The rooster and I developed a philosophy of armed neutrality
and things were running fairly normally. I mentioned we had our first egg in
August and that the wait had been excruciating. The wait for the second egg
seemed even longer because our expectations were now higher. Nine days later
there was a second egg, and after that they began laying like champions!
Now, I want you to understand that I am a horrible cook. I
can only cook well enough not to die. Never the less, it has been reported that
I can cook a reasonably good burger and also know my way around an egg … not
elegantly, but enough to manage breakfast. My long suffering wife understands
that I am nearly completely devoid in the culinary arts and thus handles the
brunt of the cooking … and she does it with fantastic results. But Sundays … I
cook eggs for breakfast. She is delighted. No matter how bad it looks … no
matter how bad it tastes … she is thrilled with a meal she didn’t have to cook herself
and usually coupled with the prospect of NOT having to wash the dishes either.
The first Sunday breakfast consisting of eggs entirely from
our girls was a treat. She asked me ‘What’s for breakfast?’ and I proudly
replied ‘This morning we shall feast upon the unborn provided for us by our
dark minions!’ In her bleary early morning state she merely replied ‘Great. Is
there coffee?’
This was now the time when each morning, not only would I
obsess over the doings of our girls, but looked forward to collecting the eggs.
Coq Au only needed an occasional kick and was still not overly inclined to have
a real dust up with me (yet).
There was a day in mid-November. Middle of the week and by
then the season was beginning to turn. I remember it was overcast and there was
spotty rain. I went out to the coop before work to collect our due, see to the
girls, and … if needed … battle the rooster.
I opened the coop door and my heart immediately sank. Under
their roosts was bloody stool. Not a little, yet not enough to make me feel
every hen was affected, but certainly there. Copious, in fact. I looked hard. Studied
the stool. The flock seemed okay, but this was not something to play around
with. I went into the house, informed my wife of the issue, and told her I was
calling in late … possibly out for the day from work. I knew she’d probably
need to keep herself busy, so I encouraged her to go to work and I’d keep her
updated about the situation. Normally morally opposed to skipping work, I
called and let them know I was going to be out. The health and possibly the
lives of those under the care of my household was at stake and this was reason
enough to shirk my employment duties until I could get it sorted out.
Time felt urgent to me. Chickens are hardy, but never the
less, when something is seriously wrong, they can go down a lot faster than a
larger animal. I went to my books and my interwebs sources. Read three, maybe
six articles (quickly!) relating to common chicken ailments and decided that
whatever it was, it was most likely coccidiosis.
Coccidiosis is a common naturally occurring parasite that
affects the digestive tracks of birds and many mammals. Very difficult for
people to catch, not uncommon in livestock. Birds in the wild can carry it and
even if you never let your chickens out of their chicken run they can still get
it. I was reading that it often had a mortality rate in chickens of 70%. Even
losing one life seemed tragic and I couldn’t fathom losing maybe six chickens.
Also I was reading that it could do its damage in a matter of days. That told
me the window I had, but that time was still of the essence. The only positive
thing I was reading was that once affected, any surviving birds would then be
immune and that it was treatable through medication.
A little reading and I learned that medication was available
at my local Tractor Supply. They would be open a little later and as soon as
the time drew near I would find myself driving the 12 miles to pick up their
over the counter meds.
While waiting, I cleaned out the bloody stool as best as I
could and decided that with no way to determine who was affected and no place
to isolate them, I would have to treat them all. I also took the time to read
up on the meds and realized that it was recommended for larger livestock, and
not for chickens. The fancy chicken blogs came to my rescue and I read several anecdotes
of successfully using the medicine and how to administer. I also read that one
small bottle, put into your livestock’s water, would created 50 to 100 gallons
of medicated water. With a three gallon waterer for my flock, I would need to carefully
measure the dosage! Additionally, the meds would leach out vital nutrients from
the hens’ bodies so I would be picking up a vitamin supplement also.
Once the morning progressed, I drove off, obtained my possibles,
and raced home.
Measuring chemicals is not a strong suit of mine. My last
science exposure was way back in high school when we watched such educational
videos like “It’s an Atom, Charlie Brown.” So I was more than a little nervous
about messing the whole thing up and causing more harm than good.
Even the smallest bottle of the mix would be enough to dose
my chicken waterer for several solid years, so at least I had an incredible
margin of error to get it right! With shaking hands I measured the miniscule
amount of medicine, decided it was the wrong amount, dumped it, and tried
again. By the third try I figured it was close enough. Then I added the vitamin
supplement.
I don’t recall the name of the medication, but know I could
find the information again when needed, but to this day, I’ll never forget the
name of that supplement. Nutri-drench. It lingers in my mind to this day
because in that moment of heightened senses due to worry over my chickens and paranoia
of getting the meds right, I opened that bottle and the stench emanating from
the product was indescribable. I had earlier cleaned out bloody stool from a
chicken coop and the smell of that was pale by comparison. I steeled myself
against the odiferous concoction and let loose an eye dropper full of the foul
yellow-brown liquid into their water font. I hoped they were less discerning
than I!
I brought the waterer out to the coop. Since it was becoming
a damp day, and they weren’t feeling well, I decided to keep them in the coop
and not even allow them into the run. I also wanted their only water source to
be the font and not any rain collected puddles, since I wanted them taking the
meds straight away.
The experts said we should keep them medicated for two weeks
at least. Also, although there was no threat from the parasite or the
medication, my wife and I decided to discard the eggs we had on hand and any
they laid in the meantime. I hated doing that. To this day, I consider every
egg they provide a treasure and try not to waste the gift they bestow upon my
family.
About three days later, not a one of the chickens passed
away and there was no more blood in the stool. We kept them on the meds for the
recommended time and the hateful nutri-drench for another day or two after.
I am so grateful they came out okay. What didn’t kill them
made them stronger. What didn’t kill me physically nearly killed me
emotionally!
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