The previous owners of the house we bought built the brooder like a small tank. I figured it was the result of having several chickens and chicks killed by predators. The thing is made with thick planks and hardware cloth with edges reinforced with more planks.
And thank goodness for that. The day before yesterday, there was a tree that was more rotted than we knew, and if fell ten feet onto the brooder. I heard this come down as I was getting Hope ready (more on her later).
There was damage to the plastic roof and the mostly cosmetic wood used to cover the space between the plastic roof and the actual wood roof of the brooder box itself. Thatās it. My fear was that the trunk had cracked open the brooder, killing some, leaving others to the mercy of the hawks we have around until I could get to them. But nope, that thing was still solidly sealed.
It was a Ruptured Air Sac
We kept Hope one more night and the next morning I noticed this bubble on her back. Itās hard to tell the difference from an air pocket or her shoulder unless I poked at it. An air bubble feels exactly how you would expect air to feel under skin.
So I had to get the smallest needle I could buy at tractor supply, blu-kote the area with a q-tip, and stick the needle in. This was traumatic for both of us. She was getting stabbed and I had to stab this tiny thing near her neck.
The first attempt didnāt go well. I didnāt push the needle in deep enough and when I removed it, the bubble started pushing through the skin like a balloon with a weak spot. This couldnāt be comfortable for her so I had to stick her again and push deeper, yet trying to avoid her neck. Did I mention how tiny she was?
Finally the bubble deflated slowly. I could feel her shoulder which I couldnāt easily before. All of the resources said this may have to be repeated a few times before it goes away completely. So we kept Hope in the chick infirmary each night until the morning she didnāt have a bubble.
I checked the morning after that when sheād slept in the brooder with her sisters. Still no bubble. Yay!
She was smaller than her sisters with barely any fuzz or feathers. Her neck was so bare, she almost looked like a duckling. Now, her feathers are growing in nicely along with some fuzz. She plays with the other chicks and is still constantly in the food bowl. Sheās our Hope, and she has a special place in our hearts.
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After going to the local farm supply store and seeing the baby chicks, I had the burning need to realize my dream of having australorps. Found a couple just wandering in the street last year and fell in love but had to give them up (not enough land then). They were the gateway drug because before them, I had no desire to have chickens.
This time I have the land and the dream but the store didnāt sell them. I looked up the storeās hatchery and there they were. Unfortunately, the minimum meant that our chicken count would skyrocket past our expected maximum for the farm. But hubby is indulgent, and we now have two over the max. I didnāt want all of them to be australorps because I already have a flock of the same kind of bird and itās hard to tell the difference in whoās who without looking at their leg band numbers. So I ordered a couple of several breeds but australorps came first.
Since a good sized brooder came with the house, I also offered to foster chicks for the place I volunteer at. The availability for the chicks we wanted was not on the same day, so the foster chicks were two days earlier, which meant shipped two days earlier.
The experience was eye-opening.
First set of babies
The fear and nervousness during the days before and during shipment are very real. Hubby told me that I was a wreck very much like my last days of pregnancy (ironically called nesting), even though these were the foster chicks. I couldnāt sleep, worrying whether I had everything needed for their arrival. I constantly tidied up the brooder. I read everything I could get my hands on. Second guessed myself over and over. Not to mention the fear of whether they would be alive once they got here which meant I might have sentenced the poor things to a horrible, lonely death (this after reading horror stories).
In the end, they arrived safe and sound. In fact, they were a lively bunch. I could hear them from the other side of the post officeās closed metal door.
I got them home, carefully dipped their beaks in the waterer and they were off. As soon as their little tiny feet hit the paper towel lined brooder (because that was suggested) they took off to explore. It was suggested to line the brooder with paper towels over the bedding because they have to get used to eating food and not bedding. Well, this bunch kept going to the corners, pulling out pine shavings so that they could have their little tug-of-war over their findings.
There were two who learned to stand by the door and when it opened, they would make a try for freedom. They are fast and they make little hops that will catch you off guard. Needless to say, I was ready for them after the first time.
The most entertaining thing I learned about chicks is that I think they are faster than even they are aware. Most times I watch them race across the brooder as though they have some place important to be immediately, and once there, they stop (very suddenly), they look around as though theyāre not sure how they got there. A lot of times they will knock their fellow chicks over because of their momentum. I told hubby itās like some superhero who discovers the power of superhuman speed for the first time. Except with them, itās every time.
This didnāt stop the worrying though. That first night I couldnāt sleep because I decided to go with the heating table rather than a lamp. Their brooder is closed in with wood and hardware cloth, but a lamp just seems like it would attract predators to scare them in the middle of the night.
The little fuzzbutts didnāt know what to make of the heating table, and were huddled all together on the other end of the brooder. I took each one, who protested LOUDLY, and stuffed them under the table where they were supposed to be. The loud chirping stopped immediately. For every single one of them. It was like someone turned off a chirping switch. They stayed there, perfectly content.
Then we had a heavy rain which brought with it a surprise temperature drop. āWill they be okay in 68 degree weather when theyāre supposed to stay at a constant 95? Will some of them wander out? Did I do the right thing in buying this heating table? Still, each morning after, theyāve been their normal zooming selves.
Say what? Pasty butt.
Just like before with our older chicken, there were a couple of chicks with poop on their bottoms. Iāve read that this happens, especially with shipped chicks, and should be cleaned before it causes other problems. So again it was time to clean chicken bottoms...except this time, they were very tiny and feisty.
Unlike adult chickens, chicks cannot be soaked (canāt regulate body temps well), so a cloth dipped in wrist warm water is enough to just gently swipe the poop off. If itās dried, Iāve found holding the cloth to the bottom then wiping helps. Doing this in a warm place helps, so having 85-90 deg weather was a win for me at that time.
Second set of babies
My chicks were due to come in, but like having a second child where youāve been through it all before, I was a little more relaxed. The shipping and brooder were tried and true. There was nothing more to fret over. In fact, I didnāt bother lining the brooder with paper towels because they just pulled the bedding from the sides anyway.
My only fear was the size difference. The two-day olds were already growing in wing feathers and some were almost doubling in size. I decided to remove the fosters to clean the brooder, then placed mine in. At this time, I tried to band them, but the chaos was too much and I gave up. At least the fosters are banded.
When the fosters were returned, they didnāt care about the new ones. I donāt even think they were able to recognize the difference. Yay!
Also, many of the new learned what to eat from the slightly older chicks.
Impacted crop or Ruptured air sac
And now on to the latest crisis. After cleaning the brooder for the night, I found one of my fuzzbutts had an enlarged throat/chest. The thing was the size of an olive. Considering how they are only about three times the size of an olive, thatās big!
I had thought to leave her in there while I search the internet for possible causes. At seven pm on a Friday, thereās no alternative than to play at being a resident veterinarian.
It was either an impacted crop or a ruptured air sac. My first guess was that it was an impacted crop because they really do love to play with the bedding. The suggestion was olive oil and grit in food going forward.
I held Hope close to my chest as I brought her inside the house to try and find something I could use as an infirmary. The kennel I used for Wormy is too big and the bars too far spaced. She could wander out of it. With two dogs and a cat, thatās not good.
In the end, I used a small cardboard moving box with her group of chicks original shipping box inside. It was lined with a towel and on the bottom was a heater set to high while I held her. I christened this the chick infirmary box.
I dipped her beak in olive oil several times, forcing her to swallow it but taking care not to cover her air holes. Then I massaged the big bulbous thing. She didnāt vomit like some online said she would and it didnāt go down.
While trying to fix this dilemma, Hope cuddled close and fell asleep. When I tried to put her in the chick infirmary, she chirped so long and loudly it was more like a scream. She was crying for me. I picked her up and held her close and she quieted immediately. When I took my t-shirt off and stuffed it in there as bedding, she nestled into it and went straight to sleep. I didnāt hear a peep from her (literally) until the sun fully rose.Ā
I read more. I saw pictures of ruptured air sacs and it looked just like what she had. The only treatment is to remove the air directly by puncturing it with a needle. I didnāt trust myself to do that as tired as I was. So I figured, after I tend to the others as I do in the morning, I would take her out of the infirmary box, assess her condition, and perform the minor surgery then.
For most of the night, the little fuzzbutt worked her way into the deepest part of my heart. She has a name, and itās Hope, because I was hoping sheād survive the night and me having to stick a needle in her chest.
This morning, the first thing I noticed was this large poop in the infirmary. The next was that her crop was normal again. Iāve watched her today dive into the feeder, head all the way in and tail all the way up. My Hope just loves food.
All in all, the experience was down right frightening at times, with so much to learn and prepare for. But like they say with pregnancy, with time you forget and are ready to move forward. Itās true. I wouldnāt mind doing it all over again.
After having a run in with a rattlesnake and kingsnake in the coop (I guess lured in by the rats that were there), I think we all scared each other sufficiently. They havenāt been back, and I keep one eyes ever vigilant to the corners and windows.
With the girls, we have been through roundworm, capillaria, the long, desperate hunt for an avian vet who actually sees chickens, a sprain, mild case of impacted crop, and say what? ... Chicken butt. One of the girls had diarrhea that didnāt clear her rear feathers.
Itās been a long road learning how to deal with all of this, as the following recounts:
Roundworm
We named one of the girls Wormy because she was the only one positively identified to have roundworm. Ask me how. I dare you. Well, there was a big, fat, long, pinkish white worm in a newly dropped poop. We gave medicine to the entire flock for that (there were poops with clusters of worms after the medicine. took picture to prove to those who believed I was mistaking earthworms with roundworms) but still some had diarrhea, including Wormy.
Finding a vet that handles birds is a problem in my area. Among those, finding one that handles chickens (flock care to be exact) is near impossible. After calling every vet in my county and neighboring ones as well, finally found one. Using Wormy as a representation of all seven, we had to round her up to take her to the vet. That was traumatic for all involved. The girls werenāt used to being handled and we werenāt used to handling them.
Capillaria
Seemed their capillaria load was high too even after the dewormer in their water. The doctor prescribed more dewormer, but a different kind. Seems dewormers donāt handle all forms of worms in chickens. Most times you have to chase one with another. With this medicine, instead of in their water like the first round of meds, this was individually given. Thereās a month withdrawal (the period of time you anāt eat eggs from the chickens), so every week when the trash bin will be collected, I sadly take my weekās worth of collected eggs in a baggie and toss them. Usually itās about just under three dozen.
Grab and Tango
Every morning I would grab a chicken from the coop before opening the coop door, med her, then send her off to freedom. No one enjoyed this, but I became very efficient at grabbing one of the girls from the roost or cornering if need be. Grabbing meant both hands on either side, thumbs around wings to their back. This was the best angle to be able to bring close to my chest. I also learned if they got their wings free and flapped, donāt let go but hold firmly forward and let them until they tire then shift the girl to one side to readjust grab, then to the other side to readjust. In the beginning, Iād let go which meant lots of cornerings.
The cornering would come if they rushed off the roost or squirmed their way out of my grip, and I affectionately called doing the tango. It was more like a bull fight with a red cape, though, holding the towel up from the floor like a wall to block her escape routes. As I close in with the towel, I eventually drop the towel over her and swaddle. In the beginning, I had an x-large towel, but I noticed they would save their poop for when I sat with them to med (keep in mind they had diarrhea), so towel became a sheet of plastic.
New Infirmary
During one of these tango moments, Wormy flew off the roost but hit her destination HARD. She had a bad limp, and I didnāt know what to do. By all accounts, the other girls were expected to attack her but there she was, limping among her sisters. The only one who bothered her was queen bee and she did it only once in a while. Still, I was afraid once in a while would become more frequent so I isolated her in the large, cleaned out brooder. She was not happy at all. She scraped her beak against the hardware cloth like a tin cup against the jail bars. I had to let her out.
After searching online, I got a small dog kennel and some low dose aspirin. The suggestion was to give aspirin and see if she improved. If so, a sprain, if not, something more serious. I gave her half a pill with little improvement. Looked again online as saw that she should have gotten a full dose (25mg/lb. Low dose is 81. Sheās about 5lbs). Gave her a full dose the next time and the limp was barely there. Still, she was not quite right to have to fight on the roost (the girlsā pecking order is weird in that they constantly fight on the roost at night before settling in). So I dosed her and put her in the kennel, elevated by pine shaving bags so that she was very close to her sisters but not in the fight zone.
Impacted Crop
Learning to grab the chickens also allowed me to examine them closer. One of the things I found was a slight case of an impacted crop compared to what it could have been, sour crop (there was no smell and she was still hungry, so I donāt think it got that far).
My queen bee, Cheryl, had a full crop one morning. This should clear during the night, so I searched online and found some suggestions on how to clear it.
First thing I did was massage it to work it down. This didnāt work. She vomited clear which is common for a clear crop. The next thing I did was offer yogurt to the girls. Impacted crop could be caused by a bacteria, so offering beneficial bacteria wouldnāt seem to hurt. The girls ignored it. I sprinkled dried mealworms over it. As they dived in for the mealworms, they got yogurt on their beaks. Next thing I know, they mealworms are gone and theyāre still diving in. Have you ever seen a plate ālicked cleanā by a bird? The next day, Cherylās impacted crop was clear.
Another suggestion was olive oil for helping clear it.
Crusty Butt
One of them Iāve since named Mani (manure) had poop all over her bottom. It was dried and started pulling at some of the back feathers. You couldnāt see it just looking, but vent inspection revealed all.
Whatās called for is a good bath soak in warm water and 1/2 cup of Epsom salt. I ended up doing a bath for two days, trying to get the water height right but in the end, it wouldnāt be enough because she refused to squat into the water. With surgical gloves, I cupped water over her bottom until the feathers and poop softened, then removed the poop. Because we were in the middle of a good heat wave (85+), I towel dried her and let her go. Her bottom has looked nice and relatively clean since.
The girls are quite happy and heathy now. And thatās all that matters.
When we bought the property, we already knew there would be a problem with the chicken coop because itās a converted shed. This means the coop is ground level.Ā
Chicken coop 101 says, almost demands, that the coop be above ground as well as seal the coop and run with chicken wire to try and avoid rodents having their way with the chicken food and area.
A converted shed is convenient, but problematic in the long run.
Yesterday morning, I realized what I was seeing in their feeder was rat droppings in the chicken feed. I started removing the chicken feeder at night and this morning I found the tops of their feed container, along with the remaining goat feed container top, chewed to bits. There was shredded plastic and rat dropping everywhere along with a handle almost chewed off and a hole in the goat feed container top.
It was time to get a metal trash can to hold their feed. I was ready to move the new metal bin into the storage section of the coop when two rats ran across the rafters. Then I found my girlsā feeder completely empty. They were peckish before bed and pissed there was no food like they were used to.
Originally, I thought all I needed to do to fix all of this was patch all edges and corners with chicken wire, but watching them, I realized itās a bit more complicated than that. The rafters go across the storage section into the chicken section. Thereās a corrugated roof so thereās no way to secure the chicken wire fully.
To make matters worse, one of my girls looked a little banged up. I canāt tell if the resident bully hen got to her or if she had a run-in with the rats. Her and two others didnāt go up on the roosts with the rest of them. They stayed on ground watching the floor carefully. Not sure whatās going on with that. Iām I little worried about what Iāll find tomorrow morning.
Family bought a farm. It was a work-in-progress for the previous owners who had only been in the house for two years but had to move out of state. I guess it was a better job opportunity. Whatever reason they had to move, their work-in-progress became our work-in-progress.
The farm came with a coop and chickens. We hadnāt expected to have chickens until being in the house for one year to get a feel for the natural rhythm of it, but how could we say no to free laying hens?
The coop has its problems and weāll probably build a new one and use the old as a shed, but for now, itās mostly work with what we have and A LOT of clean up around it.
The hens, I affectionately call āthe girlsā, had been consistently laying in the nesting box. This particular box is slick in that the eggs roll from the brooder immediately, very clean and ready to eat.
Enter trash eggs. Today I heard one of the hens make the sounds that hens do while laying an egg. It sounds like they are in pain, but thereās a cadence to it that lets me know they arenāt in danger. Itās usually muffled by the coop walls, but this time it was very loud and echoing. This, to me, meant one of them was laying outside the coop.
Upon inspection, I found a garbage can filled with broken plastic and dried leaves. I didnāt want them walking on that as I didnāt have time to inspect anything hazardous--we donāt have the time to work on the outside when weāre still moving inside--so I covered it up with timber (more refuse in the yard) and called it done.
Next thing I know, I hear a loud sound outside like something falling. This persistent hen would stand on the end of the timber to tip it over and get back on the garbage. I covered it again, crossing the timbers more securely. This time I came back to find an egg in the center. I leaned the timbers and the can against the coop to secure it more. She found a way to knock them down and there were two eggs!
Done with her stubbornness, I took the can out of the yard to empty, and when I got back, she was where the can used to be, screaming. I finished my typical routine in the coop, and she followed me inside screaming at me while eying me. I left the coop and there she was, out of the coop screaming at me.
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