Trouble in the Henhouse
During the Covid lockdowns, like many suburbanites we felt hemmed in. Unable to go for walks or drives in the country without drawing accusatory glances from stern neighbors (“Just WHAT are you doing outside? Don’t you know there’s a plague going on?”) we thought to bring the countryside to us.
And so we became chicken farmers. At present we have five chickens gracing the backyard. The Lady Jane, Marjorie, and Celeste are Sapphire Gems, and Bernadette and Albertina are Dominant Coppers. Both breeds are beautiful to behold with feathers that gleam in the sunshine, and they all are excellent layers. In fact, they are all so diligent in presenting us with a pale tan or deep brown egg each and every day that we are somewhat awash in eggs, and I have taken to giving them away. I have yet to try the trick of glassing them (storing them in jars with pickling lime and water) but undoubtedly I will get around to it. Eventually.
Preparing a home for our newest family members was not easy. We wanted to harden their coop against the depredations of racoons, rats, and other predators. Coyotes have been seen on our town streets, and while foxes are extremely rare, they are not unknown. We needed to protect our feathered babies. This involved stapling chicken wire in two directions, down and out. A wily raccoon who tries to dig under the coop will find himself sitting on the very wire he’s attempting to dislodge, and if he succeeds he will then have to dig down under the second layer of wire into the dirt six inches. By that time the chickens should be yelling bloody murder and we can go out and discourage him. By, you know, shrieking and flapping our arms a lot. Raccoons in these parts are bold but they aren’t stupid enough to want to tangle with obviously insane primates.
The chickens are now in their prime and they are behaving exactly the way chickens are wont to do. The pecking order is a very real phenomenon and bullying is not limited to folks scolding total strangers via Twitter. The Lady Jane is at the top of the heap, Bernadette at the bottom.
About a month ago, we noticed Bernadette was missing a few feathers. She developed two bald spots, one at the top of each wing. We tried separating the birds by breed, at least during the day. The Dominant Coppers would go out into the chicken tractor. (Why a large, movable cage is called a “tractor” beats me; it might as well be called a “mobile”). The Sapphire Gems could stay in the coop. Or vice-versa. This is easier said than done, even if, as it turns out, birds of a feather actually do flock together.
But there is only one coop, and they have to roost together at night. Every morning we dutifully trot out, encourage whosever turn it is to be in the tractor out of the coop, chase them around until we can capture them and place them into the tractor, chase any other escaped birds around until they can be placed back into the coop, change their water, feed them, etc., and so forth. It’s not so difficult in the evening as we wait until it’s almost dark, and the outside chickens submissively file their way back to the safety of the coop.
This appeared to be working; Bernadette’s bald patches didn’t get any larger and she kept all the rest of her feathers intact. However, yesterday, she suffered a gruesome malady common to stressed chickens: a prolapsed vent. When a chicken lays an egg, they push their oviducts out from their bottoms and out slides the egg. We don’t see this because chickens usually are sitting demurely in their laying box as this operation is carried out. They then tuck all their insides discreetly back where they belong and go about their day.
However a stressed bird, or one lacking in calcium or magnesium, or perhaps she’s been laying too many eggs or who knows, maybe she’s just tuckered out, might fail to pull her insides back inside. They will stick out about an inch, all red and shiny, like a neon sign to other chickens that says, “Kick Me.” Aside from the risk of infection, there is a very real danger that the other chickens will peck her to death.
You will be happy to know that this is treatable. First wash the affected area by giving her a chicken bath. Some birds enjoy this; Bernadette did not. Then spray the affected area with an antiseptic spray; I used Bactine. Put on a clean surgical glove, and rub your gloved fingers with a hydrocortisone cream. Now comes the fun part. Gently and carefully push the prolapsed vent back inside. You will have to do this more than once because it will start slithering out again. Once it seems as if everything is staying put, bandage her bottom with a length of long, clean cloth, bring it under her wings and over the back of her neck and tie. Do this twice, once going over her vent and one under, leaving her vent open for pooping purposes.
Bernadette was clearly unhappy during this entire procedure. She bore a look of horrified indignation throughout. So did I.
Bernadette is now the sole occupant of the tractor. We made her a cardboard box to roost in and covered it with a tarp as we must limit her daylight hours to eight or less, in order to discourage egg laying.
And now we are going to have to build a second coop.