How is it possible to hate something you love so much? No, I’m not talking about Richard, although he has been winding me up to eruption point recently. Bloody Chea has just brought another baby bird down to the house and it isn’t dead – yet. I so hate her at this moment. Hate. Loath. Despise. I’ve had to cover it up with a bucket – the baby bird, not Chea. I feel like covering her up, or beating her up, or something. Why do they have to be so sodding bombastic and cruel? Oh I know. That’s a cat’s mindset. She is now sitting on the table licking her backside like butter wouldn’t melt (??) I can’t bear to look her – or her backside!
I have to sadly report that all the chucks bum washing has come to a sad end. Beautiful died early Sunday morning. We took her to the vet on Saturday and were met by a vet who looked younger than the chicken. I have no faith in ‘chicken’ vets. The last time we took Beautiful, a year last Christmas Eve, the vet then palmed us off with lotions and potions and charged us £60 for a condition that I later found, by Googling chicken sites, was perfectly normal. I couldn’t be bothered with the charade of the vet pretending she knew what she was talking about so I just told her I needed her to fill Beautiful with antibiotic. We came away with the powder to place in the drinking water and when, on Saturday evening, she guzzled down a bit I thought that we might be in with a slim chance. But no. She was alive when I went to her at 6.00 am Sunday morning – but dying. I made her comfy in the corner of the shed, away from Dust, and she quietly and peacefully died.
I totally believe that Beautiful had a growth and that nothing could have saved her. She had the best life possible and was a lovely friendly chuck. We buried her in a spot in the garden that she loved. I think it’s nice to spend eternity in a place you loved in life. Our Burmese, Oscar, is buried under the lawn, next to the pond, because that is the place where he often sat. Meg, our collie, and Mishka, our moggie cat, are buried side by side just outside the kitchen door. They were both home bodies and had a great affection for each other. Wow! Not much cheer and riotous fun on here today, hey?
My problem now is that Dust is on her own. I’ve decided to give her 5 days antibiotic treatment and then review the situation. Chucks shouldn’t be kept on their own. They are flock creatures but I don’t want to introduce a new chuck/chucks until I’m sure she is 100%. She has recently gone into the heaviest moult possible and is moth-eaten and bare in places. She is sad that her friend has disappeared and searches for her in the garden making little clucking noises that remain unanswered. Alas she won’t find her. I retrieved the radio from the greenhouse yesterday and put that in her shed. Now she can listen to the ‘tunes’ throughout the day and not feel so lonely. Not too sure I should inflict Jeremy Vine on her though? Probably finish her off? Sorry Jeremy but you do have some shit on your show.
I went to my neurology appointment yesterday. Huh! If it wasn’t for people like me people like the consultant I saw wouldn’t have a job. Obnoxious? Yep. Condescending? Totally. I appreciate that they see some weird people, myself included, but that doesn’t give them the right to speak to you like you are an amoeba. I heard him ‘short-change’ the girl he saw before me and she flew out of the place like the devil was after her. I firmly believe this … if you don’t like something change it. I didn’t like his attitude …so I changed it!
He seemed hell-bent on dishing out medication of all types and was most rude when I said that I didn’t want to take it because of the possible side effects. He said, ‘you won’t know till you try it, will you?’ Later, he enquired what type of books I wrote because I’d said that as things are, with all these headaches and migraines, I couldn’t think to write and he said he was going to look on Amazon. I said, ‘yeah, you do that. I know it’s romantic suspense but you won’t know if it suits you until you try it, will you?’ Touché.
At this point I discovered the cocky little shit could smile and hadn’t had a humour bypass, performed by one of his colleagues, on the cheap. From that point on we had a riot. I told him to go ahead and buy Mulligan’s Reach in paperback and then the next time I saw him I’d sign it. Ha ha! You ain’t so tough Mr Consultant Person. In conclusion he’s referred me for a scan. Probably wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t talked him into buying my book? Maybe it’s Mr Consultant Person who needs the brain scan?
And on that note I shall bid you bye-bye.
Take care my lovelies x
Sad little moulting Dust.