Yeah. Y’all know it’s been a long week. Flash having surgery. Recovering. Which is going well, by the way.
This morning he looked up at the dining room table and whimpered. The dining room table is where the treats and his pain pills are. I’m not sure which he was asking for, but I gave him both, as has become routine. I guess I’ll find out when we run out of pain pills, huh? I’m hoping it’s the treats.
But last night we had a different kind of tragedy and are looking at another recovery. Goat Dog (I call Chewy Goat Dog when I’m angry and frustrated with him – maybe I should call him Vicious Dog) was out in the back yard last night and didn’t come to the back door like he usually does, so I went to look for him. I found him back by the chicken yard, laying next to Pippin, one of my Brown Leghorn hens. When it rains, it pours.
Back story – Chewy loves to chase the birds and play with them. He knows that it’s not okay. I thought it was cute, initially, when it was just chase, but then he started playing and biting, the way dogs do with each other. He wasn’t biting and shaking the way he would to kill a rodent, but it’s still dangerous to the girls, so I call him on it when it happens.
Why does he have access to chickens in the first place? The girls have a fairly secure yard, fenced all around and above, but the two Leghorns get out occasionally. We’ve looked and looked and can’t figure out how they escape. So I almost always look out to see if they’re in the yard before letting the dogs out. Last night I did not, especially being late afternoon. They usually escape in the morning. But my boy had just mowed the grass, so I’m sure she got out to hunt for bugs. And Chewy decided to play with her.
Pippin is missing all the feathers on one meaty chicken thigh. it’s pretty raw.
I set her in the hen yard, but she couldn’t stand and the girls immediately began picking at her. Chickens are cannibals. So I brought her in the house. Put neosporin all over her leg and tucked her into a cat carrier. Good news is, she was eating and drinking for me. Bad news, she couldn’t put any weight on the leg.
This morning she bolted out of the carrier when I opened it. Drank some water. And now she’s in the back yard by herself, just hanging out. She can walk a few feet, but that’s it. I’m going to set up a large dog crate with some shade and let her rest and recover by herself. She’ll be okay. Honest.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hurry the weekend along.
Until I write again …
Flea
