Well, our twenty little chicks have gleefully entered the bald eagle stage, with their little heads being the only places where they still have fluff and their bodies are covered in lovely, albeit in some places short and funny-looking, feathers. This morning I was upstairs preparing for a bath and I heard a frantic distress cheep from below. One of the chicks had flown the coop, and his bravery left him as soon as he hit linoleum. He fairly ran into my hand when I came to rescue him. Sweet, that between freedom in the vast domain of my tiny downstairs (kitten-ridden as it is) and capture by Queen Gigantor (that'd be me), I am the lesser evil.
Marc is still working on the coop, but his travail has been interrupted several times this week by doctor's appointments and distress calls from friends. I know it is a bit of a pain having the chicks in the house, and the smell demands frequent cleanings (always more stressful on the chicks than on me), and there have been a few show-downs between kittens and chicks, the outcomes of which could be debatable had they been allowed to continue. The kittens are just kittenish enough to be easily spooked by flapping wings and hysterical squawking. I really appreciate Marc's willingness to spend time helping people who need it, though. There are a few older ladies who have been having plumbing and housing problems, and Marc is good at that kind of thing. I love that about him. I'd do it myself if I could. So, the chicks remain in the house, and my Beauty watches t.v with me every night. I cover his eyes during the rough bits, don't worry.
Sawyer, the kitten, fell out of the tree on Tuesday night. He was 20 feet up, and did several flips on the way down. He hit the ground on his feet, but winded himself, panting and limping for a few moments afterward. In the end, he was okay, but man alive, it is not a relaxing thing to watch two kittens play in a tree. They egg each other on to greater heights, so very proud of their bravado without a thought to the anxiety-ridden momma watching from below. Beasts. When my previous cat, Frodo, was a kitten, I remember being surprised at how clumsy he was. He was forever falling down stairs, running into doors and walls, skidding into chairs, feet and water dishes. It must be the smallness of the house. There's room to get going, but no room to stop. The kittens are like that too. They're like newbie skaters, using the boards to come to crashing halts. Only the kittens speed about at full tilt. The crashes are magnificent.
My sister came with her kids a few weeks ago, and she was cautioning the boys to be careful with the kittens. They're just babies, she said. They may be just babies, but with all the body slamming, stair tossing, face slugging, head butting, and just general smashing they're doing, they're either made of rubber or wonderfully padded....somewhere.
I am doing very well, physically. My bladder is being exuberantly kind to me, which is good because if a bladder is going to do anything exuberantly, it's best that it do it kindly. Of course, I am experiencing a bit of menstrual misery, which is another post for another blog (The Menstrual Diaries?), but frankly, who cares?
Everyone else is doing well. The seven chickens that remain in my little flock are all healthy and busy de-worming/bugging/weeding the perimeter. Bunny had to have his two bottom teeth taken out again, as they were loose and causing him misery, but he was immediately rejuvenated afterward. He doesn't even flinch when we have to do anything with his teeth, which is good because it gives me convulsions and there's no need for everyone to suffer. He also has infected eyes...again. And a cut, infected lip. I'm telling you, if he'd stop trying to rough up the rooster, he'd probably be in better shape. But he wouldn't be nearly as happy. I doctor him up several times a day. Drops in the eyes, Vet RX on the sides of his little nose for the snuffles, antibiotic cream for the sore inside his lip and a spray of peroxide for the sore on the outside of his lip. But, like I said, he's happy.
The dog, bless her heart, continues to be patient. Scooby snaxs help a lot.
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