# Dizzy Lizzie - a story if you have the time!



## milkmaid (Sep 15, 2010)

A week and a half ago, I let the chickens out and fed them as usual. As usual, one of the dogs came up and started licking up some of the spilled chicken feed. I normally stop the dogs when they do this, but it's like pulling teeth to keep them away, so I didn't bother. He couldn't get much anyway.

A few minutes later, back at the house, I looked out and saw what looked like a dead chick on the ground beside him. I went out there and sure enough, he had killed a young pullet - apparently because it had gotten "in the way." He had made me mad by chewing on ducks before, but I had thought the chickens were safe. Now I was so mad I couldn't see straight. Crying, I gently picked up the chick. She was still alive, but wouldn't live long, I knew. I smacked the dog hard on the nose and told him he was bad. Automatically I cuddled the bird, trying to warm her against me - though I knew it would do no good. I could see no external injury, but she was unconscious and kept having spasms.

I knew I was going to have to kill it myself if it didn't die soon. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't think it felt any pain. Looking down at its little body, I suddenly sobbed out, "Oh God, why do these things happen? If only You would bring it back. If only You would!" I know it's silly to ask for something I can't have, but it just seems wrong that a chick should die because of my mistake.

I kept on carrying the bird around and crying and asking God why. Several minutes later, it was still alive - and there was something about its struggling that seemed almost aware.

It's strange, but when something is sick or hurt, no matter how little its monetary value is, there's something in me that has to try hard to save it if there is the smallest hope.

I immediately called my paramedic brother at work and sobbed the whole story to him. Calmly and reassuringly, like the good paramedic he is, he told me to keep the chick warm. He was on his way home anyway.

He works an hour or so away. "I wish you could look at it," I said. "How far out are you?" Just as I asked that, I heard someone coming up behind me. I turned, and there he was.

He looked the chick over. "Is there hope?" I asked, and he told me (but doubtfully), "It's worth a shot."

I wrapped the chick up in a woolen scarf and put it in a box inside the warm house. Then I went out and moved the chicken feeder so the dogs couldn't reach it anymore.

I dripped electrolyte water into the chick's beak, a few drops at a time. It was able to swallow, but choked on even that small amount. I let it cough and gave it more a little while later. But I knew it wasn't getting enough.

It opened its eyes briefly once or twice, and they were spinning, like the eyes of a very dizzy person. Also it persistently pushed itself to the left.

A hematoma (like a big blood blister) showed up on the right side of its head. My brother drained it; he wasn't able to get much, but he said even a little would help relieve the pressure. It probably had an ear injury - he doubted it was the brain.

"Will it recover?" I asked, and every time he answered, "It's worth a shot."

Because of the choking, he said we had better give it a stomach tube. So he took a straw and a flashlight, and did it in a few minutes. (To my knowledge, that was the first time he had ever given a chicken a gastric tube.) It worked. I was able to get more water into the chick. But I still couldn't give it too much at once, so all that day and at intervals through the night, I gave it water a little at a time. I also had trouble regulating its temperature. It would drop to 98, then I would wrap up the chick with warm water bottles, and it would shoot up to 106.

After a day it was swallowing so well that I took the tube out and started syringing a soup of chicken feed into its mouth. Painstakingly, day and night for five days, I did this. Soon the chick started peeping and opening its eyes for short periods of time. Still its eyes shot back and forth, and it pushed itself forcefully to the left - so hard that even when wrapped up tight in the wool scarf, it would sometimes turn itself upside-down. I lost count of the number of times I re-wrapped it, took its temperature, refilled hot water bottles, and held it near the woodstove.

When the hematoma on the right side went away, a bruise developed on the left side of its head.

Will it ever get better? I wondered. My dad was doubtful. But I had to keep trying. I slept on the couch, feeding and warming the chick through the night. It was growing skinny; it couldn't last much longer on such a meager diet, but it was the best I could do.

Slowly, the bruise went away. The chick was slightly better. It's eyes weren't spinning quite so fast, and its head wasn't hanging so far to the side. Still, if I didn't hold it firmly, it would frantically flap and tumble to the left.

But now, if I held its beak down near some mash, it would nibble a little on its own!

Thinking it seemed a little lonely, I brought another chick inside and set it in the box with Dizzy Lizzie. The other chick sat quietly most of the time, not even trying to jump out of the box. I unwrapped Dizzy Lizzie, and carefully leaned her against a rolled-up towel to keep her from tumbling.

From that moment, she grew better every day. I could hold her near soaked feed and she would peck at it. I stopped having to syringe her; she could eat on her own. At last she could stand up if she leaned hard against the side of the box. Soon she was running races around the box, leaning against the side the whole time.

Here she is now. She is with all the other chicks outside, eating and drinking on her own. She's still very wobbly on her feet, but she is happily running full speed around the cage (doing frequent faceplants, but all the time getting steadier), and hardly has to lean on the wall anymore.

So was all the work worth it?
Not in terms of money; maybe not even in terms of the general good of the world. But I say she was worth it. To me one small happy life is worth more than a storehouse of treasures, and I think Dizzy Lizzie is worth at least as much to God as she is to me.

Besides, after asking God to bring her back, how could I stop trying?


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## Used2bmimi (Oct 3, 2012)

Congratulations on saving her. I hope she makes you smile every day.


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## Scottyhorse (Feb 11, 2013)

Aw, how sweet is that. We have a hen living with us right now after breaking her leg (and who know what else) They may not be worth much, but I still gotta try!


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## sassy (Nov 29, 2013)

I couldn't wait to get to the end of the story!!! Glad she made it!


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## jackiesme (Oct 16, 2013)

God bless you. Nothing is to small to pray for. We don't know His will. No life is insignificant to Him


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## GoatieGranny (Jul 26, 2013)

What a beautiful story! Thank you for sharing that with us. God bless you, Milkmaid!


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## ksalvagno (Oct 6, 2009)

That is wonderful! I hope she makes a full recovery.


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## milkmaid (Sep 15, 2010)

Thanks everyone! I really think she will make a full recovery. She's much better now than she was even this morning.


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## Wlschwallenberg (Jan 4, 2013)

Amazing!!! I just lost a RIR hen to my Jack Russell the other day, so this was a VERY welcome happy story to read! Thanks for sharing and congratulations on saving her- you are awesome!


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## NyGoatMom (Jan 26, 2013)

Nice job!


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## littlegoatgirl (Jan 11, 2013)

That's fantastic, I truly love when those kind of things happen. Nice job :thumbup:


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## usamagoat (May 2, 2013)

Good Job!:thumbup:

I feel very proud that it was saved! VERY PROUD!!!:dance:


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## TDG-Farms (Jul 12, 2013)

Might not of been worth it in terms of money, but it terms of feeding your soul, it was priceless. Small acts of kindness lead to larger ones.


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## goatpoultryduckrabbit (Dec 27, 2013)

An amazing story!!!


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