There are 25 fat happy fluffy chicks running around in their spacious brooder right now. Little fuzzballs of cuteness.
But we got 27 in the mail on Sunday.
One of the chicks was sprawled out this morning, appearing to be breathing her last. I couldn't bear to watch the tiny creature suffer, so I asked my husband to hasten her departure. Poor little dear.
Another of the chicks seems to have epilepsy. She convulses every few minutes and can't walk straight. She backs up and stumbles along without seeming to be able to control her neck and then drops down and has a seizure, shrieking loudly all the while. But she eats and drinks fine. I read that force feeding Vitamins B & E can help this.
There's a "bird man" in our town. He's usually sitting outside on the ground with chickens on his head, shoulders, and in his lap. He has some geese, turkeys and ducks as well.
I've spoken with him before (last year before we got chickens and I needed some advice), and he's a fascinating man. Poultry are his life.
Riding in the front seat of my husband's pickup right now is one very sick little epileptic Barred Rock chick. If she has any hope of making it, it now lies with the "bird man" taking her under his wing, so to speak.
I don't remember this sort of thing happening on Little House on the Prairie.
*Update* The "bird man" happily took her and said, "Sure, I'll care for the little one." God bless him.