So I've been very pleased with Earl lately. Why not? He's my buddy; he's handsome and loyal, and he likes car rides. Plus I think he thinks I'm smart and funny. And no doubt he admires me for my excellent thumbs. Today I caught him sneaking out of the hen house with an egg in his mouth. Honeymoon over.
Reminds me of an old Kids in the Hall skit, The Day I Connected with My Dog. Guy sitting on the couch, dog sitting on the couch, both watching sports on TV. Guy looks over at dog, dog looks at guy – the music swells, they stare into each other's eyes… and the dog belches. Connection over.
I'm not speaking to Earl. I look at him sadly and shake my head and he is ashamed. I hope he is sufficiently ashamed to stay the hell out of my eggs. Nobody, not even the copilot, messes with my hen fruit. Great speckled ass.
So C. and I treated the two buggy gold hens again tonight after work. Chicki-pedis for the pair of them. I think we've killed all the leg mites, so now we're working on getting all the dead old lumpy scales off their legs and helping shiny new ones to grow in. The mites are just nasty - the chicken's feet get all crusty and stiff, and eventually their toes can lose circulation and fall off. Just gross. And a chicken that can't walk or perch doesn't live long.
We've given up rubbing on castor oil (not greasy or stinky enough) and now use a multipurpose farm goop that reeks of sulfur. I hold the bird on its back in back in my lap with her feet sticking up, and C. washes and dries her feet, scrubbing gently with a toothbrush. And we slather on the goop.
|Skeeter, left, and Kvetch.|
While we do the bigger hen with the black tail, the little one with the grey tail yells at us. I think we'll call her Kvetch. The big one is Skeeter, because as she is lying there upside down having her legs worked on, she gobbles up all the mosquitos buzzing around me. (I always forget to use bug spray, and they find me delicious.) She'll snatch them right off my arm. She is a rock star among chickens. I wonder if she likes to ride in the car.
|Here's Skeeter, a fine bird. This photo dates from her first day here, and you can see how bad her feet are.|
They're looking much better now (top pic).