Our sick chicken, who we’ve started to call Droopy, has staged a miraculous recovery. As of this morning, her comb is bright red and almost vertical. There is a gleam in her eye and a spring in her step. She scratches and pecks with vigor.
I don’t have the foggiest idea what happened.
At first, I was almost sure she had an impacted egg, and we treated her for that. We gave her warm baths to try to loosen her muscles, and I donned a latex glove to see if I could try and get things moving that way.
After the treatment, I was less sure it was an egg. I didn’t think I could feel one, although I’m not even sure I got the right orifice. We suspect there may have been something intestinal, the clue to which I will not describe in detail. Suffice it to say that her poop was unusual.
Five days ago, she seemed at death’s door, and we were ready to send her through via the Cone of Silence. Then, four days ago, she seemed just a little bit better. And another little bit better the day after that. Today, she’s her old self.
I don’t know what it was, or whether the warm baths or cut-rate colonoscopies had anything to do with her recovery. I’m just glad she’s back in the pink.
We’re going to have to rename her, though.