Aussie Bronwyn and I stood outside the chicken coop. In one hand she held a long pole with a round net on the end, and in the other hand she held a jar of Vaseline.
Lavendar araucana: Natasha and Francoise
She was limping a little from a recent knee surgery, and I felt bad asking her to walk across the top paddock to our chickens.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she said, throwing back her shoulders. “Now, let’s get those chooks!” She smiled broadly, as though ready for a battle of epic proportions.
Little did I know what an epic battle it would eventually turn out to be.
Rick saw it first
Two weeks earlier Rick had noticed that something was wrong with one of our chickens. ‘Eww,’ he said, his voice full of his new-found aversion for the birds. “Look at that one’s legs. They’re gross.”
It was Natasha, one of our two Araucana.
Francoise, the other Araucana, was strutting around on legs that were smooth and black, but Natasha’s legs were bumpy, thick and yellow.
“That’s just how Natasha’s legs look,” I said, apparently forgetting for a moment that I know absolutely nothing about chickens.
Rick shook his head. “You should call Aussie Bronwyn. She’ll know if it’s okay.”
I refused. Nothing wrong with our chooks. No way.
Watching Natasha
Over the next week I began paying special attention to Natasha. She didn’t seem sick at all, but I had to admit that her legs did look weird. Was something growing on them? Was this normal for a chicken?
I won’t gross you out with pictures if you don’t want to see them, but if you’re curious, there’s a picture of the legs on both Araucana here – the one on the right is Natasha. And there’s a close-up of Natasha’s legs here.
Although I still wasn’t really worried enough to call Aussie Bronwyn, I decided to do some internet research just in case. After a couple different searches, I found a reference to ‘scaly leg mites’ complete with disgusting pictures here.
The chicken legs in those pictures, I had to admit, looked a bit like Natasha’s.
When I told Rick about it, he absolutely beamed.
“See, I told you,” he said. “I could sense that something was wrong. I’m a chicken whisperer.” Then he adopted some sort of bad Eastern European accent and added, “Do not underestimate my powers.”
With nothing but Google and a phoney chicken whisperer to turn to, I decided it was finally time to bring in the big guns. I picked up the phone and called Aussie Bronwyn.
Phone consultation
I’ve come to think of Aussie Bronwyn as something like a High Priestess in the Church of Chicken Wisdom. She wouldn’t let me down.
“In all my years,” she said, “I’ve not come across scaly leg mites. But I’m happy to come by and take a look. I might learn something.”
It was then that I began to feel that the gods were against me.
“So, your chickens have never had scaly leg mites?” I asked her.
“No. Never. I’ve never even seen it before.”
I was dumbfounded. There I was with my first flock of chickens ever, and I was having to deal with something that not even the neighborhood Poultry Priestess knew about. It hardly seemed fair.
I told her what I’d learned about scaly leg mites online. (Even the name is gross – just typing it creeps me out).
It’s a tiny parasite that gets under the scales in chicken legs. It causes the scales to become discoloured and bumpy, and it’s irritating and painful to the chicken.
If left untreated it can spread to the entire flock, and it can cause the host chickens to go lame. Once they’re lame they starve. It’s also difficult to get rid of once it enters a flock.
“Ah, yes,” Bronwyn said. “Aren’t you supposed to treat it with fat?”
I told her that the websites I’d read said you should cover the legs of the chickens with petroleum jelly. It suffocates the mites and they die.
“Of course you’ll have to catch them first,” she said.
“I’ve never done that before.”
“Oh, that’s easy.”
This was how I ended up in the preposterous situation of relying on my retired, limping neighbor to save my chickens from a microscopic parasite.
Enter the High Priestess
I opened the gate to the chicken run and put out my hand to help Aussie Bronwyn step over the corrugated metal, rat-proof threshold. She paused for a moment, using the pole on the net as a cane. I stepped in behind her. Rick stood outside and watched.
Wheelbarrow and the chook house
Immediately something spectacular happened. One moment Bronwyn was standing right next to me saying, ‘It’s that one, isn’t it?” and the next moment she was gone.
There was an incredible blur of flapping wings and loud squawks as frenzied chickens darted everywhere.
When the feathers settled, Bronwyn was squatting down on the far side of the chicken run, holding the net down over Natasha, her hand gently on the bird’s back. She didn’t seem to be pinning the chicken down so much as calming it through her touch. And she was whispering.
“There, there, girl. We’re not here to hurt you. It’s okay.”
She told me to hold Natasha over the wings as she slowly lifted the net. And suddenly there I was, holding a chicken in my hands.
If you’ve never held one, they’re unbelievably soft and fragile things — like fine china, but with claws.
Underneath Natasha’s feathers I could feel her tiny heart pounding furiously with fear.
I held on while Bronwyn greased the nasty, bumpy legs. Then she sprinkled flea and mite powder over the feathers. She stroked the bird, working the powder down to the skin. And we were done.
Or so I thought.
Catching the rest
When I set down Natasha, Bronwyn said “We’ll need to treat all of them to stop it spreading.”
I looked around. In the initial flurry of feathers the other four birds had all shot out the chicken run door, which I’d foolishly left open behind me. There were chickens running all over the top paddock.
We then proceeded to run around the top paddock after them. Bronwyn couldn’t run very fast, what with her limp and all. Rick and I are able bodied, but we proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that city boys don’t make very good chicken catchers. I couldn’t stop laughing long enough to catch anything.
Eventually Rick managed to swoop the net down over our rooster, Old Man Henry. This isn’t really much of an accomplishment, since Henry’s so decrepit. On several occasions I’ve seen the worms outrun him.
Bronwyn and I gave Henry the same grease and powder treatment that Natasha had.
By then the remaining three chickens were clearly thinking, “No way is that happening to me.” They were hiding in the wood pile.
Bronwyn said, “You might have an easier time of it if you get them back in the chicken penitentiary later this evening. You can catch them in there, with the door shut.”
Rick and I invited Bronwyn in for a cup of tea. We chatted together and looked at disgusting chicken leg pictures on the internet, and then Bronwyn limped off to her car and drove away.
The epic battle begins
Later that evening, with all the chickens back in the chicken run, I decided it was time to finish the job. Rick had been digging in the garden all day and was in the shower. He was going to make dinner.
It was just me out at the chicken run, and three sets of chicken legs that needed to be slathered with Vaseline.
I tried my best to capture those chickens with the same speed and efficiency Aussie Bronwyn had demonstrated, but they went flapping everywhere. I ran in circles after them, penned up inside the chicken run. Fortunately I’d remembered to close the door.
It took forever to catch just one. Finally I caught Ethel, one of the Light Sussex. I held her in one hand and greased her legs and powdered her with the other. It wasn’t easy.
I was already exhausted, but I still had two chooks to go.
Light Sussex: Henrietta
Next I went for Henrietta. She’s the only chicken that has ever trusted me enough to eat from my hand, and for that she’s become something of a favorite of mine. She’s also the dominant hen, and she’s by far the most aggressive.
She did not like a net coming down over her at all. She pushed her head against it and struggled vehemently. I tried to place a gentle hand down on her back, as Bronwyn had, but it was like trying to put your hand on the back of a squirming, angry octopus, with wings.
Finally I got her in my hands and held her to my chest.
She was bleeding.
The comb on top of her head had ripped against the net. Bright red spots of blood were dripping down onto the white feathers of her head. I felt absolutely awful, and cruel, and terribly, terribly inept.
I held her and said I was sorry. I tried to calm her. I don’t know how much pain she was in. She seemed stunned.
As gently as I could, I greased her legs and powdered her. All the while the blood dripped slowly, very slowly, down her head.
When I looked down I saw a drop of her blood on my boot.
I would never make it as a proper farmer. I was born with something like a sensitive gayboy artist heart, not the heart of a backwoodsman. I was not built for this. I become too attached, too quickly.
As I was finishing up with the powder on Henrietta, working it down into her feathers, she suddenly flapped her wings, struggled again, and got out of my hands. I let her go.
It looked like she would be okay.
But I still had one more chicken to go.
Aracauna eggs from Francoise
It was little Francoise. I like her too. She is our tiniest bird, the one who has been providing us with eggs (which have gone from pale green to a nice blue lately). It took a while to catch her. She is fast, and she kept running behind the others and getting tangled up with them.
When I had her in the net, I got my hands around her and lifted her up, and she let out the most horrible cry I’ve ever heard a chicken make. It sounded like she had lost a leg.
There was a small drop of blood on her beak.
Had I hurt her too? Had I broken her beak? Was I really that bad at this?
I have always considered myself a Vegetarian Sympathizer. This could push me over the edge.
Her beak seemed fine, except for that drop of blood. I greased her legs and powdered her. The blood on her beak didn’t drip, didn’t flow. I think it must have come from Henrietta, when Francoise was hiding behind her.
Finally I set Francoise down too. I stepped out of the chicken run and watched them all for a long time. Henrietta still had fresh blood on her head, but she was walking around and very alert. They all seemed okay.
I cleaned out their bedding, sprinkled the chook house with flea and mite powder, and put in new hay. We can’t eat the eggs for a couple days after spreading the powder.
Since that day, my online diagnosis has been confirmed by several people.
But it isn’t finished. I have to do the Vaseline treatment weekly for an entire month. I’m dreading the next round. But I’ll make sure I have Rick’s help then.
Nighttime check
Tree branches at dusk
Before I went to bed that night I went back out and checked on all the chooks, but especially Henrietta.
The blood on her head was dry, and she was up on her top perch ready for sleep. I left some poultry wheat on the ledge near her, which I used to do when she was little.
She looked afraid as I approached.
I don’t think she’ll ever eat out of my hand again.
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Read the scaly leg mite updates.
Read other posts about chickens.
Or read the next post: What the river taught me
Oh dear. Your poor chooks. And poor you, too. So why did I laugh so much? I’m sure you won’t have to feed Hetty treats too long before she’s completely over the trauma, in fact I imagine you could have her eating out of your hand again in no time. They don’t have big brains; those they possess can’t hold too many ideas at one time. Those eggs Francoise lays are almost too beautiful to eat, btw. Another lovely post. Thank you.
I was killing myself by the time we got to ‘phoney chicken whisperer’.
but dont worry – they will forgive you. A way to a chicken’s heart is via the food bowl.
Those blue eggs are lovely colour. mine cream legbars eggs have faded and are almost white now.
I hope you dont get put off hen keeping. once you have this problem sorted, you are unlikely to get it again, unless you introduce new stock
What’s the attention span of a chicken? For goldfish, every 30 seconds is a brand new world. Are chickens much higher on the evolutionary ladder?
Reading your posts are like reading the script of a PBS series. You’ll be a pro with the chickens before the month is through. Next thing you know, you’ll be elbow deep in sheep sphincters. Heaven forbid.
I hope Henrietta will eat out of your hand again. That sounds cool.
Chickens are a sort of vegetable with legs. They will get over it before you.
BTW- I suggest you never get pigs- a MUCH bigger learning curve than chooks!
I hope this sorts out the mite problem for you…… I have to say I did have a wee chuckle.
Happy Independence Day to you both. I hope you celebrated today since it was such a lovely day weather wise, tomorrow…… more rain :(
I’m not very good at reading long posts, but you write so very well. Hope the High Priestess of the Church of Chicken Wisdom’s knee gets better very soon and, of course, that this treatment works on your chickens. Great post. Great story. Great characters.
What a story….I too question if I could ever be a “proper” farmer who raises animals to eat!
Good news: just one week later and Henrietta ate from my hand again. So either chickens are remarkably forgiving, or remarkably dumb.
Oswald – Lately Rick says he wants a ‘pet pig’ so we could be in for some trouble…
Casalba – the High Priestess is on the mend!
You did a great job of narrating your not-so-fun chore. I also went through this with my hens after I introduced a new chicken into the flock from a friend of mine. Before that I had never heard of them or had to deal with it either. I did manage to cure her but have had others since to come down with the little bugs.
Ewwww, yeah, scaly leg mites are gross! What about rubbing the vaseline into their bumpy little legs and knowing you’re massaging all those mites around lol!! Any idea if the scales come off eventually? I need to do mine again I think, it’s been a few weeks and they are still bumpy (one chickens legs have lost the grey look to them though).
Glad to hear that henrietta is doing well. That comment you left was ever so sweet. Thank you. BTW how is the olive oil lake? As far as I could see you haven’t mentioned it since the night you brought it home (like two proud parents? – is it sitting up and talking yet?)
The olive oil is great. It’s in its settling period. You have to let the solids settle for at least 6 weeks before you bottle it. So we’re waiting.
And if it starts sitting up and talking to us, then we’re in real trouble!
How sad. I know that would be pretty upsetting to me to feel like I might have been responsible for hurting an animal. Especially one I had developed a bond with. I hope Henrietta will get better and forget about it and trust you as much as ever.
Henrietta’s doing well, thanks Riggledo. She bounced back quickly. I, however, am taking a bit longer!
Thanks for posting this. I am a first time chicken owner myself. It’s easy to get overly vigorous when trying to catch those guys, especially when you’re in a hurry. I’ve found that’s it’s easiest to catch them with tomatos or watermelon. They will all come and try to literally snatch it out of your hand after they’ve had it a time or two. If you have their roosts up high, perhaps you can move them down to a more accessible level for times like these. They get disoriented when it’s dark and a lot easier to catch when they’ve turned in for the night. Just remember, despite mishaps, they’re much happier with you, than on a factory farm in a battery cage.
Oops! this is an old blog. Looks like I’m preachin to the choir since by now you probably already know all this…I should ask you for advice.
Oh no – I’m still learning and am always happy for a bit of advice. Lately we only catch them at night when they’re in bed. I’ll try the tomato or watermelon trick!
I stumbled upon your blog because one or two of my chickens seem to be having the early signs of scaly mites on their legs, so I was looking for remedies. Looks like I will be doing what you had to do today, slathering vaseline and dusting powder. Let me know if you find any preventative measures for scaly mites. What other types of animals are you raising?
Chickens are it for now, although Rick has his heart set on getting a pet pig. We lease paddocks to a stock agent who runs cattle and sheep, but don’t have to care for those animals ourselves.
For great practical tips on all things rural, check out ‘Colour it Green‘. She’s wise one!
Wow, I have been having trouble with my chickens having scaly legs for some time. Being so busy, I didn’t take the time to figure out what was wrong till recently. Your article has really helped. I thought I was the only dummy, haha that had too much compassion for my silly chickens. I was told to dip their legs in motor oil but first try to pick off some of the scales. Trying to catch them and listening to them squeal while they fight me frantically is almost unbearable. haha I will try the vaseline treatment. I was wondering tho about them running around in the dirt afterward with all that vaseline on their legs. Did you just let yours run free after?
Oh no, you’re not the only overly compassionate dummy!
Here are some words of wisdom I’ve been told…
Liquid paraffin is also good because the oil gets into all the cracks and crevices.
On Twitter @llanover told me “To treat, soak the bird’s legs in an oil or cream to suffocate the mites.Treat every 3 to 4 days for 2 weeks. The old scales will then fall off over time and be replaced with new scales. Vet has a spray as well.”
We let our chickens run free after and the dirt doesn’t seem to be a problem. As long as the vaseline or oil is thick and suffocating the mites, it seems OK.
We had a terrible time with Natasha and I’m very sorry to say she’s no longer with us. Read about it here.