The Short Life of "Peep"

This is a picture of a normal Rhode Island Red hatchling

On Thursday afternoon I went out to begin the afternoon care of the dogs and I heard a loud chirping like a bird. I thought that a mother bird teaching its fledglings to fly probably had a straggler who was calling for her. Still, the chirping did not let up, and it was of some urgency. So I took a break and went in the direction in which I heard the noise.  Then, I looked into the hen home with rooster nearest the dogs and I saw what looked like a hatchling duck flailing in their deep water dish.  "Help me, I'll drown !" was apparently the probable translation of the urgent chirping. The rooster in the pen and the four hens acted as if the chick were a predator.   When I scooped the little bird out of the water, I took her into the barn to dry her with a paper towel. Then I took a look at her in bright light.  She wasn't a duck at all. She was clearly a new hatchling from one of my hens in the pen in which she was found. She was a small Rhode Island Red, and she was quite a pretty one.  Domestic hens don't always know how to mother, and an accidental chick such as this one, would likely pass away, just as two did inside the hen house last year.    So, I took the little chick, found a small box, a jar cap for water, and a jar cap for food. It was quite warm and so a hatch light for warmth could wait until this evening.   She certainly was active and moving well.  I did notice when she was wet that she had a prominent crop.  Rather than food passing right to the stomach, as it does in mammals, chickens have something called a crop, which is a pre-stomach which houses food until it moves on to the fore-stomach.  Sometimes, food gets stuck in the crop and can cause problems, usually for adult chickens. I had never seen a chick with a prominent crop in her neck.  For a moment I considered that she may have a congenital anomaly, but this possibility did not change what I had to do. I had to take care of her as if she were any other chick. An anomaly, if it existed, would take her soon enough.

       I had quite an afternoon.  I didn't have a cage quite small enough and she kept exiting the cage by squeezing through the bars.  The barn cat Brielle would have been more than happy to eat her, but I looked at Brielle, and said, "No !" and Brielle flounced off as if to say, "You owe me a better treat than that, later."
Eventually, I placed the little chick in a box and moved her to the laundry room in the house.  That would be warm and bright, and safer.

       For a hatchling, she didn't seem to eat and drink as much as I remembered them to.  Still, for two to three days, they are hatched with enough nutrition to allow them to take those three days in order to learn to eat and drink.  I had lined her box with paper towels and there were stools, and so I thought she was doing well.  That evening, my husband found the hatch light so that the chick could be warm enough as the temperature would drop overnight, and chicks need a fair bit of warmth.   On Friday, she still didn't seem to eat or drink well.  Since hatchlings learn almost everything from other hatchlings, we decided to see if the feed store in the next county could sell us a couple of chicks. They had no chicks but they had a guinea of the same age, whose early developmental milestones are about the same, so we came home with a friend for our hatchling I had named Peep.   The guinea, whom I have called Skoot was much more active and much hungrier than Peep.  By evening, I thought Peep needed some rest and so I separated them in two boxes for the time being.

         This morning I checked on Peep at 5:30 am.   Despite the light and all the care she had been given she was clearly deteriorating.  When I examined her carefully, her vent wasn't closed shut (a reason that a hatchling might not want to eat and drink)  Her umbilical area was as expected.  However, her skin and wings seemed dehydrated to me. I mixed a drop of golden syrup in water with a grain or two of salt and proceeded to feed her with an eye dropper being careful to approach the side of the beak and not get liquid in the nostrils. She took some. There had been no stools overnight.  She seemed quite weak. She also seemed quite cold despite the fact that she'd had the benefit of the hatch light overnight.

            As I held the little bird, I realized that she had deteriorated overnight to a point at which I was unlikely to be able to save her. How sad to overcome such odds to be hatched, to avoid drowning, to call for another species to save you, just to succumb to some type of anomaly or difficulty just two days later. Poor Peep.  I hoped her passing would be as quick and as painless as it could be. It's Sunday, and I don't have a particular schedule this morning. I can feed the horses, alpacas and dogs a bit later, and so I held Peep in a gloved hand speaking to her, while holding her under the hatch light. I thanked her for calling me and giving me the chance to try to help her. I told her that she had fought hard to come here and to stay, but that sometimes the lessons God teaches here on Earth can be taught in a very short time. I told her I had a son and a father who could look out after her in the next place, if God allows them to, and I think he will.  Then she started to use accessory muscles for breathing and I didn't think it would be long. I held her with one hand and stroked her with one finger until her respirations became difficult to see.  Then she tried to jump out of my hand with energy I didn't know she still had. When I gathered her into a more comfortable position in my hand, I saw that she had died.

         Goodbye Peep, I will miss you, and I will take care of your friend Skoot.  Thank you for coming.

         

Update:   July 24, 2016       After Peeps death, we bought five more guinea keets to keep Skoot company. All of them are growing well and enjoying the summer.