Honey is the heart of my passion project—this website, my flock, and everything I do for my birds is because of him. He’s the first of my beloved “OG-15” chicks that I’ll be featuring here, and his story is the reason I do what I do.
When the OG-15 were about four weeks old, I noticed one of my little buff chicks—who I would later name Honey—holding his head upside down. One day he was perfectly fine. The next, he couldn’t walk forward, couldn’t hold his head upright, couldn’t eat or drink, and was clearly distressed. I had no idea what was wrong. So, like any frantic chicken mama, I dove into the internet for answers.
That’s when I learned about wry neck, a condition caused by either a vitamin deficiency or a head injury. Silkies and other vaulted-skull breeds are especially prone to it. I separated him from the flock and placed him in a plastic tote with a heating pad and a soft towel. I began hand-feeding and watering him, gently supporting his tiny body and head.
At first, he was afraid of my hand. He was friendly, but not especially tame—we were raising 15 chicks at once, after all. But within a few days, he realized I was trying to help. He began to let me hold him while he ate and drank.
But things got worse before they got better. He started losing weight, and the wry neck became more severe. I was terrified I was going to lose him.
I added Poultry Cell to his water and began supplementing his food with Vitamin B Complex and Vitamin E, but his condition kept declining. That’s when I read about using an eyedropper or syringe to give the vitamin mix directly by mouth. Thanks to my past experience syringe-feeding baby parrots, I felt confident I could do it safely. So I did—and slowly, Honey began to improve.
How Honey Got His Name
After nearly two weeks of round-the-clock care—adding vitamins to his food and water, hand-feeding him multiple times a day, and carrying him with me everywhere—I noticed a change. Not just in his health, but in his attitude. He was sassier, stronger, and suddenly not so eager to take his vitamins by syringe anymore.
One evening, as I tried to give him his dose, he pushed away with both feet just as I pressed the plunger. The liquid went too quickly down the wrong pipe, and he aspirated. He immediately went limp in my hands, struggling to breathe, eyes fluttering closed. Panic set in.
I held him tightly to my chest and started begging him:
“Please breathe, honey. Please breathe!”
Nothing was working. His body went still. I thought I had lost him.
Tears streamed down my face and soaked his tiny feathers. I rocked back and forth, holding him under my chin, sobbing. I kept repeating,
“Please don’t die, honey! I love you so much. You can’t die.”
And then—a miracle.
He coughed. Then again. He started to breathe, weak but alive. I pulled him away from my chest, and he looked up at me with his soft, sweet brown eyes.
Relief washed over me in waves.
That night, after watching him obsessively for an hour, I finally laid him in his tote beside my bed. I kissed his fluffy head and whispered,
“Thank you for not leaving me. I really love you, sweet Honey.”
That’s the moment I named him: Honey.
A New Beginning
The next morning, I woke with a start. The tote was silent. My heart sank. I lifted the towel slowly, terrified.
But there he was.
Looking up at me. Cheeping. Alive.
As if to say,
“Hi Mom. I didn’t die. You asked me not to, so I didn’t.”
I picked him up, snuggled him under my chin, and kissed him over and over. From then on, I stopped giving him liquid vitamins by mouth. I increased the nutrients in his food and water and made sure he was eating regularly. He still wheezed when he breathed, but he was growing stronger each day.
His siblings were nearly double his size, and the feathers on top of his head were rubbed off from dragging it on the floor (the wry neck caused him to hold his head upside down and look up at the sky). But week after week, he got stronger. He learned to hold his head upright, first for a few seconds, then for longer. Eventually, Honey could walk, stand, and act like a normal chicken.
Life with Honey Today
Honey has been my shadow ever since. He follows me around the house, sits in my lap while I work or watch TV, and sleeps in my bed. His crest feathers on his head grew back, his personality blossomed, and he thrives in his own unique way.
He still wheezes if he gets overheated, excited, or overexerted—kind of like asthma—so I’m very careful with him. On good weather days, he spends time outside with the rest of the Silkies. But most of the time, he’s indoors, hanging out on my TV stand watching Dr Phil, wearing a diaper, and roaming the house like a little feathered prince.
He rides in the car with me, wears a harness & leash when away from home, and joins us for family holidays and trips to Tractor Supply. Honey isn’t just a pet—
He’s part of the family.
He’s my soul-animal.
And I love him with all my heart.
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