Hang on, Sloopy!

A hen, a woman, and a battle

Isolated from the rest of the flock, snuggled in the brooder within the confines of our barn, Sloopy, our 18-month-old Buckeye hen, is the face of our latest chicken malady battle. We’ve experienced wry neck with sweet Clara I and salpingitis complete with lash egg with Ophelia…and a few other undiagnosed infirmities with our 20+ chickens. But this is a new one. The others have ended badly with the worst case scenario; we’re hopeful this one breaks the cycle.

Sloopy has always been a terrific layer and never a moment’s trouble…no aggressive behavior toward man or beast and great overall health. Almost two days ago, when I let the flock out of their run for their daily free time, I noticed she was not as frisky as usual and that she was walking strangely…step, step, step, crouch…step, step, step, crouch. Poor Sloopy is in the middle of a pretty nasty molt at the moment, but otherwise exhibits the signs of perfect hen health. She did, that is, until that moment.

I made an immediate diagnosis of “egg-bound”, a condition in which an egg becomes lodged inside the oviduct of a hen. I have never had a hen in this condition (that I’m aware of), but I had read about it before. I did a quick google search to refresh my memory on procedures, and I gathered up my equipment: metal tub, Epsom salts, and baby vitamins without iron…along with a couple of towels and my blow dryer.

Sloopy is usually not keen on being handled, but she cooperated beautifully with me as I covered her with a towel and scooped her up into my arms for the trek to my kitchen. I had filled the 5 1/2 gallon tub with approximately 2 gallons of very warm water and added about 2 cups of Epsom salts to it. Additionally I had taken a plastic jar lid and filled it with a couple of tablespoons of cool water containing a few drops of vitamins. Sloopy appeared to relax as soon as I lowered her into the warm water. I applied some gentle pressure to her backside so that her cloaco (the, uh, egg exit place) was fully immersed.

I had read that the hen should be immersed for 20-30 minutes; since my kitchen and water were very warm, I opted for going the full 30 minutes. A few times Sloopy would push up to a standing position, and I did let her get some time that way, but then slowly maneuvered her back into the water. She made a few quiet clucking sounds and blinked her eyes ever so slowly…appearing to quite enjoy the spa treatment. I did do a visual on her cloaca, and it looked completely normal and clean. I felt around on her abdomen and lower body, and nothing seemed noticeably out of the ordinary to me.

While in her bath I offered her the vitamin mixture, and she avoided it. I was able to get her beak into the lid a few times, and she swallowed a few drops.

When the 30 minutes were up, I lifted her out of the tub and moved her onto a waiting towel on the counter behind me. I turned the blow dryer on a low warm setting and began the process of drying her off, running my fingers through her feathers to try and speed things up. Note to self: Chicken feathers dry much more slowly than hair…whether human or dog.

After I was fairly satisfied with the drying process, I gave Sloopy a dropper full of the vitamins; she managed to swallow most of it with only a few drops falling onto her towel. I felt like she needed a few more minutes of snuggling and petting before bundling her up in a dry towel and taking her back out to the barn.

The brooder that we use for out young pullets before moving them into the coop with older hens is the perfect infirmary for an ailing hen. Not only is she kept apart from the others to avoid infection or harassment, but she is kept at a more consistent temperature, out of the elements. Her food and water can be more controlled and monitored, and the small area can be examined for any evidence of further illness (weird poop) or improved health (normal poop and, hopefully, a passed egg, in the case of Sloopy).

As of this writing, Sloopy is soldiering on…no sign of an egg. I’ll keep up the routine until there is some sort of resolution. In all of my 66 years I never would have believed that I would care this much about the welfare of my little flock…but apparently I do.

Hang on, Sloopy…