hilda demolishing my alpine trough. Sigh.

Celia was knocking about, but managed to evade the camera. Her broodiness seems to be over. At long bloody last.

A Difficult Job For The Boss

Its tough being top hen. The responsibility falls to you to align the pecking order, and keep everyone in check. When a member of your flock goes off to that great chicken coop in the sky, there is re-ordering to be done. If there was a cockerel about, he would do a lot of this work for you. However, the Convent is a chicken-bloke free zone, so all of this falls to Mabel.

Mabel is a brilliant top hen. She has just the right balance between benign care of her charges, and aggressive discipline. The others (perhaps with the exception of the social climbing Maeve) seem to respect her position, and heed her warnings. It would be over sentimental to say that the hens are missing Mini, but they are definitely aware that the position of bottom hen is now vacant. Everyone is keen for this place not to be filled by themselves.

So, today, there is a lot of pecking going on. The lower hens are sneaking up on each other and attempting to deliver a swift dig to the top of their opponents head. If the opponent wants to keep their position in the flock, they won't back down. A surprise attack often results in a surprised squawking and waddling away in to the shrubbery, though, and instantly the victim finds herself below her attacker in the social structure.

This process of re-jigging is always stressful for both the birds and anxious keeper. This squabbling can quickly escalate in to all out warfare, so I am very glad that Mabel is taking charge. Everyone but Maude is being squashed to the floor, as she asserts her dominance. No one is hurt in this display, but the squashed hen always looks a little sheepish afterwards.

The silkies pose a problem to Mabel. As the last members of the flock to be integrated, they are the most logical choice for the bottom two. They don't appear to hold ambitions of flock domination themselves, so should be easy targets. The problem is, they have long, road-runner-style legs, and can out run even a flat out pekin waddle. Mabel can't catch them. On the odd occassion that she does, she can't jump up on to their backs. They simply stand still, with their head to one side, and watch the demented ball of feathers bouncing next to them. This makes Mabel look ridiculous, but is hilarious to watch.

Mabel has apparently been working on this issue. This morning, while watching the girls in the garden, I noticed that she was stood on the rim of a large plant pot. Her stillness was odd, so it caught my attention. The others mooched around, plotting head pecking and looking nonchalent. As Margot ambled closer to Mabel's plant pot, Mabel assumed a take off position. Clever girl, thought I, as Mabel launched herself at the now-in-range Margot. With a startled 'Bok-ARK!', Margot was flattened. Mabel pinned her for a few seconds, and then dismounted her underling. She strolled off with a satisfied swagger, with the other hens as an audience. Kiki approached her stunned sister, still splatted in to the mud. Margot shook herself and stood up, and the two silkies began a low chuntering, no doubt discussing this new development.

Mabel reigns supreme.

The Saddest Day

I am writing this in tears. Approximately half an hour ago, the vet called to tell me that my beloved Mini had died on the operating table.

After thinking about it long and hard, I decided to take her back to the vet to see if the cyst could be removed. The children were anxious, and I foolishly told them she'd be fine. The vet agreed to remove the swelling under anaesthetic, and I left her there at just gone 9am. The phone call came just an hour later.

The vet told me that the swelling was a huge, pus filled abcess. It would not have got better on its own, and would eventually have infected her nervous sysytem and killed her. I am now wracked with regeret, wondering if opting for surgery sooner would have made any difference. I'm also cursing myself for not getting her, somehow, to a specialist avian vet for the surgery.

All regrets and 'what if?'s are pointless now, though, as she is gone.

I will miss her. Meh-meh :( :( :(

I Warn You Now, This Is Disgusting.

I am giving you fair warning. I am about to post pics of Mini and her revolting eye. If you are eating, you will not want to see them. I am posting them in the hope that someone, somewhere, will google 'disgusting eye chicken', come across this blog, and be able to tell me what to do.

So. You have been warned.

So, this is my lovely mini. This is the unaffected eye. Although, the other one is so swollen that it is in shot.

  This gives you some idea as to how large the swelling is. You'll notice that the other eye is not visible at all.

                              This is the affected eye. The hard crust is a fairly new development.


The skin around the swelling is very tight, and I think it must be very uncomfortable. She is, however, just getting on with it. The tissue seems to have totally filled the eye socket. It has nowhere else to go now, so I am watching anxiously. So, it's a long shot, but does anyone have any ideas?

Cyclops Chicken

I am anxious. Instinctively, I want to prod and poke at Mini's humungous swollen eye. I have restrained myself to just grabbing her and having a good look. The actual eyeball is nowhere to be seen at this stage, and the cyst tissue has hardened in the gap between her eyelids. The swelling is now the size of a marble.

None of this sounds good, does it? I have to admit it looks even worse. My little splash hen is filthy from the winter, and has a giant crusty eye. From some angles, she resembles a praying mantis. Or one of those swivel eyed reptiles, anyway. She certainly wouldn't win any beauty contests.

Yet, the strange thing is, she's coping. In fact, she's more than coping. She pootles around the garden, looking for tasty things to eat. She runs for treats. She hasn't lost any weight, and her overall condition is good. She is getting better at avoiding the sneaky Maeve, who sidles up to her on her bad side to deliver a swift peck to the head. All in all, she's just getting on with her chickenny business.

So, I am resisting my urge to interfere. The last time I started prodding and poking, her eye bled and she shrieked at me. I should probably take the non-too-subtle hint.

Meh-meh.

Normality Returns

With a heavy burst of rain over the weekend, we said goodbye to the snow. The temperature has risen considerably, too. The chooks are most pleased.

When I first opened the run up, they remained suspicious. With a bit of gently coaxing, they stepped over the threshhold and realised that the horrid white stuff really had had the decency to leave. There then followed a rather undignified bundle for the warm area on the decking. Naturally, Mabel duffed everyone up and won the choicest spot.

So, back to our normal routine, then. The girls are once again marauding around the garden, kicking stones on to the lawn and digging up spring flowering bulbs. In fact, if they could swig out of cider bottles and swear elaborately, you would see the resemblance to bored teenagers. There is the occassional squawk of protest as one of the lower pecking order hens gets a mean spirited peck from one of the upper echelons. They seem rather disgruntled.

At the moment of typing, not one of the free-loading feather-bags is laying, and I'm wondering whether the anticipation of pecking order shake-ups is leading to this mild animosity. Kiki has decided that being broody in january is a bit daft, frankly, so is back in the running. Maeve is still in the middle of a moult, and resembles a rather worse for wear vulture. She is defending her flock position, and the Silkies and Mini are bearing the brunt of her displeasure.

It's unlikely, but I'm secretly hoping that Mini will become a laying power house, and ascend to the perch.

Six Hundred And Fifty Two Is The Magic Number

It's a rather marvellous number, isn't it? Suitably impressive without being grandiose. I am a very proud chook keeper. You see, it is the total number of eggs my ladies laid in 2009.

Yes, I am that tragic. I sat down with my calculator, and added up every egg tally. That's one hundred and eight half dozen boxes. Brilliant. The ever tolerant husbanad was less impressed. As I attempted to defend my ladies by reminding him that the eggs we sold had paid for their feed and bedding throughout the summer, therefore making them partially self sufficient, he reminded me that Mini's vets bill's alone added up to more than any revenue made on the eggs. Ah.

Still, as I watch my cyclops chicken wander about the run with her head cocked at an odd angle, muttering 'meh-meh!' at no one in particular, I can't help but think that she's worth it. I am also reminded that some of those eggs were provided by flock members no longer with us, and Delilah and Belinda did their part. I hope that they are busy scoffing corn in the great chicken run in the sky.

This year, I predict that my egg total will top seven hundred.

Because I will probably aquire a few more hens....

We Shall Not Be Moved

Overnight, we accumalated a couple of inches of snow. Much to the children's disgust, it wasn't enough to close the school, but it is certainly enough to irritate the hens. Only Margot ventured out on to the white stuff, and even she only lasted about five minutes before she accumalated a large ice/snow ball on one foot. Watching a hen with one large snow shoe strut-clunk, strut-clunk back to the coop was not good for my pelvic floor.

I decided to clear out the coop and throw in lots more bedding to keep the girls warm, so armed myself with a bucket of sawdust and a thick stack of newspaper. Opening the Convent door, I found three girls stuffed into the nest box, and four ladies huddled together under the perch. Now, usually, as soon as I start cleaning their residence, they wander off with much indignant muttering. Today, however, I was met with beady stares. A definite 'Bog off' look. Taking the edge of the newspaper covering the floor, I began to pull slowly, fulling expecting them to stand up and exit the coop. They continued to stare at me, and slowly slid towards me. Realising that they had no intention of moving, I took drastic action. Gripping the newspaper firmly, I attempted the 'tablecloth trick' (except instead of a tablecloth and dinner ware, I had some poo coated pages from 'The Irish Independent' and four disgruntled hens). It did not go according to plan. The hens all fell backwards, squawking, and the newspaper ripped, leaving me coated in droppings. Lovely. The nest box ladies watched all this carry on with a decidedly smug air, buried up to their shoulders in wood shavings.

I finally tugged the rest of the newspaper from under the hens, and attempted to sweep out the floor. I had to do it around Mabel, Maude, Doris and Mini, though, as they were obviously comfortable. I was then left with the next problem. Getting stuff out from under the girls was one thing, getting fresh paper under them was going to be another. I lifted Mabel out of the coop, and plonked her in the run. I then reached in to grab Maude, and turned to find the run void of my top hen. Glancing back into the coop, with Maude still in my hands, I found Mabel back in the huddle. So, it was going to be like that.

There then followed a ridiculous and humiliating episode where by I shovelled hens out of the coop as quickly as possible, while the hens raced round to get back in to the warmth of the coop. In the end, I managed to paper over two hens, had one sat on my forearm, and another hen pecking at my welly. The hens that I had papered over didn't seem particularly bothered initially, but soon wriggled free once Maeve decided to sit on them.

I am outnumbered.

The Dawning Of A New Year....

Well, here we are. The hundredth post. As I look back through my ramblings, I realise just how much has happened in my chicken keeping adventure this year. I have suffered my first losses, handled introductions, dealt with illnesses beyond count, got to grips with broody hens and coaxed the flock through it's first major moult. All in all, it's been an intense learning experience.

Mini is hanging in there, and has rejoined her flockmates. Her eye is hideously swollen and, I now know, irretrievably lost. Sad as that makes me, I can't help but smile as she potters around the garden, offering the odd 'meh-meh!' into the general chicken chatter.

Kiki is still stubbonly broody, although she is a gentle wannabe mum, and not as psychotic as some of my ladies. I unceremoniously dump her on to the freezing lawn a couple of times a day, where she sits for several minutes in her broody trance, resembling a russian hat.

My mighty Mille's are ruling their roost as usual. Both girls have had a fairly radical makeover since their moult and are absolutely stunning. Mabel watches over her flock with a keen eye, and if she detects any mutiny in the ranks waddles over to the offending hen and sits on her. Maude occassionally assists her in rounding up offenders.

Doris is still moulting, so is keeping herself under the radar. She sometimes has a half hearted bok, but the enthusiasm isn't there. I'm guessing that she'll find her voice again in the spring.

Maeve is still a small chicken with a big attitude. When I think back to the small ball of feathers we brought home, I can hardly believe that it's the same bird. I'm quite nervous at the thought of a broody Maeve, to be honest.

Margot is the hardiest hen I have. Whatever the weather, Margot can be seen goose stepping around the garden. Whether this is because she genuinely doesn't mind the wet, or whether she has simply forgotten how to get back to the coop remains open to debate. Bless.

I have many plans for the new year. We aim to be moving in the spring, and that means transporting my girls. It also means new lodgings for the chooks, and I have many ideas I can't wait to put into practice.

Maybe I'll even get my frizzle pekin....

Happy New Year, from the madchickenlady, and the chooks! x

Chilled Chickens

The weather is bitterly cold. It hasn't got above freezing for several days, and I have to break the ice in the girls' drinker several times a day. We had a smattering of snow which has now frozen solid. The decking by the back door is like an ice rink. Every so often, a small hen goes whizzing past the glass with a confused look in her eye. Chickens do not like snow, ice or anything else which is damp and cold.

For the most part, the girls are staying inside. Margot seems the least bothered by the weather, and is often seen skidding about the garden. Maeve and Doris venture out for brief periods of foraging, but retreat to the coop after a while. Mabel and Maude are having none of it, and other than quick trips to the food and water, stay perched up high in the Convent, muttering.

Kiki, for reasons best known to herself, has decided that this cold spell is the perfect time to go broody. She sits in the nestbox, guarding her eggs, and growling if anyone gets too close. I am unceremoniously dumping her on the cold lawn a couple of times a day.

Mini is still holed up in the greenhouse. She spends a lot of time in her coop, but comes out periodically for a scratch about and dinner. I tried to encourage her to explore a bit further today, and she made a beeline for the Convent. Maude chased her and grabbed a beakful of tail feathers. It is not ideal to have the bottom hen out of the fold. Mini scarpered to the border, and sat looking miserable. I scooped her up and put her back in the greenhouse, where she wont be picked on. Feeling sorry for her, I also roped in Margot, and the two hens are now snuggled up together in the little coop. I am considering rotating the gentler hens, so that Mini is not without allies when the time comes for her to return to the main coop. Kiki and Doris should be friendly enough.

Mini's eye is looking worse by the day. The gunky stuff has now covered her eye, and appears to have blood vessels through it. I would bet money on it being a cyst. It is swollen, but doesn't appear to be causing her pain. I think that the eye is irretrievably lost, and that saddens me, but I hope that she'll adapt and have many years ahead of her.

I long for this to have a happy ending.

The Prognosis

After deliberating, I decided to contact Retfords again about Mini. They were lovely, as always, and very helpful. It is more than likely that Mini has a cyst behind her eye. In order to fix this problem, it is very likely that the eye would have to be removed. The cost for this surgery is in the region of two hundred pounds. It is also not certain that she would survive the anaesthetic. All in all, the worst news possible.

So, I asked the lovely vet what would happen if I simply left Mini, stopped messing with the eye altogether, and just kept her well fed and watered. The answer is that the eye will shrivel up and heal over, although this may take several months. However, she will live.

So, as I see it, I have two options. Risk Mini's life on the operating table, and pay several hundred pounds more towards treatment, or leave her be. Either way, she loses the eye. One way, she may die because of a quick fix. The other way, she may be in pain (although the vet can't be sure) for some time.

Rock and a hard place anyone?

Incarceration Is Not Desired

Well, today is day three of the new medication. I have taken pity on the girls, and allowed them an hour free range a day. They are not happy with these arrangements, and can be seen pacing the run during their incarceration. If they catch me spying on them, they take up a chickenny version of 'Let us out!'. My guilt is enormous.

I wish I could say that Mini seems better. She is eating and drinking, but for the most part sits in the coop. Even during the 'exercise hour', she shows no interest in roaming. I am still wiping her eye daily, and she tolerates this with increasingly bad grace. I am trying to convince myself that she feels a bit poorly because of the medicine, or that she is the sensible hen, staying out of the cold and damp. Deep down, I can't believe it. I will persevere with the antibiotics, and hope for a miracle.

As an aside, Doris is also a bit quiet. I have found her nestled in the coop alongside Mini, avoiding the others. Doris has just gone through a moult, so is probably a bit low anyway. I am hoping that is all it is.

Hooray For The Cavalry!

Yesterday, Retfords called me back to tell me that they had identified the bacteria causing MIni's infection. It has almost certainly originated from wild birds, who presumably have been using the back garden as a giant latrine. Most importantly, it is treatable. The extremely efficient person on the end of the phone ran through various antibiotics with me that would be effective, and once we had settled on one, promised to post it immediately. This morning, Mini's medicine arrived by courier.

She has been prescribed a medicine licensed for pigeons, called Soludox Doxycycline, which is to be added to the drinking water for seven days. The other girls are also to be dosed, as the vet feels they are likely to be infected. Mini appears to be like a canary down a mine; she shows symptoms, where as the others hide theirs. I have been warned that this particular antibiotic tastes foul, so I have also been sent a tonic to flavour the water with. I am literally joyous with relief, and will confess to doing a little dance holding said medicines above my head as soon as the courier left. I'm hoping he didn't see me.

Needless to say, the drinker has been medicated. At the moment, my ladies are strutting around the garden. However, they will be incarcerated shortly, and fed dry toast in an effort to make them drink the faintly luminous water.

For the first time in weeks, there is hope.

The Housekeeper

I was late letting the girls out this morning. As I stood by the back door pulling on my boots, I witnessed a remarkable thing. At first, I assumed that it was a hen bobbing about in the pop hole. Then, I realised it was newspaper.

The newspaper rustled about a bit as it was wedged through the doorway, before flopping onto the ramp. It was followed out of the coop by Maeve. She fussily pecked at the rubbish, before stepping over it and proceeding to drag it down into the run. Once she had reached the ground, she trundled back up into the coop.

Feeling somewhat bemused, I approached the Convent to find shredded paper all over the run. Maude was engaged in ripping the paper into long strips, an activity she has always enjoyed. I opened the coop door, and peeked inside. Maeve was back on the perch, and gave me the beady eye. She was clearly trying to have a bit of a snooze.

Now I'm left pondering whether the fussy hen has cleaned the droppings from the night before because she was offended by the smell, or taken the paper outside so that Maude wouldn't keep her awake with her frankly mental paper tearing. After ensuring that I wasn't going to bother her further, Maeve turned around on her perch and went to sleep.

Quick update on Mini: The poultry lab called me back to say that they have identified a bacterial infection, and that they should be able to find the best antibiotic to kill it by tomorrow lunchtime. All of the birds will have to be treated.

Chicken Origami

Yesterday the swab kit arrived from the poultry lab. I roped the ever tolerant husband in to help, and restrained a miffed Mini. The ever tolerant husband approached Mini with trepidation, as I wrestled open her beak. I rather snappily told him to take the swab, rather than tickling her with it. We then moved on to the frankly, grim, eye cheese. Tentatively, he swabbed her gunky eye, and twirled some of the vile cheese-like substance from her eye socket. Neither of us felt like breakfast. This done, we posted the swabs to the lab. I confess to muttering a little prayer.

After a hasty Christmas shopping trip, we grumpily returned home. As I stepped out of the back door, I glanced into the run. What I saw made my heart sink. A jumbled mass of white, with some darker smudges, lay at the bottom of the ramp. I froze. Something in my posture brought the ever tolerant husband running, and as he too saw the crumpled mass in the run, he tried to console me. Very close to tears, I approached the Convent, fully expecting to see a very dead Mini, possibly duffed up by the rest of the flock. What I found was a screwed up layer of newspaper, that I use under the perch in the coop. Maude has a habit of taking her frustration at being incarcerated out on this layer, taking great pleasure in tearing it to pieces. As I breathed a sigh of relief, Mini stuck her head out of the coop, and muttered her trademark 'meh-meh' in greeting. I have never been so glad to see her.

The ever tolerant husband remarked that perhaps the flock had taken up origami to stave off boredom. Or perhaps to teach me a lesson.....

Little Heartbreaker

Despite regular eye drops, cleaning and wiping, Min's eye shows no improvement. Out of desperation, I have contacted a poultry infection laboratory, and will be sending them swabs tomorrow. They will test for a few different infections, and the hope is that once identified, they can then prescribe the most effective antibiotic. The other possibility is that she has a cyst behind her eye, in which case we're talking surgery. I never thought I would feel so upset about a small, dirty hen.

Today I pulled more of the horrible, rubbery substance from her eye socket. This necessary treatment causes Mini untold stress, and left her gasping. I loathe having to do it, but am hoping that I'm giving her eye a chance at retaining some function. However, at this stage I would happily see her lose the eye if it meant she would have a good quality of life. Plenty of chickens get by with only one eye, and I have no doubt that Mini would cope. She has effectively been one-eyed for nearly 6 weeks now, and has no problem eating, drinking and navigating the garden.

I am trying to be positive about the lab identifying the problem. I cannot even consider surgery without a very heavy heart.

Mystery Layer

Quick update on Mini. After trying baytril, and more tylan, Mini is now having eye drops administered three times a day. The eye is a mess, and the horrid, thick eye cheese continues to be a problem. After liberating some from her upper eyelid yesterday, I very nearly threw up. Mini bears this treatment with understandable panic, but no malice. The eye is open, but looks awful. On the plus side, Mini is well in herself, happily rootling around the garden for tasty tidbits and leading the charge when it comes to treats. She is eating and drinking normally, so I am slightly more confident that she will survive whatever this infection is.

On a more happy note, one more of my girls is now laying (I say one more, because Maeve has yet to stop. That hen is a powerhouse of production!) Last week, I found a quite spherical egg in the run. Tinted like Maeve's, but a different shape. It still might have been Maeve's, I suppose, but I can't think why she wouldn't have laid in the nest box. It also closely resembled the kind of egg that a certain eye-infected chook used to lay. Then, two days ago I found a perfectly formed, slightly smaller, yet shiny, egg in 'Maeve's' nest box. This one was definitely not down to my ASBO chicken. Today, I have found another egg matching the description of the first.

Now, I'm fairly certain that this small, shiny egg layer is not one of my 'regulars'. My money is on the demented bog brush sisters, aka the silkies. So, I have diligently followed them around the garden, hand outstretched, in an effort to see if they crouch. They don't. They simply take off around the garden like road runner. Hmmmm.

The mystery deepens.....

Chickens Are Contagious

Well, a week on from Mini's trip to the vet, things seem to be improving. Her eye is still not right, but is an awful lot better than it was. She finished the Baytril course on Wednesday, and as she wasn't completely better I have put her on yet another Tylan course. She pootles about the garden with the others, making her distinctive 'meh-meh' sound and scoffing random bits of greenery, so I'm cautiously hopeful.

Sadly, it appears that Maeve has moved ahead of her in the pecking order, and there has been a fair bit of chasing. My lovely little Mini seems to be a born victim. Maeve charges at her, then stops short as Mini waddles away into the shrubbery. I knew that Maeve would shake up the pecking order, and I shouldn't be surprised that she's started at the bottom, but I still feel sad that Mini is getting harassed by the youngster. I'm a little embarrassed for her. However, she is eating, drinking her medicine and sleeping with the others, so no major problems.

A friend of mine, who has listened to my tales of chicken woe with a sympathetic ear, has just announced that she's expecting a quartet of hens. The coop has arrived, and now she just has to decide on which hens to keep. I feel strangely jubilant that someone else is going to know what I'm talking about when I mention bokking, crouching and chickenny vandalism.

I'm debating whether to warn her about her beautiful geraniums.

The Problem With Mini

Mini is sick again. Just over a week ago, I noticed her wheezing. This was dreadful timing, as we were going away for a long weekend the following day. I dosed the water with Tylan, informed my chook sitter and reluctantly left her and hoped for the best.

When we returned, I was delighted to hear that her chest had cleared up, and she was back to making her 'brum' noises. One of her eyes looked a little gunky, but I assumed it would clear up in the next day or two. It didn't.

Over the next 48 hours, Mini's eye became increasingly swollen. On examination, it appeared that her inner eyelid was very swollen and inflamed. So, off to the vet we went. Again.

The vet ummed and aahed, and confessed to not knowing much about chickens (does anyone?!). I held Mini firmly while the vet had a good look at the swelling. With barely a hesitation, she grabbed what I thought was a part of Mini's eye and pulled. I learned that hens can scream. It turns out that what I had assumed was a physical part of Mini was in fact solidified pus. Lovely. The eye swelling was instantly gone, and she peered at me with a blood shot and sore looking eye. The vet duly prescribed Baytril, and off we toddled.

All was going well, and I thought we might be in the clear. Until yesterday. Until Maeve.

Maeve detected a weakness in her flock mate, and took advantage. She set about Mini with a viciousness which was truly depressing. Both of Mini's eyes were targeted, and she has cuts on both eyelids. I brought the hen inside to bathe her wounds, and at that point discovered two small critters on Mini's neck. Lice, I presume. Great.

Taking my mite spray, I methodically sprayed each complaining hen. Maeve was banished to solitary, and can still be seen pacing in the greenhouse. I cleaned out the coop, smothering every surface with mite powder. I dressed the feed with poultry spice, and also added ACV to the water. Every little helps, to plagiarise a well known supermarket.

The other hens are ignoring Mini, which is quite normal. Last night, when I went out to give Mini her evening dose of medicine, her eye was gummed shut. I unstuck it, and she peered blearily at me. It was the same this morning. She is currently sat huddled in the border.

Time will tell.