Well, that was a fright

Randy the rooster gives me a scare, and we step up Gretel and Wren's care plans

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Hello friends,

Oh my goodness, I’ve just had the scariest time. I heard the roosters kicking up a racket and rushed straight out. The noise on its own isn’t unusual. Roosters are world-class tattle tales and nosey neighbours, forever sounding the alarm, and often it’s nothing more dramatic than some crows trying to sneak off with some eggs. But I always rush out, because occasionally something is wrong.

I scanned the field. No signs of danger.

Then I spotted Randy, our little white rooster, having a chat with Quinn through the fence. Randy is one of the eight boys dumped at a scenic spot. You may remember director Isy and I found the boys back in October last year when we were trying to have a relaxing swim and some time out (no such luck).

As I watched Randy just now, he spluttered, coughed, and then let out an almighty honk, his neck twisting with the effort, as though something was stuck.

I scooped him up and noticed the horrible smell. Sour crop. But his crop wasn’t squishy, and when I opened his beak nothing looked wrong beyond a small coughed-up piece of grass. David held him while I checked his throat again with a torch. Nothing.

I settled Randy in a carrier with a little water, and over the next fifteen minutes the coughing got worse, bad enough that I was frantically googling emergency vets. Which is a real problem here, because there are no emergency vets within a couple of hours drive.

As the honking ramped up and I began to feel a little panicked, David had a brainwave, and suggested using the crop-feeding tube to dislodge whatever was stuck. So while David held Randy, I carefully lowered the tube down into his crop.

I drew it out, Randy coughed once more, and then he took a breath. A normal breath, thank goodness. What a relief that the emergency was over!

The problem, however, is not over. The honking has stopped but the smell hasn’t, and I worry there’s a ball of grass or some other impaction blocking his crop. Of course today is a public holiday and the vets are shut, so I’ll be on the phone first thing tomorrow begging for a spot. They’ve warned me they’re booked solid this week, so fingers crossed for our boy.

Handsome Randy, after the emergency, colour back in his comb

If you’ve noticed the newsletters and posts drying up lately, you probably won’t be surprised that I’m just barely keeping up.

The animal care routine is under control (just), but everything else is pulling me in fifteen directions at once, and now and then the overwhelm gets the better of me.

Our lovely Dr Courtney, who treats all our feathered family, has gone off to travel the world. She’s not an avian vet, but she takes the time to learn and research, and she’s so kind to the birds, so we had to try and cram in every recheck and procedure before she left. Nine appointments and procedures in five days. Eek.

At least the sun has been out lately. That makes everyone happier, especially those recovering from illness.

Annie enjoying a sunny mud bath

Plenty of the animals adore the winter sun. The pigs especially. They’re blissfully stretched out in the field, no sunburn, no overheating to worry about.

It makes me think of Sharron, one of our directors, who was by my side when I founded the hen rescue back in 2010. She has always loved the winter sun. Maybe she’s a pig at heart? That might be the biggest compliment I could give.

Bunny burrito

The other morning Max the bunny hopped up to me on the bed. His ears were so cold to the touch. I burritoed him up in a blanket and fully expected him to wriggle away, but he stayed happily wrapped against me for a good half hour before I finally had to get up and face the day.

This winter sun is a huge comfort for one of our girls in particular. You know our lovely old lady ex-battery hen, Gretel? She’s now been diagnosed with heart disease.

So our mission, more than ever, is to make every one of her days a happy one, and the sun is a big part of that. After all the heavy rain that kept her cooped up inside, she absolutely flourishes in the sunshine.

Gretel with teenagers Marigold and Sage: “Don’t you dare take any of my egg”

Gretel has a hens-only netted enclosure now, so she needn’t worry about any bolshy roosters, and we’ve halved it with a puppy pen so she can still see the other girls; Amelie with her sore legs, and Kel, who is firmly off boys at the moment. Our three teenage hens, Sage, Plum and Marigold, were also meant to be on that side, but they were having absolutely none of it. Hopping back and forth over the pen is apparently the best game going.

It seems their youthful energy does Gretel good. She enjoys their company right up until one of them pinches a treat she had her eye on, and then she tells the young whippersnappers off.

Gretel’s care routine is quite the production now. She’s crop fed with her usual Avian Crittacare mix plus probiotics, turmeric and black pepper, mashed banana and ground flax.

I rub coconut oil into her legs, where the circulation is poor and the scales have started to flake. There’s a cream for her dried out comb, eye drops, and her heart meds, then some unsalted corn and torn greens on top to peck at.

Every night and morning we reheat her snuggle safe heat pad so she can even choose to sit on it when she’s outside if she likes.

Gretel on her warm snugglesafe

We take each day as it comes, because any one of them could be her last. It’s not just the heart disease but all the secondary troubles that pile on when an old body is struggling.

Please wish plenty of sunshine for our Gretel.

Gretel isn’t the only one on an extensive care plan. Our beautiful baby Wren isn’t a baby anymore. You may remember he’s a meat-industry survivor, and the cuddliest baby rooster I ever did know.

That is part of what hurts now, because as a big adult boy he isn’t really comfortable being cuddled. He’s still our loving Wren, but he’s at war with his own breeding. His hormones are raging and so is his appetite. Sometimes he comes over and pecks us really hard on the leg or toes, and then looks mortified. He can’t help it.

Sweet Wren still loves a stroke on the wattle

I feel sad and angry in equal measure. Wren’s bottomless hunger is a reminder of the cruelty of the meat industry. Have you ever been on a diet? That gnawing ache you can’t stop thinking about, not for a single moment? That’s how he feels, all the time.

He actually seems to have a bigger appetite than any other cornish cross breed that we’ve rescued from the meat industry. Could they be breeding them to have even bigger appetites? Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.

So we walk a tightrope of restricting his food enough to protect his longevity and mobility, but not so much that he’s driven mad with hunger.

He’s on a pullet grower mash. ‘Grower’ is misleading, but it’s lower in protein than some while still high enough to maintain that big body, and crucially it’s low in the calcium that would wreck his kidneys down the line. I weigh out his day’s food each morning, then soak each portion as I go which roughly doubles the size and helps with another problem: inhaling food.

Wren is so food-focused he’ll gulp it down fast enough to send some down his airway, and soaking makes that less likely. I’ve even popped large pebbles in his water bowl to stop him gulping that too.

He has his own enclosure beside the girls now. He’s simply too big, and if he mounted one of them he could do real damage. He still comes inside with us at night though, but we do not eat in front of him because that seems to trigger his hunger badly.

I’ve been busy in the kitchen lately feeling like a vegan witch with my herbs and potions, making an enormous mess. Wren’s Blend is a treat bite I’m working on to help with his breeding troubles, aimed at supporting his mobility, weight, heart and mood. I’m introducing one ingredient at a time to be sure each agrees with him.

I’m also working on a Gentleman’s Blend for any teenage rooster who decides to take his hormonal frustrations out on me (Koda I’m talking to you Mr Pecks a Lot!)

Koda thinking about whether he can be bothered to hop off the perch to peck me

Also in Catherine’s kitchen, I’ve been mixing up my attempt at a herbal rat contraceptive. Coconut oil, peanut butter and a little vanilla disguise the herbal taste and make it palatable for them. I can’t promise it works yet, but it passes the palatability test, because they’re certainly eating it and will be handy for humane trapping and releasing too.

Someone pass me my cauldron

Tiny Sanctuary Workshop in Melbourne! Yaaay!

Isy and I have started work on our Melbourne Tiny Sanctuary, Big Impact workshop, and we have a date and a venue!

Saturday 19th September 2026, 10am - 4pm, at the Community Hub at The Docks.

That’s about all the detail I have for now, but here’s the exciting part, as well as Isy and me being our usual fabulous selves, Nicole from Rosie’s Hospice of Compassion will be presenting in person and answering all our burning questions. If you’ve been to one of our workshops you’ll know we never shut up about her wonderful work, so imagine getting to see her for yourself.

More info, and tickets, coming soon.

I had been fretting about leaving David with all the animals, given how intense the care is right now, but I’ve arranged to pay someone to help for a few days, so I’m free to go and present (and eat lots of vegan food).

Unfortunately it hasn’t been all happy times.

In the last couple of weeks our sweet ex-parent-farm girl Janice passed away from reproductive cancer, our beautiful ex-battery hen named Diane passed from egg-related illness and our darling old bantam lady Thelma had a stroke and passed away shortly after I had rushed her inside.

All the girls were happy here at the hen haven and Thelma did enjoy a long life, but Janice and Diane should have had so much longer.

Sometimes we go months and months with no deaths and other times three come in a couple of weeks.

With all the vet bills, new enclosures for the roosters who are growing up and needing more space, and ongoing medications, money is scarily tight here right now. The costs add up faster than the donations come in. If only we could care for these animals on love alone.

If you’re in a position to help, now is a really good moment. With the end of the financial year less than a month away, you'll be able to claim it back soon. A small one-off gift, a few dollars a month, or becoming a paid subscriber on substack makes a real difference.

You can donate here: https://henrescue.org/donate

or to the following bank account:

Bank: Westpac

Account name: NSW Hen Rescue

Account number: 520192

BSB: 032-289

Or simply tap below to become a paid subscriber.

And on that note, Izzy (Yes we have both Isy and Izzy on the team) and I will be heads-down sorting tax receipts for all our wonderful hen heroes. If you need yours in a hurry, just let me know, otherwise we’ll get them all out as soon as we can.

I hope you’re having a wonderful week and as always if you have supported lately a huge, giant thank you.

Love, Catherine x