Chick Drama

We decided to raise chickens about a year and a half ago. All I knew for the last 18 months is that I loved them.  I loved them without thinking about why.  We had three chickens and they were the perfect flock.  Lucy, Shirley and LaVerne.  Two months ago, a fox ate two of our chickens.  The fox started a series of events that forces me to fox hate on a daily basis.
I will spare you many details, but the fox is responsible for lost bank cards, car troubles, much expense and much heartache. 
The fox left us with one chicken. We built the Fort Knox of chicken coops and rebuilt our flock.  The coop was larger and allowed us to have more chickens. Long, very long ,story short we got five new chickens.  We had a new coop.  We had new chickens.  I was happy.  No questions asked.
Several days later, the chickens  were wheezing, had goopy eyes and were in a general state of funkiness.  I was sad.  I loaded all six chickens into my seven passenger minivan (worked out great) and took them to the vet.  We arrive at the vet and I am basically accused of chicken abuse.  After explaining that most of the chickens had only been with me for days, the vet worked with me in getting them well.  Apparently, some of the chickens I had just bought were very sick and malnourished.  The vet told me I had violated the cardinal rule (who knew) of chicken raising and did not quarantine the new birds from the old bird for 21 days.  As a result, the flock was infected with upper respiratory infections, eye infections and lice/mites.  Oh, and the new ones were all underweight.
At the vet, they weighed each chicken. I do not know if anyone has ever tried to weigh a chicken that is not frozen, skinless and ready to cook, but  it is not an easy feat to get a chicken to stand on a scale. Weighing chickens is even harder in a crowded vet with barking dogs.  We finally got the first one weighed after running after the chicken several times.  The tech and I just looked at one another as we realized we had five more to weigh. 
LaVerne is my sole survivor of the fox attacks.  She had lost weight as a result of stress.  She also lost about 1/3 of her feathers.  Add in the mites, wheezing and runny eyes of all the chickens and my new flock looked like a hot mess. 
I had a pathetic chicken flock and I was their leader.  I left the vet with instructions to give them eye drops three times a day, medicate their water and give antibiotics twice a day.  Giving chicken eye drops makes the whole weighing event look like a walk in the park. 
Two weeks  and two vet visits later, five of my chickens are healthy, nourished and laying eggs again.  LaVerne was the sickest as a result of the fox stress, illness and changes.  She was hospitalized for two nights, given breathing treatments and fed through an IV.  Yes, you read that correctly.
I was allowed to put LaVerne back in the coop yesterday.  She is doing well.  She is still underweight and on meds but the vet is fairly certain she will be off meds and doing even better by Christmas.
I care about animals but I have never been as absurd about them as I was with my chickens.  Between the coop and vet bills we could have adopted another child.  Every time I went to the vet, I would speak softly,  telling the tech I was there with my chickens, so others would not overhear.
I have felt a little ridiculous about the investment I have made with these chickens.  I have asked myself why have I put so much time, energy and money into my chicks. People often ask why we have chickens and I have simply replied that we love them.  That is true.  I discovered more truths as I trekked back and forth to the coop twice a day to administer chicken chemo.
I love chickens have to be in a flock in order to survive. A chicken, by itself,  does not know how to function and becomes retarded.  The flock mentality totally supports my extroverted personality.  I am a herd animal.  I have to have a village/flock/herd in order to know how to function. I too become retarded without my herd of  people telling me how to be appropriate.  I do not do well alone. I tell my friends that their job is to keep me socially appropriate. Friends don't let friends become retarded.
Outside of relating to the whole flock theory, I love seeing the kids run around in the yard with the chickens.  The chickens allow me to pretend I am on a farm in the middle of my suburban neighborhood.  I appreciate the eggs they lay.  They are little gifts they give daily.  I am hoping they start laying platinum eggs to assist in their medical bills, but until then I accept the food variety.  I love their noises.  Their cackling and cooing is very soothing, much like running water.  I love it is a commonality for our African children. I have spent a lot of time in their coop to watch and make sure they eat, drink and are doing all their chicken things.  I could easily spend an hour watching them scratch and peck. 
I realized that I have never been able to meditate or quiet my mind enough to relax. The chickens allow me to get caught up in their rhythmic head bobbing and scratching and sometimes I forget about work and stress.  The answer I received when I asked myself why I had become a crazy chicken women is, that despite all their complexities, I love the simplicity the chickens bring to our lives.  I still don't know why they cross the road though.