Alternative Action

So, Doris is still buggy of eyes. Despite my best attempts to not fret about the repeat offender hen, I of course am. But I am still holding firm(ish) about trying to avoid another trip to the vet. Doris has been treated for eye issues three times in two and a half years, and has had minor untreated flare ups another two times. Quite frankly, I doubt this is an issue that will ever be 'cured'.

So instead of putting us both through the trauma of baytril dosing three times a day, I am going to try something different. Now, as a rule, I am far too cynical and practical to hold much store by complimentary/natural type remedies. When I am ill, I generally want some decent well tested drugs to make me better. But Doris has had many doses of antibiotics, and it doesn't seem to improve her overall weakness. After a tip off from a Twitter follower (Thank you, @practicalpoultry) I have ordered some Colloidal Silver.

Colloidal Silver is apparently an anti-fungal, anti-viral, anti-biotic which was used widely before the discovery of penicillin. As a topical substance, it can be used on open wounds to prevent infection. It can also be ingested as a general help-all. I have found many articles online where wild claims are being made without any actual evidence (a cure for cancer! HIV! Full blown AIDS!) which makes me feel rather uneasy. However, I have also found many poultry pages where experienced breeders swear by it as a first port of call. I haven't quite worked out whether it needs firing down Doris's throat or dabbing on her eyelid yet, though, so if anyone knows anything please let me know. After finding some quite alarming pictures of blue skinned humans online during my investigations I am a little bit concerned that Doris may take on a Smurf-like appearance. Although Doris is technically a blue pekin, the term generally applies only to her feathering.

So the silver solution is ordered, and is expected through the post around Wednesday. Coupled with the garlic cloves and ACV in the drinker I am hoping to alleviate the eye problems at home, possibly incorporating eye of newt and tongue of frog.

Just call me the Chicken Witch.

God Help Us All

I have been secretly dreading this moment for weeks. Yesterday, while cleaning out the coop, I came across a single black feather. A jet black wing feather. I lifted it up, and a shiver ran down my spine. Maeve is in moult.

Maeve was hatched in January 2009, so last winter she didn't moult. I watched her all year, expecting a mini moult at some point, but it never came. The amazing ASBO Chicken has always been an unpredicatble lady, but I don't imagine that she will take this well. I can't say I'm looking forward to the next few weeks. This morning, there are a few bits of black fluff blowing about the lawn, and her magnificent tail is looking a bit skewiff. She came down for her breakfast as usual, but growled at the other hens face deep in the feeder. As one, they backed away. Even Mabel. No one wants to tangle with a grumpy Maeve.

To try and combat her filthy mood, I have added ACV to the water and a top dressing of poultry spice to their feed. She watched me do this from a pot on the patio, where she was attempting to dig up a clematis. Purely for the destructive fun of it. Apparently, her moult has not yet reached her foot feathers.

Every so often, I hear a demented shriek from the back garden. Maeve has decided that their should be an exclusion zone around her, and if any poor unsuspecting flock mate wanders too close, they get earache. The rest of the flock have had a few muttering meetings on the lawn, always keeping one eye on the glowering ninja in the shrubbery. The consensus seems to be that it would be best to leave her be. I think it's a wise decision.

I had some apples that were past their best, and took them outside for the girls. As the majority scoffed with abandon, Maeve stayed huddled in her dust bath. I approached with caution with half a granny Smith as a peace offering. The closer I got, the bigger Maeve grew. This ability to slowly raise and lower her hackles is quite impressive (always reminds me of that dinosaur in 'Jarassic Park'). Once the apple was within pecking range, I gently placed it on the ground and backed off. She eyeballed me the whole time, beak slightly open.
Once I had retreated to a safe distance, she investigated the treat. Obviously deciding it was wanting, she stood up, turned around and kicked mud all over it.

I predict a riot.

On The Prowl

I am not a massive cat fan. No particular reason, but I would always consider myself more of a dog person. Dogs seem to offer unending devotion, where as a cat might move in two doors down because they buy a better brand of cat food. Their affection seems rather...transcient. That said, there have been a few cats that I have grown rather fond of. When we first moved in, there was a local moggy that we nicknamed Carpet Cat. It was a big, soppy, lazy tom, who would happily lay on your feet while you sat in the garden. Carpet Cat would even tolerate being dragged about the garden by the then toddling children, a resigned and indulgent expression on his face. He was unendingly gentle and patient. One day I realsied that I hadn't seen good old CC for a while, and he has never been seen since. I like to think that he found somewhere to live where the humans served fresh salmon, although a more sinister ending is probably more likely.

So, me and cats have rubbed along ok for the most part. My lovely chicken sitting neighbour has two posh long haired kitties who have the unfortunate belief that my front lawn is a toilet. Too posh to bury their leavings, my lawn is often dotted with little whirls of very stinky poo. My lovely neighbour can be regularly seen scooping the poop (she really is lovely). However, now that I keep chickens, my relationship with the feline species has altered. Where as before they were a distant sometime irritation, they are now a real threat.

In the last few months, we have aquired two determined hunters. The first one, a sleek black fellow, turned up shortly after christmas. He was a particularly skilled hunter, and could slink into the garden unseen. He kept himself hidden, and was only spotted by the ever tolerant husband. Now, the birds never even detected his presence, which was very worrying. I chased him out of the garden a couple of times, and touch wood, he hasn't returned. I suspect that he may have stuck to the shadows because the girls probably look quite a lot bigger close up than they do from the safety of the fence. Basically, I don't think he liked his chances.

The second chicken worrier showed up at the weekend. Thankfully, this young cat has a collar with bell fitted, and the birds heard it coming. An almighty racket alerted me to an intruder, and when I rushed outside I saw the white and ginger kitten bouncing around the lawn chasing the badly frightened birds. Reacting purely on instinct, I chased our unwelcome visitor over the fence with a hiss (the neighbours now really think I'm some kind of loopy animal impersonator). Finding a smattering of feathers on the lawn, I feared the worst. The girls had fled to the coop, and one by one I looked them over. The feathers belonged to Kiki, but she appeared to have no injuries. I can only assume that the speed in which she took off down the garden left some of her plummage behind. I watched the flock anxiously for the next couple of hours, fingers crossed that stress wouldn't overcome any of them. A dollop of apple cider vinegar in their drinker made me feel better.

This morning our feline visitor returned. The girls sent up the alarm call early, and I got to the back door just in time to see it drop behind the greenhouse. Again, I ran up the garden hissing like a mentalist and chased it off. The likelihood of a small cat mauling a hen is pretty small, but the stress and panic caused to the bird from being 'played' with can be lethal.

I will not be befriending this cat.