There's a special kind of heartbreak that comes with loving a creature most people dismiss as a breakfast ingredient. You know the one, when your hen's face swells up like a cartoon balloon and every vet you call says, essentially, "Sorry, we only fix dogs that bite mailmen." That's where /u/Fun_Property2846 finds themselves, and honestly? It makes me want to throw a feed bucket at the wall.
Two rounds of medicine. One mystery antibiotic from a well-meaning farm owner. A mouth forced open by infection. And a desperate owner who can't stomach the thought of culling a bird they've clearly bonded with. This isn't just a medical question, it's a love letter wrapped in a crisis. And the practical truth is ugly: when every local vet says no to chickens, you're left playing amateur poultry doctor with Google as your only consultant.
What would I tell this reader if they were standing in my coop right now? First, respect the attachment. That bond is real, and pretending otherwise is fowl play with your own heart. But here's the honest, cluck-tastic truth: when a bird can't eat because her mouth is being pried open by swelling, you've run out of time for phone tag. The abscess or infection is winning the game of chicken. You need hands-on help, not sympathy from strangers on the internet (though we're glad to provide that too).
I'd say start calling avian vets two counties over, not regular vets who "don't do chickens." Avian specialists are rare, but they exist, and they're used to road trips from desperate owners. If that fails, look up your state's veterinary teaching hospital; they often take odd cases for learning. And if those options are a dead end? You might need to find a local farmer who's seen this before and isn't afraid to lance what needs lancing. Yes, it's scary. Yes, it's messy. But letting her starve because you can't perform an ugly job is worse than the ugly job itself.
This story isn't about one swollen chicken. It's about the gaping hole in veterinary care for backyard birds, and the humans left standing in it, holding a syringe and a prayer. So to /u/Fun_Property2846 I say: call the avian hospital. Call the farm supply store and ask for the grouchiest old-timer they've got. And if nothing works, know that choosing to let her go peacefully when she's suffering isn't failure, it's the hardest, most loving thing you can do with those two hands of yours.