There is a process.
The ducks stay up late. I've given up trying to figure out their sleep cycles. I just don't think they have one. It's 10pm and none of the ducks have any interest in falling in line and going into the coop.
The chickens always obey the daylight.
If I go out at dusk, most are in, except for the Easter Eggers I obtained a few months back who think the shed is home. Gently I pick them up and place them in the big coop.
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This big coop, where we are all safe. Sturdily built, every consideration given to the dang bird, it's given me solace for well over a decade.
The ducks are raiding the side plot, where my old, double digit hens live out their best lives. If it's 5 pm they're in their own coop, one where they don't need to sit on any old roosting bar.
This gives me time with the chickens. Everyone loves chickens. Their eggs, their bodies. Tonight I am in love with the long days and late nights. I get a chance to assess my hens, making sure they are healthy despite the demands the days put on their endocrine system.
The healthiest birds sit with full crops and slim bellies. They've had first dibs on the feed, then night allows them a chance to digest. The second rung birds do their best- they get their feed then spend their time digging through turned over soil, dandelions from next door, all good.
It's the others I need to watch. Slow to digest their crops hang low and squishy. Maybe it's yesterday's meal, hopefully not much past that. Their bellies seem bloated while their sternum is a bit too obvious.
It's here where I wish you would understand.
This creature, this bird. This descendent from the dinosaur. This thing we found was yummy in more ways than one. We ask so much, and assume it's all par for the course.
These long days afford me time to make sure my ladies are okay. Everyone wants chicken eggs.
I pick her up, she's at least 3. I took her in, she wasn't laying and her owner seemed at a loss. Raised on treats, her run probably 6 by 6. I don't know if the lumps I feel are fat deposits eggs or tumors. Her crop is packed full and when I squeeze it she burps. I hold her close as I walk inside- her breathing a little labored.
All I can do- a calcium/magnesium supplement. A natural antibiotic of oregano and clove. A capsule of peppermint oil and enzymes. A crop massage I know will probably be painful. And a hug. She needs a chance but the thing we want from her might also kill her, the egg.
I do have a small flock considering. They are mostly give aways, some throw aways. They are all beloved. They are all burdened with their expectations and judged accordingly.
I hold her and feel her fight me. Good good. It's the ones who don't fight who you know won't make it.
This creature. Misunderstood yet valued without consideration. Eyes big and staring, ready to be of service. Sacrificing body and soul.
Ahhh the chicken. I assume the calcium capsule will encourage contractions if indeed there is an egg needing to be laid. The oregano and clove and enzymes should do the trick if the problem is simple. My sweet hen, I put you back on the roost bar with the others, I feel their crops and bellies to make sure you're a one-off. The night still has just a little bit of light and the ducks still won't go to sleep.
Please, please let this be easy. Pass an egg in the night, digest your food from the night before, can you recover from this. This bird, this being who we deemed disposable, replaceable but also such a core part of how we eat and feed ourselves.
And this is just every day, every night.
I hope you understand.
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