The Cottage Smallholder

Florence as a young hen

“There’s something wrong with Florence. She’s looking odd, not eating or drinking. She’s isolated herself from the others.”
“Let’s put her in The Emerald Castle – with food and water of course. Away from the rest of the flock she can relax and concentrate on geting better.”
Wise words from Danny that apply to any ailing chicken.

It’s strange but it usually seems to be my favourite birds that keel over. As in any group there are some that have more attractive personalities. I still miss Mrs Boss, Carol and all the others that have gone to the Great Meadow in the sky. Most of all I miss Lightning – a pure white guinea fowl that I adored. This was the first Big To Me loss.

Lightning  has a little part of the garden dedicated to him. He was buried in a nest fashioned from moss and herbs and placed under the satyr seat.  I know that it’s sentimental but I think of him every day as I pass his resting place.

Florence was much admired by a visitor on Monday – the sun made her greenish black glossy feathers look as lush and inviting as a deep pool on a hot day. She seemed content as she snuggled up with her friends on the roof of the Emerald Castle.

She was fine then. First in the queue for the feeder and, as usual, trying to do a Houdini and exit the run with me to the lush grass beyond the pen.

Her eggs were large and dark brown. She was a friendly hen – easy to pick up and cuddle. Intelligent too. She also reminded me of a wonderful trip to Florence that I took with my mum when I was in my early twenties. Shoes, museums, coffee, fantasy stories and the Boboli Gardens.

This morning Florence looked hunched and dirty. No preening is a sure sign that a chicken is ill or unhappy. Do you remember how straggly Baby looked before he moved into his own studio flat in the run? Away from the bullies he preened and looked great in just a week or so.

It was warm today so I washed Florence gently with an old tea towel soaked in warm water. She seemed to like that. But when I put her down she hobbled away and banged into the side of the pen. As D had advised the EC was the perfect place to put her. She lay down almost immediately. But her neck was odd.

This evening I’m pretty sure that Florence won’t make it through the night. I have a strong suspicion that she is suffering from Marecks disease. Chicks are inoculated against this at a few days old. It’s easy to miss the odd one. Why did it have to be Florence? I just need confirmation from The Chicken Lady.

If you keep livestock you will always eventually have dead stock. Although losing my bird friends is getting easier over time, this is the side of animal husbandry that I find very hard indeed.

Update: I just went down to check on Florence and she had died. RIP Florence – now in that great sunny meadow in the sky.