The Big Chicken

By Tammy A. Parker, DVM

Tammy A. Parker, DVM is a 1993 graduate of the University of Georgia College of Veterinary Medicine. Currently employed at Loving Hands Animal Clinic in Alpharetta, Georgia (a suburb of Atlanta), Dr. Parker is responsible for exotic animal medicine and surgery. She acts as an advisor for the Georgia Department of Agriculture and volunteers her skills at the Chattahoochee Nature Center Wildlife Clinic. She is an active member of the Association of Avian Veterinarians.

There were the chickens, doing what chickens do, picking at morsels on the ground with a cluck, cluck here and a cluck, cluck there. And then, there was the majesty of a blue and gold macaw in full flight, dipping and lifting on the unseen air currents above the chickens. A loud cluck, cluck, that could be heard a mile or more, emitted from his beak. O.K. Stop. Maybe the Big Chicken, a local landmark when giving directions was what he meant. Blinking, I decided to forego this surreal image’s path and back up on the history I was trying to get about the blue and gold macaw in my exam room.

“Sorry to stop you, but did I hear correctly?” The man started over, directing his story to my technician, Scott, who was examining something on the ceiling I noted irritably.

“So, Rocky here was outside the last couple of days. It was nice you know.” It had been nice. It was early summer in Atlanta and I had just tackled the world as a new veterinarian. “Anyway, I noticed tonight when I got home from work that Rocky still wasn’t using his left leg. He was perched down on the low branches of my wife’s bushes with my chickens.”

The leg would have to wait a minute. I wanted to be absolutely sure where the chickens were coming into the story. “Your chickens?”

“Yes,” he answered. “They’re Plymouth Rocks. Rocky just loves them. He even clucks like the hens and crows like the rooster. He stays outdoors with them when it’s nice. My wife isn’t too keen about that rooster noise he makes.”

“O.K., back to the leg. So when did you see Rocky use his leg last?”

“Oh, about two or three days ago.” That long, huh, I thought.

“Has he put any weight on the leg that you’ve seen?”

“No,” he nodded slowly trying to remember. “Don’t believe he has.”

“Hmm,” seemed to be the best sound to make. I was still reeling a little from the knowledge that Rocky routinely fraternized with Plymouth Rocks.

I am not easily shocked. But why people do certain things is sometimes just a little past my grasp. The part of me that still remembered my one summer as a quality control inspector cringed with thoughts of a parrot and parrot diseases around chickens. My boss then had firmly cautioned me never to let on that I knew any, or even liked, parrots to the people at my plant. The parrot lover in me cringed that Rocky was reduced to being one of the flock.

My technician, Scott, who was new to my clinic, but had several years of prior experience in California, wore his slightly bored “I’ve heard this all before look,” as we gathered Rocky up as gently as possible. Poor Rocky looked very worn out.

Rocky could not use the left leg at all. Starting with his head and working down, I completed his physical exam down to the injured leg. The toes were somewhat limp, but he could feel the pinch I gave them. As my fingers moved up the leg, I could feel a very large swollen femur. Moving the feathers back revealed the blue, black, and green cast of a severe bruise.

“I’m pretty sure Rocky has a broken leg,” I explained. “We need to take radiographs to figure out exactly where and how many pieces so I can see how to fix it.” The owner nodded and sat down to wait.

Luckily for Rocky, the femur was broken midshaft in a very clean, simple fashion. I discussed pinning the leg with the owner and gave an estimate. He hesitated for just a brief moment before giving permission for the surgery the next day.

I had worked the evening shift when seeing Rocky the day before. I was off the next day until six p.m., but did not want to wait to do the surgery that late in the day. I called my colleague working the day shift and asked if she could do anesthesia for me on her lunch hour so we could get Rocky done earlier.

“I’ll make it up with a great supper,” I bribed.

“Sure,” she responded.

When a fracture occurs, immediately after, muscle and tendons, no longer stretched into their positions, start to contract. This was the problem I was having trying to get a pin in Rocky’s leg, with a fracture at least two to three (maybe more) days old. I had been working intently for a few minutes when I heard my anesthesiologist let out a sigh.

“Is everything O.K.?” I asked.

“Rocky was just getting lazy with his breathing,” she said nonchalantly. “He’s fine and doing it himself,” she added, quickly responding to the frown I was giving her.

Rocky did more than just fine. He was sore, I am sure, after surgery, but within the hour, was resting some weight on the reinforced leg. I called the owner and spoke with his wife. I tried to impress upon her that time outside, unsupervised, with the chickens, probably was not in Rocky’s best interest. “I’ll try to tell him,” she promised.

Rocky’s leg healed beautifully once in alignment and we removed the pin four weeks later. Rocky’s dad was pleased, but did not look convinced that time outside with the Plymouth Rocks was not a good idea. “Why that’s where he gets his name!” the owner declared.

I moved from that clinic at the end of a year and lost contact with Rocky. I always wonder though, when I see chickens now, if Rocky is still head rooster of his flock.

©2002 Tammy A. Parker, DVM