It was one of those trying weekends with the birds. I thought baby pigeons #3 and #4 were old enough to put in with the rest of the pigeons. I wanted to move the 3 brown fuzzbutt bantams that have been sharing the Pigeon Inn into the mutt pen at the same time, in case the baby pigeons needed to spend time on the ground. The fuzzbutts have been fine with the adult pigeons, they squabble a little, but nothing serious. And I also wanted to move the pen of young Leghorns and Anconas into the big Ancona pen. Of course Bob had left to go camping, so I had to do this (attempt to do this) by myself.
I caught the fuzzbutts, that's no problem, they fly into my lap. I put them in the mutt pen. They were there all day, but by evening they were getting fairly stressed. Alan (their daddy) didn't bother them at all, it was one of the bantam Dom females (one that used to terrorize her own chicks) who was pushing them around.
By this time it was evident that the baby pigeons weren't happy in the big pen, either. Actual #3 was doing fine, but the little one, #4, came flying to me and perched on my head every time I went in to check on them. It's a very small bird, even though it's practically full grown.
Soooo, I put the pidgies back in their little pen. Had to put #3 back too, so #4 wouldn't be lonely. Then I let the fuzzbutts out of the mutt pen and they ran straight back to the pigeon pen. I let them in.
I had not moved the other youngsters into the Ancona pen. It was about dark when I went out to feed them and noticed one of the Leghorns was on her side. I reached in and picked her up and could see that one leg was flopping. It had been broken. Once I had hold of the pullet, I could not set her down. So, with her in one hand I went out to the storage shed and got the wire cage, dragged it across the yard and filled it full of soft shavings, then dragged it back into the house. It barely fits through the back door when I'm I can use both hands. The trash can by the door was full, the cage caught the edge of it and knocked it all over the floor.
I was trying to maintain a calm attitude and cheery voice so the pullet wouldn't just give up and die. Bob would you tell that care does not extend to injured humans, who are simply told to "get a grip."
I put the cage where it needed to be, and then with the pullet still tucked under my arm I stumbled off to find all my vet supplies and drag them into the kitchen. I got the leg splinted with old popsicle sticks and wrapped very nicely. Luckily the pullet had spent a lot of time in this same cage in the kitchen when she was a chick. She knows to look for mealworms and egg yolks and other good treats. So she's been very calm. She has spent most of her time on her stomach, but I've seen her standing a little bit, evidently she has figured out how to use the splinted leg.
Today I took off the outer layer of wrapping and added a finger splint that I got from Rite Aid. I extended the bottom of it past her foot, so she can maybe put weight on it. She's still pretty cheery.
I've only had Leghorns once before, and even though they were perfectly healthy, they always sounded mournful. I gave them to someone else because it just depressed me to have them around. Those were from a really good commercial layer line. This one is just from the feed store.
Couldn't I take the pullet to a vet? Sure. Our cat vet fixed a broken duck leg for me once. It was $600, he put a pin in the leg just like he would for a cat or a poodle. The vet at Wildlife Care later showed us how to use popsicle sticks, so I decided to give that a try.
What's the worst thing that could happen? The chicken might die? No, that's not the worst thing. What's worse is she would live but have some serious problem and need to be euthanized. I already have 3 of those in the backyard: one with a severely crossed beak from a raccoon injury, one with a twisted back and wry tail, and another that's blind. Any decent farmer would have put them down. Bob and I are not farmers, we're mushy animal lovers who live on farm land. We can kill vegetables and raccoons, and that's about it.
(NOTE: The 3 crimpled birds in the back yard are in no pain, they eat and function fine with some extra care. It's not like we'd leave an animal to suffer. But we'd argue hot and heavy about whose job it was to put them down, and then be totally creeped out for a few days after.)
3 comments:
You obviously care a great deal about your birds. Sometimes I find myself looking for a quip or drily humorous retort but on this occasion I just say that I hope the Leghorn gets better under your caring supervision.
YP
Your dry humor (don't you English spell it humour?) keeps me on my toes and gives me something to look forward to on long, dull days at work. But thank you for your kind wishes.
On another note: I have the basement all set up. That's where we store our surplus canned food, so it doubles as a pantry. Do you suppose I could just throw a can opener down there before I padlock the door and let the guest feed him/herself? Or would I have to actually cook meals for them every day? How do you plan to deal with that problem?
In your situation I'd say just throw the can opener in. With my "detainees" I plan to spend as little as possible. The local supermarket almost gives outdated food away on a Saturday night so I'll just fill my trolley with that stuff - stale bread, sausage rolls, old apples. They're not at a holiday camp.
In England we do write "humour" but for some reason I don't understand the middle u disappears in "humorous". In England if drunk we say we are "pissed" which has nothing to do with feeling angry. Of course, as you lived a very holy childhood growing into a conservative, puritanical Californian you will never have been "pissed" in the English way though this comment may have made you "pissed" in the American way.
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