This, is of course, a classic harbinger of Autumn:

Sunflowers, too, speak of the end of summer:

But, here at Little Pond Farm, the surest sign of Fall is a scruffy, shedding, messy bunny. Candy is losing her summer coat and growing in her warm winter one. Doesn’t she look awful? She teases the chickens so that they’ll peck her and help her shed. But, after one mouthful of fur, they won’t do it again!

By the way, don’t her ears look better? The lotion from my vet really worked.

I love going into fancy gourmet shops, where there are a world of cheeses. I have a weakness for jars of fruit preserves, especially for ones filled with combinations, like nectarines and apricots, or anything with rhubarb. Many of these shops are tiny and the best have edited their selections to the most unique and beautiful products. I get the best ideas! Next year I will grow brussel sprouts and kale to use in floral arrangements!

But sometimes the goods are too precious and too expensive. Silly, really. Look what I saw today:

Six eggs, mostly from bantams, in a berry box lined with fresh green hay. Cute idea. But, $8.95? To give you a comparative price, I sell a half dozen eggs, all large, for $2.00. I’d be happy to throw in a handful of hay, too for free.

Astonishment and joking aside, I don’t like what these eggs are telling the consumers in that wealthy corner of Cambridge. That good eggs are a rare treat to be served only on special occasions? I’m glad I’ve got hens in my backyard. I eat two eggs for breakfast every morning. I’m feeling rather posh – that’s $3.00 worth of eggs without the toast!

Not quite two weeks ago, I noticed that Eleanor, the Barred Rock, was limping. Sometimes hens sprain a muscle jumping off roosts. I didn’t worry about her. But the next day she was moving even more stiffly, so I picked her up and examined her. This is what I saw:

Her bottom was red, swollen, hot and had feather loss. I immediately put her in an isolation stall to keep the other hens from pecking at the red skin, and so that I could treat her. Also, a chicken’s droppings are the best way to diagnose what is wrong. Keeping her separate allowed me to check if she was passing anything and how healthy it looked.

Next, was to come up with a diagnosis. She didn’t have a mite or lice infestation, and although the skin was raw, she wasn’t pooping. I concluded that there was an internal problem. I slathered a lot of vaseline on a finger and felt inside her vent. I couldn’t find a stuck egg, however, my examination didn’t rule out an egg broken somewhere in the duct work. Luckily, Eleanor didn’t have maggots like poor Perrie (see the August 1 blog.)

Possibilities were an impaction, a broken egg, or something like cancer. The advice from knowledgeable chicken keepers was “cull her.” But, Eleanor’s eyes were bright. She didn’t look in pain. I decided to do what I could.

I soaked her in a warm epsom salt bath. The red skin stayed red, which confirmed to me that this was an internal problem.

I started her on a 10-day course of baytril, a powerful antibiotic (I had the pill form, which gives a more accurate dose than dissolving antibiotics in water and hoping that a sick hen is drinking enough.) Pry open the beak, place the pill as far back as possible and tickle the neck to make the hen swallow. Easy!

I used a plunger syringe that comes with infant medications to pour two tablespoons of my good, expensive extra virgin olive oil down her throat (I’m sure that cheap olive oil would work – but I don’t have any in my pantry!)  The oil is to help move things along, just in case she was egg bound or impacted.

The next day, Eleanor wasn’t eating and looked a tad worse. Perhaps she’d eaten something toxic? Or toxins were building up because her tract was blocked? Was she getting dehydrated from lack of water? I mixed a teaspoon of epsom salts (the cure-all for toxins) in a half cup of children’s pedialyte (electrolytes.) Unfortunately, the only pedialyte that I could find at the store was cherry-flavored. Which, it turns out, is very sticky and if it gets on your skin turns it bright red for a day. Next time, I’ll use latex gloves! Anyway, using that plunger syringe, I poured this mixture down her throat. Not as easy as the pill. What a mess. It was a beautiful day, so I let Eleanor out in the yard to free-range with the other hens. She was thankful for a dust bath and grass to eat (also good for internal upsets and the roughage helps to unblock impactions.)

All of this was effective! Later that day, Eleanor passed a huge, normal-looking poo. I fed her freeze-dried meal worms that I had on hand for the bluebird feeders. They are very high in protein, and easy for her to digest.

She missed her best friend, Edwina, so although Eleanor still limped and her skin was still pink (though not bright red) I put her back in with the other hens. Later that day, there was an egg in the nesting box that looked unlike any egg I’ve ever seen. It was dark brown (and I don’t have dark-brown egg layers) and had raised black specks on the shell. Was this Eleanor’s? Had she passed her stuck egg? Was this egg stuck behind a broken egg that had caused internal damage and an infection?

Eleanor continues to limp a bit, but I do think she’s going to live.  It’s so nice to have a happy ending to one of these stories.

I’ve been using my garden to teach me the art of observation. If I didn’t, there wouldn’t be much garden left! Yesterday I noticed that the rutabaga leaves were chomped. I looked, but didn’t see anything other than caterpillar poop. I looked again. Turned the leaves over. Swatted a mosquito. Looked again. Finally, my eyes focused. Rather like those 3-D pictures that you have to look cross-eyed at to see the image hidden in the squiggles or the drawings in Highlights Magazine for Children that have things like toothbrushes hidden in tree bark.

Once I saw, really saw the leaves, then I could also see the caterpillars. Dozens of them. They’re the exact same color as the leaves and they even align themselves with the stems. Are these rutabaga caterpillars? They’re not on anything else.

The most amazing garden pest is the Tomato Horn Worm. One day you go out to your garden and your tomato plant has no leaves. It takes ages to find the culprit – and when you see it you can’t imagine that it’s been there, eating away, without you noticing. These worms are a good four inches long and as fat as a thumb. How does one miss them?

After all of this looking, I really did see other things differently. For the first time I noticed that Maizie’s comb was big and falling over a bit. Rather like a healthy leghorn’s comb. But the comb on my other Wyandotte, Alma, wasn’t big and floppy. I looked again. Hers is a pea comb, (sort of like a crew cut.) How could I not have seen that before? I guess I should thank those caterpillars. But I won’t. I think I’ll go pick them off the plants and feed them to the girls.

The weather has chilled off and the meadow is filled with late-summer blooms. Here’s Lily in front of a 7-foot tall Joe Pye Weed. The butterflies love it. The photo doesn’t show the dark purple flowers too well, but doesn’t my dog look gorgeous?

I’ve been reading, “Hit By A Farm” about an urban couple who decide to buy land in the country and farm. Here is my favorite line:

I should have realized what the future held the day I looked up and caught her giving me a dreamy look from across the kitchen table. Touched, I reached over and took her hand in mine. She squeezed it gently, and said, “God, I love chickens.”