It's only been a week, but as I looked around the living room yesterday I realized it needed dusting again. I don't know whether to aarrgh or sigh.
I don't need pilates or fitness training or whatever health trend is in fashion these days. The little app on my phone informs me I log about a mile and a half walking every day. I got plenty of exercise yesterday thanks to Bessie Anne who could not make up her mind. "I need to go out!" I opened the door. "I've changed my mind." I closed the door. Five minutes later, "I need to go out!" Open. "Never mind." Close. The next time I opened the door, I helped her out gently with a foot to her backside. Three minutes later, "I want back in now." It was as if we were on an endless loop all day. In addition to her cataracts and near-total deafness, I think the old girl may be slipping a cog or two. I can only hope for as much patience when my turn comes.
Cindy has been off her feed for several days now and has developed explosive diarrhea. I can tell from her eyes that she just doesn't feel good. I've been mulling over how to help her, and evidently my subconscious worked on it overnight because my first thought this morning was, "Kaopectate!" Why didn't I think of that before? I've used it on baby goats to stop diarrhea, but haven't had kids in years. And how does one dose a goat? I keep a supply of new syringes and needles on hand. A clean syringe without a needle filled with the medicine slips into the mouth in the gap between the front teeth (lower jaw only) and the grinders in back, the same place the bit fits on a horse. Working alone, it's best to have the goat's head in the stanchions first.
I sometimes wish chickens had an on-off switch. Earlier this year the little girls weren't trying very hard and there were some weeks I hadn't enough eggs for my customer. Now I'm picking up six to eight a day and there are buckets of eggs piling up in the fridge. And, of course, now my customer is working out of the country for the time being. I'm giving them away like door prizes (I foisted a dozen on Harold), and still they multiply. I don't eat breakfast and continue to whittle away at the turkey so eggs for dinner are out. Shades of barrooms of the past, I may end up pickling some.
Except for the dust, it was a good day.