On Saturday…there was chicken blood. AGAIN! One of Cleopatra’s toenails somehow almost got torn off. Ethel’s comb accident somewhat prepared me for the blood that wouldn’t stop gushing from the wound, but still, two injuries in two weeks? No fair!
I had just come back from walking Keela and still had my headphones on and was all bundled up due the the blowing wind. One glance into the barnyard revealed a bloody mess all over the snow on the ground. It took me a minute to figure out who was injured, since everyone seemed to be be very concerned and gathered round. She was not getting pecked by the others but was pecking at her own foot and making a ruckus. I grabbed her, grabbed some paper towels from the shed and tried to figure out the problem.
At this point, it quickly devolved into my own personal comedy routine. I didn’t completely tear the paper towels off the roll, so I’ve got a trail of towels behind me. I’ve got a chicken squawking and bleeding like crazy in my arms, a dog circling my legs, my best jeans on, my headphones falling off and getting tangled in the chicken, and my long scarf coming untied (but not untied enough so it would come off). I was getting hotter by the second, and couldn’t put Cleopatra down to solve any of those problems. To add my insult to her injury, she lets one rip and now I’ve got chicken poop all over my coat and good jeans. Aaugh! Sometimes you just have to laugh. Thank goodness Very Excellent Husband Don came home and saved the day.
We decided to take her to the vet. Cleopatra seemed to enjoy the ride.
I called the vet’s office on the way and was told they had no openings. Double aargh! So we drove around a while, and finally the bleeding stopped. We headed home, got out the first aid kit, I held her and VEH Don bandaged her foot as best he could, trying to immobilize the toenail in the right position. For amateurs, I think we did a pretty good job. And saved a boatload of money by not going to the vet on the weekend!
The dog crate came back into the house. She was, literally, stuffed in. She was doing everything she could to NOT GO INTO THE HOLE. Water, and a few treats later, she didn’t hate me quite so much.
The next morning she was glaring at me, so hey, who am I to stand between a hen and her flock. Back to the barnyard you go sweetie!
The bandage has stayed on and she has gone back to being herself – a cranky, unfriendly hen. I could not be happier.
(Shared at Backyard Farming Connection, Maple Hill Hop, Tuesdays With A Twist, Down Home Hop, Simple Lives Thursday, Frugal Days Sustainable Ways, HomeAcre Hop, From the Farm Hop, 104 Homestead Hop, Farmgirl Friday, Clever Chicks Hop and Homestead Barn Hop!)