Hard Decisions

Keith got home from his one night away trip for this week, and we sat and talked a while.  I caught him up on what was going on around here, and he caught me up on what is going on in his job, both interesting subjects.

In this day and age, we are both grateful to have good jobs.

Right now, at 9:38 PM, he is outside with the big spotlight, trying to find what he thought was a racoon running from the front of the big henhouse to the shop.  We've already had a possum attack in the last month, and we don't want one of the dogs to try to take on a coon, even strong Lilly.  I'm going to try to catch him and make sure he double-checks the door to the bighenhouse (precariously shut with a washrag) and make sure the barrier is up into the little henyard.  Though the possum was IN that henhouse, it is actually the stronger of the two buildings.  The dogs have set up an uproar, so I have finally let Lilly Ann out to help Keith.

Tonight I came home to find  poor little Ruffles having trouble again, but as you can see by the accompanying short clip, he IS able to eat and drink, though somewhat sloppily.  I am going to shine the spotlight on him tomorrow and really check him all over for mites... that is the only thing other than something neurological I can think it is.  If he is no better by tomorrow night, we will make a decision.  We are afraid to put him back in with the rest of the little bunch. 

(I tried to load this 45 second clip for a half hour, and finally had to stop.  Despite ramping up our satellite service, sometimes they just.will.not.load.)  He is not eating or drinking right, he is drinking with his mouth open, and unable to lift his head high.  I still think the damage is neuro, but will have to decide soon.

The other sad decision will be about this one:

She spends her days now either laying on the spare bed, or laying on the satellite receiver under the TV.  She doesn't play, and her hind end is giving out.  She is growing thinner, though still eating and drinking.  She is defenseless against Gertie, who bothers her, and cannot run off or fight back, so we are keeping her in the spare bedroom most of the time.    Keith, who has babied her since she came home to us, is sleeping with her because he doesn't want her to be alone.  We would not be so concerned, but the herpesvirus, which has kept her so sick since birth, is almost licked, just as the vet said it would be.  She still has some exudate coming out of her nose, but is no longer explosively sneezing and having trouble breathing.  Now, however, with the weakness in her hindquarters, she is unable to control her bowels, and we keep finding hard little pellets where she has been.  Because the picture is dark, you can't see how thin our poor little Jenny has become.  She has been many times to see Dr. Tom, and Dr. Beck, his partner who loves kitties.  She just has had so much going against her from birth.  Anyway, Keith will take her again on Friday to see if there is anything more we can do for her. This hindquarters weakness is getting worse by the day. 

Tuesday Night

I had a scare this morning, well, that actually began on Sunday night.

This little rooster, Ruffles, on the right,  is my second favorite in the little henhouse.

The late Studley is to the left.

On Sunday evening, I found Ruffles with his head bent down between his front legs.  At first I thought he was preening himself, (odd, in the evening) but then realized he was having a convulsion of some kind.  I lifted his head up, and he was able to hold it for a minute, then it went down again.  I left him in the henhouse and went in and told Keith I thought there was something going on with him, and that we needed to look at him closely on Monday.

Monday morning was a blur... I had to feed quickly and I did not think to check on Ruffles.  So when I got home last night, I found him again with his head between his legs, in what appeared to be a convulsion.  I went in to tell Keith that he needed to be put down, but we did not take care of it immediately, and this morning, Keith had to leave very early at 5:30 to go to an out of town meeting for one night.  I went out and found my poor little rooster again, so picked him up and brought him into the big henhouse and put him in the nursing cage under light.  It is a very soppy day here today, dripping rain all day long, and the ground is sodden.

All day long, while thinking of other things and working very hard, I had Ruffles in the back of my mind.  Keith texted me from Salina to ask about him, and I told him I didn't have the moral courage to end his suffering this morning, but would go home to find him in the cage, dead.  Keith told me he didn't think I had the strength left in my hands to break his neck cleanly.  Anyway, to make a long story short... I came home tonight to find this:

Yes, he's eating out of the ubiquitous frisbee!

I cannot explain it, I googled it at work and the darkest of prognoses came up.  All I can say is he is up and eating tonight.  I checked on him about two hours later, and he was awake and bright-eyed, though not moving much.  I am keeping him isolated, he doesn't need to be around the other birds.  I can put him in the rabbit hutch if I need to, but I have three hens laying in there daily, so would rather not.  I'll need the nursing cage (sanitized) for the chicks I'm bringing home Friday. 

I also have a half/cochin pullet brought home a week ago that cannot seem to get the hang of going back up into the little henhouse at night.  We have had to net her for five nights, she is trying to roost in the doghouse that sits in the little henyard (remember, these pullets had never "roosted", they were in a small cage).  It occurred to me tonight as I slipped around the mud of the little henyard that she, too, will be joining Uncle Butch in the feed room.