I had been feeling hopeful and optimistic. Florence’s eye seemed to be less painful, she was opening it much more. She was also moving around more and showing natural behaviour such as wiping her beak across the floor (later on I realised this was to keep her beak short and trim). She was grooming herself and feeding and drinking by herself too.
But then she had what I decided was an ‘off day’; an euphemism indeed as it turned out.
The next Monday morning she did not jump out of her box. So I took her out and noticed she had a cloudy eye. I tried to give her cabbage, something that only a day ago she had been trying to grab off my fingers. But this time, when I tried to hand feed her cabbage, she kept missing where the cabbage was.
I hoped it was a temporary blip and she would feel better the following day. But she was just the same.
Florence went back to the vet who told us (I had gone with Mum) she had an infection. He gave her an injection and gave us antibiotics to take with water.
So this time instead of eye drops, Flo had antibiotic mixed with water via a syringe. There was still painkiller from the last vet visit, so she continued to have that too.
Simon came over for a week and together we looked after our poorly patient.
Curiously she often made a purring sound when Simon or I held her. I had not noticed this before and wondered if she was in any discomfort, but when we looked at YouTube videos of hens purring, it was believed that these were contented chickens.
Maybe Florence was aware she was in a safe place with people who wanted to help her?
Flo had stopped exploring and tended to sit in one place. I thought this was because of her eye and being ill but when I saw her trying to move and wobbling instead of walking normally, I realised that she needed rehab. So each day we gently lifted her up and down in an attempt to strengthen her legs.
As well as antibiotics, we had to make sure Florence had enough water and food. Whereas before she was capable of drinking and eating by herself (as long as the grain was spread in front of her so she could pick at it), this week she needed to be hand fed. So we would put grain and corn onto our hands so she would eat off them. If we dipped her head towards the water bowl she would sip it. We would get a general idea of whether she had enough to eat or drink by feeling her crop (at the front of a bird, it should have a bulge before bedtime) and her poos.
That week she was very weak but still had an appetite. I truly believed that if I continued with the ‘rehab’ of gently trying to strengthen her legs, finished the course of antibiotics, handfed and made sure she had enough water, with a matter of time she would get better, even if it would be as a pampered house chicken.
One thing was that when she had a poo, she always moved away from it. But the following week I found poo stuck to her feathers. Her personal hygiene had gone downhill. She was no longer preening herself as she had done in her early stages of illness. She was no longer wiping her beak on the floor. Simon had noticed her beak seemed to be growing. We tried to carefully file it slightly with an enamel board. I hadn’t realised that hens wiped their beaks on surfaces because they were filing them down.
Her mobility kept decreasing, despite my rehab attempts. A few weeks ago I had increased the number of tea towels for her to walk around on. Now I was increasing my usage of them to support Flo. She was hardly able to stand or sit unaided, falling to one side.
By the end of the week, Florence’s attempts to eat by herself off the floor or tea towel had decreased. I had placed a brick (like a table) with grain spread across it to help her, so she wouldn’t have to reach for the floor. But towards the end, I would find her pecking in mid air, brick or no brick. So my attempts to hand feed her increased. There were days when Flo received water via a syringe and her grain was mashed up with water and again, this was given via a syringe.
I contemplated taking her to a vet again. Except this time, there was nothing a vet could do, in my opinion. It would be for one thing and one thing only. But it felt like it would be the right thing for Florence. I mused, deciding I would ring later that day and make an appointment the following morning.
That afternoon, as I worked from home, I gazed towards Florence, who was wrapped up in her tea towels. She didn’t look like she was moving. I went over to check and she half opened an eye.
A little while later, I went over to her again.
No more suffering.