Barnaby was a Buff Orpington rooster with a personality as grand as a Victorian tenor. Today, however, his comb was pale, and he was tucking his head under a wing with a weary, rhythmic clicking in his chest.

Aris reached for the Guide . While most "serious" vets in the county focused on prize-winning stallions or high-yield dairy herds, Aris had carved a niche for the backyard keepers. He flipped to the section on .

The bell above the door jingled, and in walked Mrs. Higgins, cradling a bundle of blankets. "It’s Barnaby," she whispered. "He’s lost his luster."

Two weeks later, Aris was woken at dawn, not by his alarm, but by a thunderous, healthy crow echoing from three houses down. He smiled, adjusted his glasses, and patted the worn cover of the Guide .

The old oak desk in Dr. Aris Thorne’s clinic was buried under textbooks, but one stood out: Backyard Poultry Medicine and Surgery: A Guide for the Progressive Practitioner. It was dog-eared and stained with a suspicious splash of purple antiseptic.