Why I Don’t Use Avian Vets

Last Friday I had a long conversation with a friend of a friend about her experience with a deadly infectious poultry disease. As horrible as that was (I’ll talk about it in another post) what struck me was how the veterinary care that she sought out made her year with chickens expensive and unnecessarily guilt-ridden, and didn’t, in the long run, help at all.

Backyard chicken keepers rarely come from a farming background. If they have any experience with animals it is as indulgent pet owners. They believe that solutions to health issues will be handed to them by a veterinarian. They have been told that a price shouldn’t be put on their pets. Veterinary schools teach sophisticated medicine, and the knowledge and resources available to vets equals that of people doctors. Veterinarians are taught to do everything that it is possible to do, but, not necessarily what is right for the animal or the owner. (I know this first-hand as years ago I was told, at a world-renowned animal hospital, that my guinea pig’s broken leg could be fixed with orthopedic surgery. That “we do it all the time.” My family was guilted into $1,000 surgery, and the little guy suffered and died anyway.)

Farmers understand that all lives intrinsically have value, but they accept that it is not right to bankrupt a farm for an animal of small monetary value. Farmers understand that just because you can do something, doesn’t mean that you should. People new to chicken keeping don’t have that perspective, or even if they do, don’t have the experience to know how to apply it. Backyard chicken keepers, when faced with a sick chicken, still want to turn to a vet. They quickly find out that the average suburban veterinary practice won’t even look at a hen. So, they search for and find an avian vet. Yes, avian vets take care of birds, but generally, their specialty is for parrots and other exotics. Not chickens. (Avian vets who specialize in poultry took college courses that prepared them for working for the commercial poultry industry, not small-scale flocks.) Unfortunately, I’ve yet to find an avian vet who admitted that he or she knew nothing about chickens. I have had a vet feel my hen’s comb, say it was “warm” and then look up respiratory diseases in her college textbook. That visit cost me $65. The friend of a friend had six very ill hens. Her vet didn’t take chickens, so she called a veterinary college that is in her area. She was told that she could bring in all of the sick chickens. Each would cost $165 to look at. I am aghast that the vet school would even give this hen keeper the option of spending almost $1,000 to look at all of her birds, when examining one would supply the same diagnosis. She did decide, on her own, to bring only one, purely due to financial considerations. She felt guilty not to have brought them all. The vet did not do any blood work, and the diagnosis was one that could have been determined with a quick on-line search.

If you do need medical care for your flock, I recommend that Instead of finding an avian vet, look for a large animal practice, preferably with a vet on staff who keeps a flock of chickens on her own farm. Every few years I run fecal samples to make sure that my chickens don’t carry a load of parasites. The avian vet, two towns over, insists that first I need to bring the “patient” in for an exam. Obviously, she doesn’t understand about flock management. Instead, I take the samples to a large animal practice (they take care of Pip and Caper) and, for $25, their lab tech looks at the manure under her microscope that afternoon.

When you are faced with a sick chicken that you love, you want to ease her distress and hopefully save her life. If she has symptoms of respiratory disease, it is caused by either a virus or bacteria. Lab tests are very expensive, and by the time you hear the results your entire flock could be infected and dying. Although there are charts online for figuring out what infectious agent is affecting your hens, I’ve found them unreliable. (Out of curiosity I’ve used those expensive lab tests and discovered how off those charts are.) So, I recommend starting with a course of antibiotics right away, which can be bought on-line or at your local feed store. If they don’t work, you probably have a virus. When it comes to these respiratory diseases, a vet’s diagnosis is of no help. Either antibiotics will work, or they won’t. (More about what I do for respiratory disease is in this FAQ.) The only exception that I’ve had is when mycoplasma caused crusty, infected eyes, and I needed prescription eye ointment for my hens.

If you have an individual chicken that looks sick (often described as hunched and walking like a penguin) you will want to know the cause. Everyone’s first guess is “my hen is egg bound,” but that is rarely the case. The hen could have any number of diseases, including ascites, heart disease, tumors, cancer, and internal laying. Despite the underlying cause, the external symptoms will be similar. Even a vet can only guess at what might be wrong. Only after death, and upon doing a necropsy, will you know what really killed the chicken. Many of the diseases that cause a hen to look sick are incurable. Sometimes the chicken dies soon after looking ill. But, in other cases, the hen can live on for months or years. If she is lucky, though, the hen does not have a lethal disease and can be cured by doing my simple Spa Treatment. In no case would veterinary care help.

I expect that at this point, that there will be a number of readers who have had very good experiences with avian vets and are eager for the end of this post so they can leave comments about how essential their vets are to their flock management. I know those vets are out there, and I’d love to hear your stories. But, realize that they are the exception, as are the chicken keepers who are able to afford them. In almost all cases, your flock will be well-cared for if you rely on your own commonsense and compassion.

The Beast In Winter

It’s been below freezing at night and so a thin sheet of ice has spread across the surface of the little pond. Underneath, the fish float, barely moving. Their fins swish back and forth, holding them in position for their long half-sleep through the winter.

The pump works all winter. Water flows up and out of the big rock (there is a hole drilled all the way through it) and circulates through the pond. This keeps the water from freezing solid. It also give the wild birds a drinking fountain even during the worst weather.

The 17-ton rock in the center of the pond was installed on top of two large, oblong boulders, forming a cave. The Beast’s lair. She is a savvy old fish, and while the small goldfish float in the center of the water feature, too cold and slow to move away from danger, she lurks in the shadows, safe all winter.

Please Share

Although Steve knew that there would be animals in our lives (moving in with him was contingent on getting a dog), chickens weren’t something that he thought about when we got married. Still, he wasn’t surprised when, sixteen years ago, I took in a neighbor’s lone hen. In any event, he liked the fluffy white Cochin. He didn’t mind the production red hen that I got her for company. For months, when I had a bed rest pregnancy, he took over the care of the chickens and found that he liked doing the barn chores. He got attached to the hens that I kept adding to the flock. But, being a nerd (said with the utmost respect) he had a different idea of how to enjoy them. “Let’s put a cam into the coop,” he said. “Who’d watch?” I asked. At the time the only internet cams were in universities (often pointed at vending machines so the scientists wouldn’t have to walk down a flight of stairs to see what was in stock.) “It’d be fun,” he said. “We don’t have electricity in the coop,” I replied. The idea was shelved.

Meanwhile, the internet took off. In 2006 I was told that I had to have a website to promote an upcoming book. Steve said, “Let’s do a hen cam.” At this point we had a new coop, more hens, and electricity in the barn. “Sure,” I said. “Why not?” I had no idea that the website set up to promote a book would be enjoyed by tens of thousands around the world. I had no idea that I would blog. I had no idea what satisfaction I would get from sharing my animals with you. I had no idea that the HenCam would be my writer’s place, as affirming to me as any book that I’ve written.

The HenCam has become a full-time job and I need your help to grow my audience. Last night ITGuy added share buttons on the blog post pages to make it easier to let others know what you’ve found valuable here. He doesn’t do social media himself, so he’s not sure if he’s installed them properly. Let me know if there are glitches.

 

Nothing Goes To Waste

One of the benefits of keeping hens is that nothing goes to waste. In fact, kitchen disasters get a joyful reception from the flock.

I bought a new microwave.

Same wattage as the 12-year old one, but more powerful, as I learned when the first batch of popcorn burnt.

But, no matter! The Gems devoured it. No surprise that Beryl (she of the full crop) is photographed here being a glutton.

The goats leapt up onto their stumps in anticipation of the treat.

This is Caper’s popcorn face. He wants more.

The old hens also enjoyed the popcorn, although they ate it in a more polite and sedate manner.

Only Candy was unimpressed.

Tina

Reader alert: this post talks graphically about death.

This fall, neither Tina nor Siouxsie had been looking hale and hearty. They each had their troubles. Tina’s bumblefoot didn’t appear to be bothering her, but she seemed less vibrant. For several weeks Siouxsie had been gasping and, when not in motion, standing hunched. But, both were eating and roosting, and milling about with the other chickens and the rabbit in their usual oblivious Polish-hens way. I thought that Siouxsie would be the first to die, but it was Tina. I found her on the floor of the coop one morning last week. She was breathing, but immobile. I tucked her into a nesting box, thinking that she would die soon, in peace in her home. The next day she was still breathing, still immobile. Chickens are renown for staying alive even when most of their bodily functions have stopped. They can survive even without their heads (hence the expression, running around like a chicken with its head chopped off.) At the end of the second day, Steve euthanized Tina (he does a quick break of the neck.)

I tell you these things because it is a part of chicken keeping. These are animals with short lives, and they die right in front of us. If you chose to raise hens for both eggs and meat, and harvest the hens before the age of two, then your chickens won’t suffer in old age, but will live vibrant lives until the end. It’s a humane and valid option. I chose to let my hens retire, knowing that there will be disease and death, but also knowing that some of my hens will live many years in retirement. Edwina, my Barred Rock, at 7, is as sturdy and content as ever.

I did a post-mortem on Tina. I’ve done ten of these home autopsies over the last few years. Although outward symptoms are often similar, what I find inside often surprises me. Tina had not starved (as ill hens sometimes do.) Her crop and gizzard were full, and she had meat and fat on her bones. She didn’t have cancer and, to my amateur eye, there were no signs of disease. What I did find was a heart as thin as a water balloon, filled with blood. I think that she died of heart failure.

I am honestly not sad that Tina died. Her laying days were over. She was a high-maintenance bird. The winter would have been hard on her, and work for me. She was funny to watch and tell stories about, but Tina wasn’t one of my favorites. Yes, I admit to having favorites and that I’m attached to some animals more than others. When you have a number of chickens, as I do, you expect the hens to come and go. You appreciate them while here but do not mourn their passing. A select few become dear to us. I cried when Lulu died. I did not cry over Tina. That’s okay. I am admitting that here in public so that you can be honest with yourselves at home. Not all hens become beloved pets. Not all chickens have to have long lives. What does matter is that they are cared for with thought and compassion. Tina had a good life and I’m glad that she was part of mine.

On my desk is a list of chicks I’ll be ordering this spring.