Like Sticking Your Hand in a Weed Eater

 

by Pa Rock

Animal Lover

Yesterday was like spring in the Ozarks.  The temperature was in the seventies, the skies were bright blue, there were breezes and wind gusts, God was in her heaven, and all was right with the world.

I had a doctor's appointment in Mountain Home, Arkansas, fifty miles southwest of my home in southern Missouri.   That appointment gave me an excuse to drive through a beautiful portion of the Ozarks and enjoy the fine day.  

I hadn't been on the road more than fifteen minutes when I came across three chickens, two black hens and a black rooster, scratching for bugs near the road.  That got me to thinking about the various poultry that I have had at The Roost over the years - and about how much I missed having chickens in my own yard hunting bugs and causing endless commotion.   By the time I reached Mountain Home I had reached a firm decision to get back in the chicken game, and this time I would go with Black Australorps because those I had come across by the road were beautiful.

I stopped at the local feed store on my way home to pick up a chick order form.  The last time I bought chicks, five or six years ago, pullet (girl) chicks were around four dollars each, and cockrells (boy) chicks were two dollars - and that was too damned high!   When I picked up the order form yesterday, I was shocked to see that pullet chicks are now six dollars - all varieties, and cockrells are four dollars.  The hatcheries are awfully proud of their babies.  Somehow or other, those outrageous prices are Trump's fault!

But, outrageous prices or not, it is now twenty-four hours later and I am still intent on getting some baby chicks.  I am also going to get a few guinea chicks, but those are normally only available from local individuals at poultry swap meets.   The swap meets are usually on Saturday mornings - and are always an interesting experience.

Yesterday afternoon I took Rosie to the vet.  He saw her two weeks ago over a cough that had me concerned.   He put her on ten days of antibiotics, and after that the cough had become wheezy and more concerning - so we went back yesterday.  He has now put her on two more pills.  She was already on one for a heart murmur.

Rosie does not like going to the vet.  She begins to tremble when we drive onto his parking lot, and her shakes continue throughout each visit.    That's not unusual.  I've noticed that many pets begin being noisy or acting erratic when they are brought into his office.  Yesterday Rosie displayed her anger toward me for taking her to the vet by swapping humans.  She walked to the far end of the bench on which we were sitting, and sat down next to and older woman who was holding a small dog on her lap.  Rosie sat next to the stranger until we were called in.   Everyone in the waiting room thought that was funny, except Pa Rock, of course.

Rosie's vet is one of the kindest and smartest people I know, and very easy to talk to.   He understands that many family pets are not fond of having thermometers stuck up their butts or being jabbed with needles - and he takes their disdain of him in stride.  I told him about Rosie being mad at me and trading humans in the waiting room, and he thought that was hysterical, even though I was still miffed over the betrayal.

Rosie, who is not a fan of pills, had been taking her daily one mixed into a small glob of peanut butter, but lately she has tired of that, so we talked about other ways to administer pills to small pets.    (Today I tried wrapping it in cheese and that worked well.  Maybe when she tires of that I will go back to peanut butter.) The vet did tell me that giving pills to dogs was infinitely easier than giving them to cats - who have sharp teeth - and claws.  He described trying to give pills to a cat as being "like sticking your hand in a weed eater!"

That brought me back to earth - things can always be worse - and I quit my bitchin' - except about the price of chickens!