Love and Mite

Perplexed Chickens

Travelling to my friends’ farm always makes me happy.  I fill my suitcase with my oldest clothes and smile all the way to her front door.  It is one of the few times I actually sit still.  An hour after my arrival the tea was poured, the chocolate unwrapped and my girlfriend said, “I have a project maybe you can help me with tonight.”  “Sure,” was my affable response because I’m not going to bite the hand that provides my mental health retreat.  “What are we doing?”

Sometimes, when I review situations, I have a hard time understanding which of my actions precipitated disaster.  In this instance, I can safely conclude that getting involved in my friends’ “project” was the beginning of the end.  So certain am I, that I made a life rule of it:

Projects with farm friend will cause you to question your sanity: proceed with caution.   

Turns out good intentions had made farm girl's life more complicated too.  After a stroll through Craigslist, farm girl found chickens looking for a new home.  Despite denial,  truth is she likes chickens, which is why she invited the orphan chickens to her farm.  What she did not understand was the condition of orphan chickens when they came to stay.

Can you say scaly leg mites?

(Don’t, because you will get grossed out and we haven’t even gotten to the part where I’m fixing anything yet.)   

Turns out they were on the neglected side and had a condition that was both icky and contagious.  Which brings us back to my question, “What are we doing?”

“Well, it turns out the new chickens have leg mites but it is curable.  I’ve been reading.  I need to treat them and the process is a bit involved.  I was thinking you could help me now that you are here, it will be educational for us both.”

At this point I should have said, “I’m sorry, I just realized you are insane and I’m going to swim home now,” but I didn’t.  I looked at her, she smiled and then a little came in the room saying something about a dead mouse and we got distracted.

I missed my opportunity.

Which was how, 2 nights later, I found myself running around the deck preparing storage bins of dish soap, vinegar and hot water siphoned from the hot tub.  Turns out chickens can get mites that attack their legs.  The idea is to get rid of the mites without causing trauma to the chickens.  Humans who aid in this process are on their own, no one gives a damn about their trauma, so quit whining. 

I was informed by farm girl that the right time to engage in leg mite therapy was at dusk.  I assumed it had something to do with vampires but was reminded chickens like to roost at night and might be less agitated if we performed leg therapy in the near dark.   That proved to be an astonishingly stupid idea as doing anything in the near dark only makes the vampires laugh harder. (I was 90 minutes away from Forks, could have happened).  Sadly, I missed another opportunity to swear at my friend because I was still trying to be helpful.

I will spare you the hour it took us to get ready because it was long and involved and I said some bad words and made inferences about my friends intelligence that were unfair and premature.  They weren’t inaccurate mind you; I just should have saved them for later.

But the time we were ready we had three stations. 

Station 1: Large tub filled with 6 inches of warm soapy water.  Chickens would be deposited in tub which was covered with a screen.  Chickens would spend 15 minutes in tub.  Their leg skin would get soft, mites would drown and chickens would feel cared for and astonished.

Station 2: Large tub filled with 6 inches of vinegar water.  Chicken would be dipped in tub and swished around in order to wash off soap and introduce legs to a mildly antiseptic environment. 

Station 3:  Chicken would be held, feet up in the air, while their legs were swiftly scrubbed with a toothbrush and a mixture of melted coconut oil, cayenne pepper and various essential oils would be rubbed on their legs in order to sooth their skin and further suffocate and season any remaining mites.

I want to pause here a moment so you can reflect on this set up.  Read it again.   This was the best plan we had. 

In a moment of self-discovery I met a personal boundary I never knew existed.  There was no way under heaven that I was going to massage the chickens legs with oil which meant farmer girl put on the rubber gloves and was in charge of station 3.  Once you start messing around with cayenne pepper, you don’t get to take rubber gloves on and off.  This meant I was in charge of station 1 and 2.  I recruited two children to be in charge of the screens so that chickens could enter and exit their spa treatments without drowning or escaping.  We were ready.

Full of enthusiasm, farmer girl went to the coop to get her first client.  She dropped a startled chicken in soapy water and headed back to the coop.  Turns out the spa bins could sit 4 chickens comfortably, if comfortably is a word you can use to describe aquatic chicken conditions.  The chickens did pretty well all things considered, until chicken number 4 was added.  This chicken did not like spas.  When she was placed in the water, she promptly started flapping and climbed onto her neighbors head.  That upset a just about everyone, including me, who got a pretty good wing in the face. 

After 15 minutes, things started to pick up, because we now had 2 stations on the go and the chickens, who started out alarmed, were now cross if not outright angry that their human overlords had completely lost their minds.  Farmer girl headed for station 3 to arrange chairs and the coconut, cayenne scrub while I fished a damp chicken from station 1. 

Chickens are pretty wiggly. They might not look it, but it took a fair amount of strength to get the reluctant hen in both hands.  I pulled her out of the soap and headed for station 2.  Taking the lid off the vinegar station resulted in a plume of vinegar steam hitting my nostrils and the beak of Ms. Bird.  Talking to the bird the entire time I assured her she had done a fabulous job and dipped her bottom end into the vinegar water and swished her in a figure 8.  Then I pulled her out and headed for the chairs on the deck where farmer girl threw a towel over my lap and I sat down with Ms. Bird.   Farmer girl grabbed a chicken foot, started scrubbing it with a tooth brush and after offending the chicken completely, massaged cayenne infused, orange scented coconut oil on every available surface. The colour of the coconut oil was outrageous as was the amount of oil that was being sprayed about as a damp, angry chicken decided to fight back.  Mission accomplished with chicken one, I grabbed her firmly, ran back to the coup, dumped damp mite free chicken and grabbed the next available bird and ran to station 1.

Throw new chicken in with three soggy soapy chickens in station 1 tub, take a soggy chicken out and run to station 2.  Dip soapy chicken in vinegar steam bath. Swish in a figure 8 for maximum antiseptic effect.  Pull soggy damp vinegar chicken out and head for the chairs at station 3.  Insane friend throws a filthy towel on me while I wrestle chicken into feet up position.  Friend accosts chicken with toothbrush and holistic, naturopathic, aromatic chicken treatment.  Friend speaks sweetly to irate chicken. Finish vexing chicken.  Everyone apologizes to everyone else and I head for the coop.

Twenty one times. 

Farmer girl has twenty one chickens and I don’t think I have every hated her more bless her sweet soul.  All this fun under the darkening evening sky, the soundtrack of dismayed, astonished and ticked off birds ringing in our ears: it was quite a night. It could only have been improved by the arrival of the vampires but between the vinegar and cayenne pepper I don’t think they liked the odds.

By the time we were finished everything hurt.  My stomach from laughing so hard, my eyes from vinegar steam, my dignity… nothing was left unscathed.  It got me to thinking about the lengths we go to care for those we love when they are in pain or unwell.

You might not have been plunged into soapy water and a vinegar rinse, but I’m certain you have experienced the roller coaster of emotions that accompanies the grief of a loved one or the pain caring brings.  When emotions are high, nothing seems easy.  Sometimes caring isn’t instinctive either: it is intentional, awkward and messy.  That doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong it just means that instead of love being hearts, swans and music, this time it’s feathers, chickens and squawking.

So I’m praying for bravery my friend.  That we will grip tight, plunge in and bring relief to those who in need; that you will be guided by caring and protect the worth of those who are hurting.

xoxKaren 

PS. Scientific name for chickens? Gallus gallus domesticus, how fabulous is that?  

PPS.  Twighlight? never saw it.  Total pop culture exploitation.