The egg bound chicken

[illness, during which much unpleasantness occurs, with a miraculous recovery and happy ending*]

We inherited some chickens with the house we bought. Had planned on chickens anyway, so very happy to take them on. There were two, a Bluebell and a Sussex, of indeterminate age, and varying character. Pock, the Bluebell, has little personal hygiene, but is otherwise happy and very keen on food. Not so keen on laying. Pickwick, the Sussex chicken, is a little haughty madam, parading around the coop, and a reliable layer.

Pickwick, as a healthy chicken

Enjoying some cottage cheese in a dignified fashion

One egg a day for at least 300 days of the year. So when we found her in the coop, hunched over and not moving from her spot, and when coaxed up, waddling and tumbling strangely, we were of course concerned. I had just returned from a business trip, and wanted to go to bed (it was just about getting dark, and the chickens were definitely sleepy - except Pickwick), which of course always means something will not go according to plan.

In any case, as relatively new chicken keepers (one year in without major issues), we hit the internet to check options. We had read some books (A Chicken in Every Yard, for example, and "Leben auf dem Lande" by John Seymour in the German translation - ask Nat about killing pigs, and she will tell you how to do so, fluently, in German), and knew about chickens getting egg bound. Our suspicions were confirmed to the worst, as, if not treated, it is a horrible way to go for a chicken.
Treatments recommended were
- sitting the affected chicken in a warm water bath
- steaming the affected chicken's bum
- using oil to lubricate the affected chicken's cloaca and further in (yikes)
- deal with the egg inside (no way)

So, we grabbed poor Pickwick, put her in a hot water bath in the living room and waited. Her breathing slowed down noticeably, and her back relaxed a bit, and after a while she started nodding off gently. We then woke her up to put her in front of a steaming water bowl to, as the instructions said, steam her bum. Making sure the steam was not too hot, she sat on a towel in a contented fashion, and relaxed a bit more. Rude awakening followed immediately of course - in the form of a latex-gloved hand covered in oil. We had to use olive oil (definitely not ideal, but beating GT85 as second contender on availability), and I had the doubtful pleasure of applying it. First, rubbing around the cloaca to relax the muscles. Also massaging the underbelly gently to relax her more. Then, some internal lubrication. Not a lot, as I did not want to break the egg - that was just too horrific and dangerous to contemplate. Repeat. Hot Water Bath. Steam. Massage. Oil.

After about 2 hours, we were all exhausted, and put her into a basket with comfortable hay, into the downstairs bathroom. It is the warmest place in the house, and dark. I then spent the rest of the night getting to grips with having to kill her in the morning (wring neck, then use largest axe).
At 0630 am, I opened the bathroom door. Pickwick was sitting on top of her blanket, pocking at me. Clearly awake and more comfortable.

Put her in the coop, and she laid a monster egg.

After the ordeal. A Cotswold Legbar egg for size comparison.

Two hours later, she laid another monster. A double-yolker in fact.

A fist-sized monster. Poor Pickwick! 

The yolks in question. Still sunflower-yellow, though.

* For a while, the episode seemed forgotten, and she was her usual self, snapping at the others, laying, parading. Sadly, now, it seems to catch up with her. She is a bit slower, sits often and is not as active. Lays less, and generally looks like an old tired granny. It has taken a lot of energy out of her, but now that she is basically well - just old and exhausted- I cannot get myself to reach for that axe. Old soft lump that I am.