When we love something, like writing, or somebody, be it a friend, partner, or pet, we persevere through good times and bad. Quitting is not an option.

Last week, as I mentioned in my previous post, I moved my six adult chickens from Massachusetts, where I had a coop at a friend’s house, to my yard in New Hampshire. During the hour-plus drive, one of my chickens — Biffy, an unfortunate pet name that stuck — was accidentally smothered by two of her sisters. When I lifted her from the crate, I thought for sure she was dead. Though she bounced back, they’d injured her crop.

For those unfamiliar with bird anatomy, the crop is above the right-side of the breast. Food and water travel down the throat to the crop where it’s processed before dumping into the stomach.

About 24-36 hours later, I noticed Biffy seemed off. She sat alone in the coop while the others enjoyed the yard. She wasn’t eating and felt cold to the touch.

Uh-oh, is she dying?

I researched everything from accidental smothering to her cold body temperature. An impacted crop seemed to be the general consensus. When I felt her crop, it felt like a golf ball. Not good. In fact, it’s often a death sentence. I refused to except that, so I learned how to perform crop massages to break up the food that had hardened into a mass.

Several times a day, I marched outside to massage her. And soon, she recovered. But because her body had gone into shock from the move (hence, the cold body temp), she then became egg-bound. Another death sentence diagnosis.

Everyone told me she would die. Some suggested to mercy kill her, that it’s the kind thing to do. No, dammit, I’m a writer. I don’t quit. And I’m certainly not giving up on her.

So, I set up a hospital coop in my house. Again, I knew nothing about how to help her, but I researched everything I could find.

• Epson salt baths to relax her stomach muscles.
• A crushed Tums to give her the calcium she lost by not eating.
• Olive oil on her vent or cloaca, where eggs come out.
• Honey water to give her an energy boost.
• Greek yogurt mixed with chick food to create an oatmeal-like mush.
• Lots of love, patience, and understanding.

For four straight days, I did all the above several times per day. Still hadn’t laid the egg but it had moved into laying position. When I didn’t find an egg the following day, I crawled inside her hospital coop and stared deep into her eyes. “Tell me what to do, Biffy.”

And somehow, I knew she missed her flock.

Carrying her out to her regular coop was one of the hardest things I did. An injured chicken could get stomped to death. Survival of the fittest, and all that.

When I checked on her later that day, I found her hiding behind a straw bale, though her flock wasn’t harming her. I’d sneak in to administer the same treatment, except the baths. If the others caught me, they might retaliate against her for getting all of Mom’s attention. In between rounds, I ensured everyone felt special, but I still feared the worst.

Another three grueling days past. The egg moved even closer to her vent — so close yet so far!

Most chickens would have died a week ago. Not Biffy. She has the heart of a lion and the endurance of a cheetah. On day 8 or 9 (I lost track), I walked around the corner to the coop — Biffy was in the yard with her flock! Behind the bale of straw, I found two eggs. Not only did she pass the stuck egg but laid another.

Two weeks after she was almost smothered to death in that crate, she’s egging every day, eating, drinking, playing, roosting at night with the others, and has re-earned her #2 spot in the flock hierarchy.

What can writers learn from this?

• Keen observation
• The necessity of isolation for growth
• Pacing

The Power of Micro-Observation

Chickens are prey animals. They instinctively mask their illnesses until they are critically ill. Chicken moms and dads learn to look for subtle cues: a drooping wing, a change in posture, or a loss of appetite.

Writer Lesson: Think of it as building subtext and writing characters whose internal pain is revealed through micro-actions rather than exposition.

The Importance of Quarantine

The first priority with a sick chicken is to remove her from the flock to prevent her from being pecked or stomped to death.

Writer Lesson: We can draw a parallel to our own creative process… we must detach from friends, family, and online activities to write. With an early draft or a deeply personable project, step away from the noise of critiques to give it the critical distance needed to develop it later through clearer eyes.

Prioritize the Essentials

When nursing a sick bird, basic hydration and warmth take precedence over complex medical interventions.

Writer Lesson: This mirrors the process of editing… strip away the clutter, focus on foundational structure, and ensure the core narrative works before worrying about elaborate prose.

Patience and Managing Expectations

Reviving a sick bird requires time, hourly monitoring, and the harsh realization that not every story has a happy ending.

Writer Lesson: Learn the delicate balance between fighting with a difficult draft and knowing when a concept must be shelved.

Today (written last Friday), I’m moving my 11 chicks outside to their junior coop. By the time this posts, I’ll finally have my house back. Though I love them dearly, it’s time. Yeehaw!

What other lessons can writers learn from my and Biffy’s story?