emergency
3 stories filed under emergency on Alektorophobia. The newest of them: “Sweeney's gone quiet, her crop's empty: time for some cluck-tastic detective work”, “Feathers flew, bobcat fled, but our hen's neck told the real story”, and “Feathered Friend Down to the Bone: How to Help a Pecked Hen”. Oh, Sweeney's gone quiet, and that's never a good sign. Feathers flew, bobcat fled, but it was the blood on our hen's neck that told the real story. Chickens. Everything there is to know about chickens and the fear of them. The list below is every emergency story on Alektorophobia, newest first.
Sweeney's gone quiet, her crop's empty: time for some cluck-tastic detective work
Oh, Sweeney's gone quiet, and that's never a good sign. A normally active young hen suddenly sitting alone in the coop, refusing to eat or drink, with an empty crop? That's the kind of fowl play that sends a shiver down any chicken keeper's spine. It's egg-citing in the worst way, time for some cluck-tastic detective work. First, don't panic, but do act. An empty crop means she isn't blocked there, so the issue could be internal, infection, stress, or even a reproductive hiccup. Check her vent, feel her abdomen, and watch for lethargy. If she's still not perking up in a few hours, a vet visit is wise. For more on flock mysteries, our piece on Marigold's croaking might offer some solidarity.
Feathers flew, bobcat fled, but our hen's neck told the real story
Feathers flew, bobcat fled, but it was the blood on our hen's neck that told the real story. This morning started with chaos, a bobcat trying to snag one of my feathered friends, my dog playing hero, and a hen who somehow made it to the neighbor's yard before we could even process what was happening. She seemed fine at first, just shaken up and desperate to get back to the coop. But when I picked her up, her neck was soaked in blood. Is it from feather loss, or did that cat take a chunk out of her? She's acting normal, but I'm terrified she's hiding serious pain. What do I do next?
Feathered Friend Down to the Bone: How to Help a Pecked Hen
There's a special kind of heartbreak in watching one of your feathered friends get pecked down to the bone, and the guilt that follows is just as brutal. You've done the right thing by separating her, but now you're stuck in that awful limbo between nursing her back and knowing your schedule just can't handle it. That's not chickening out, that's being honest about your limits. If you truly don't have the time or resources for proper wound care, culling is a humane choice, not a failure. A quick, decisive end beats a slow, stressful recovery you can't commit to.