helpless in the face of a dying chicken

one of our chickens, Alan, is dying.

why i feel the need to blog aout this, i don't know, but there you go. *shrug*  i won't be posting this on Twitter, and am kinda hoping my followers ignore it, but i still feel the need to record it somewhere.  i feel...  i don't actually know how i feel.  there's no grief, there, but there is a sadness.  Alan was always such a lovely girl, and she was always my favourite.  not that there was much interaction  -  i don't relate too deeply with non-mammals, and the girls get a little cross if you handle them too much, anyway.  but i'm fond of her, y'know?  she has a sweet voice, and she's always been the most placid of the two.  you'd be amazed at the difference in presonality you can get between chickens.  and now she's slipping away.  she's in a cardboard box next to the kitchen radiator...

(here she started flapping madly, so i rushed in to see what was the matter, but i think it's that she can feel herself going and is fighting against it.  Eric, the chicken we got at the same time as Alan, did much the same thing just before she died of--we think--a prolase)

she seemed fine yesterday - eating and moving around as normal with Ruby, our other chicken.  but today, when hubby went out to give them their food, she was just sort of lying there on the patio.  she couldn't stand up nor eat and drink.  i suspect that she may have had a stroke, or something like it, as she sort of lolls to one side, as does her comb and her tail.  but i don't really know.  and we couldn't get an appointment with the vet's poultry expert till tomorrow at 7pm.  i suspect it will be too late by then.  i doubt she'll survive until bedtime, quite honestly. 

earlier on, she was sitting in the box droopily, and i tried to get some sustenence into her (a thin, liquidised porridge of oats, corn and honey).  she perked up a little after this - looked a little more alert.  for a time.  but now, she's pretty much unresponsive, and drooling a little, her eyes are closed, and she can't hold her head up.  breathing's shallow, and there's nothing i can do.  i could neck her, i suppose, but though i know the technique in theory (firm hold of neck and legs, pull sharply), i'm somewhat wary of putting it into practice.  she's not in any obvious distress (apart from the occasional mad flappings, that is), and i wouldn't want to get it wrong - for both our sakes.  i really hope she slips away quietly, and i hope she does so soon.

i'm sorry, Alan.

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