On Saturday Lauren Scheuer, my friend and blogger, came for iced coffee and conversation. Actually, her dog Marky came to visit Scooter and Lily, and he brought Lauren along. Where Marky goes, Lauren goes. Marky is a funny, scowling, chipmunk-hunting terrier. Scooter thinks he’s a very cool dog. Lily thinks he should play with her more.

What all of them think is that I should be the one to pet them.

It’s always been like this. I got my first cat when she bounded out of the woods and followed me home, despite the fact that I was taking a walk with three dogs who lived on my block. That was before I had my own dog, who started out as neighbor’s dog, but chose to live with me. Dale was not allowed in the house (my parents took a long time to warm up to keeping pets) but nonetheless, she became my dog.

Animals who, I’m told, “don’t like people much” walk across pastures to meet me. These old donkeys in England knew I was a good itch-scratcher.

Karen Pryor was visiting the other day and we talked about this. She, too, is an animal magnet. If you watch Karen around animals you’ll notice that she never stares directly at them, which, for almost all creatures, is a sign of aggression. Nor does she reach out, or grab, or hug. She doesn’t talk much to them, either. What she does do is pay attention. To body language. To a flick of the ear. To a deep breath.

Many animal “whisperers” claim to have secret connections to their animals. There’s nothing mystical about it. It’s quiet observation. It’s knowing the animal. It’s relating to them the way they want to be talked to.

Take your emotional neediness out of the picture. Forget about “unconditional love” and reading human stories onto your animals. See them for who they are and you’ll find plenty of stories, which are more true and more fascinating than any that you invent. Pay attention. Take a step back. And the animals come to you.

Where’s Lily?

She’s there.

Here, I’ll make it easy for you.

In just over a month the chicks have gone through a stunning transformation. That adorable puff-ball stage lasts only three days. Then the quills emerge, first on the wings, then on the necks. Soon more down flies and more feathers come in. Plumage seems to change as fast as the “horse of a different color” went from pink to blue in the Wizard of Oz The chicks’ mature look won’t occur until they are laying eggs, at about five months of age. Until then, I’ve been watching the costume changes and trying to match the chick to the breed.

My Meyer Hatchery order of 25 chicks specified ten different breeds. When the chicks arrived some were yellow, some were stripey like chipmunks, two had feathers on their feet and two were dead. The hatchery web site has photos of chicks, but honestly, all those yellow chicks look alike. Ken and I divided the order as best we could.

This is what was ordered: 2 Delawares, 2 Blue Cochins, 2 Barnevelders, 2 Welsummers, 2 Buff Chantecleers, 2 NH Reds, 2 Buff Orpingtons, 3 Dominques, 3 RI Reds, and 5 Speckled Sussex.

I know that I got the Blue Cochins that I wanted. Size and temperament vary as much as their sizes, but their color and the feathered feet confirm their breed.

Also obvious are the Speckled Sussex. They’re clearly dotted (I’m told the white swath on their chest will disappear as they mature.) It appears that I have three, so Ken is missing one, but that’s okay with both of us. There’s a lot of variation between the three in size and coloration. It’ll be interesting to see what they look like next year.

But, maybe I don’t have three. That one on the left has beige legs, not yellow. Is she something else?

At least the Delaware is obvious. Should I be worried about the size of “her” comb? It’s large, but pale. I know it’s a Delaware, but I’m not 100% convinced that it’s a girl.

Then there are the three yellow chicks. Ken has what we think are the two Buff Chantecleers. I’m supposed to have the Buff Orpingtons. Only two. But there are three. Two have the white legs and skin of the Orpington, but the other is a tad darker. (See the one on the left?) The problem is, there’s not another chicken on the order that should be yellow. However, we did get an extra chick (the hatcheries usually send a spare.) So, this must be it. The question is, what is it?

And then there are the brown chicks. There are two of these. I think they’re my New Hampshire Reds.

But I could be wrong. There’s also this one. Is it the Rhode Island Red? Or a Welsummer?

And there’s this gorgeous dark chick. Maybe she’s a Barnevelder. Do I even have a Welsummer?

What do you think?

The vet just called with very interesting lab results. They go to show that it can look like a duck, quack like a duck and walk like a duck, but not be a duck. My hens did not have Mycoplasma. They had foamy, shut eyes and respiratory distress and one died, all textbook symptoms of Mycoplasma – but they had a different infection. Despite $137 worth of lab tests, we’re still not sure what they did have, but we know what they didn’t. The tests were conclusively negative for Mycoplasma. There was a slightly elevated level of E. coli and gram-negative bacteria. Perhaps one of those, or both, caused the symptoms. Perhaps not. Fortunately, regardless of the cause, the treatment worked.

I’m of two minds about how worthwhile those tests were. Obviously, since I’m just getting the results back now, the knowledge they provide isn’t timely. If I’d waited to make treatment decisions based on the tests more hens would have died. However, if the Tylan and doxycycline weren’t effective, it would have been important to confirm exactly what infectious agent we were fighting and the cultures would have been worth the expense. In the end, for me, it’s worth it to find out what I didn’t know. I’ve a responsibility to you, my readers, to get it right. So much of what we think is going on with our flocks’ health is pure conjecture. In this case I’m pleased to know a tad more than I did before.

There’s always something going on here, but I’m hoping that we’ve seen the end of the major storyline of the last two weeks – the outbreak of a deadly respiratory disease in the HenCam flock.

Among domestic farm animals, contagious diseases can hit fast, spread even as you isolate the first animal that shows the symptoms, and kills before you have a chance to weigh your options. Ask a farmer. Everyone has a story to tell. Backyard flocks are not immune. Wild birds fly in and out of the coops, snatch food from the feeders and leave bacteria, viruses and parasites behind. Factory farmers use this as an excuse to confine birds indoors, but that causes other health issues and is one reason why those farmers rely on sub-therapeutic feeding of antibiotics. I believe that the good of an outdoor life outweighs the risks. My chickens will remain outside.

I don’t know why Lulu came down with mycoplasma, and I don’t know why of all of the hens, that she was the one most susceptible and the one to die. I do know that more chickens would have succumbed if not for antibiotics. Siouxsie and Maizie were both on the brink. Thank goodness for drugs. Unfortunately, the drug that used to be prescribed, and was highly effective, Baytril, is now prohibited for poultry. Why? Because those factory farmers fed it to their chickens to get increased production. They got that, plus antibiotic-reistant bacteria that was passed along to consumers, which is a huge health threat to humans.

Anyway…

Luckily, there’s a vet nearby who dispenses drugs for poultry. She provided doxycycline in pill form for the two sickest birds, Maizie and Siouxsie, and Tylan to put in the drinking water for the rest of the hens. Because Candy often drinks from their fount, we kept Candy in her hutch. Many of you were worried about her. Candy was a bit bored but it really and truly wasn’t a big deal. We let her hop around at night after the hens went to sleep.

The hardest part of giving drugs to the hens isn’t getting a chicken to swallow a pill (easy! Perhaps I’ll do a YouTube video,) it’s throwing out the eggs for thirty days after treatment with doxycycline. That’s how long it takes for the drug to clear their systems. Isn’t this sad?

The antibiotics and the stress caused the hens to lay thin-shelled eggs. Broody Coco smashed two in her desire to sit on them, which covered her with sticky yolk. This is not a side-effect mentioned on the drug’s package, but one to be aware of! I gave her a bath. Which she liked. Especially the blow-drying.

We were very concerned that the chicks would get Mycoplasma, so we instituted strict biosecurity. My new pink Wellies were worn when doing the Big Barn chores. Old red boots were worn in the HenCam coop. I didn’t handle the chicks. I didn’t let the hens from the infected barn wander anywhere near the chicks’ pen. It worked. The chicks never showed symptoms. And now the older, affected hens look fine – even Maizie and Siouxsie who were both near death.

The chicks not only didn’t get sick, but they have been robust and growing. At five weeks they are almost rid of their down, and colorful feathers are growing in. These chicks came in an order of 25, which I shared with friends who live up the road from me. A whole lot of the chicks were yellow fluff balls when they arrived and we couldn’t tell them apart when we divvied up the package. I’d ordered two Delawares, which start out yellow but become gorgeous white birds with black collars. My growing flock didn’t show any signs of developing white feathers, but Ken had two in his brooder. So on Saturday I swapped what I believe to be his two Buff Chantecleers that I’d been raising, for one Delaware. He had another white chick, but he’d become attached to the pretty girl, so I left her there.

Isn’t she lovely? I confess to taking the nicer of the two, but Ken got two nice pullets in exchange. So I don’t feel too bad about the trade. (And he’s still talking to me, so I think all is settled.)

Meanwhile, the little blue chick (who will likely be named Little Blue because that’s what everyone calls her) is still weak and still half the size of the others. She walks funny, too, and I think it’s her cochin feet feathers tripping her up, so I trimmed them. It seems to help. I know Little Blue is okay, though, because no one picks on her and she has no trouble being with the others. See?

I still don’t know what breeds the others are! Supposedly I have three Speckled Sussex. If I do, they’ve got markings not accepted by the American Poultry Association show standard. Look at that white breast on the one standing.

I’ll be naming them all after gemstones soon. Steve thinks that Little Blue should be called Hope Diamond. It’s a nice thought, but she already has a name that’s stuck. That happens sometimes.