Sunday, August 18, 2013

We All Make Odd Choices and Heaven Help Us For Some of Them

Well, dammit, you WOULD  be an animal lover, wouldn't you?  You could have chosen to be a Justin Bieber Groupie or a lifelong devotee of  Humphrey Bogart or a Film fanatic in general, but had to become a pushover for the pet population and beyond.  Serves you right that you are suffering for  your foolish choices now.      Gaaaaaahhhhrrrr.

For several days last week I watched my precious Cat, Gussie limp a bit and favor her left forepaw while I worried and wondered and felt the damned paw up and down as much as she would let me and I knew I would have to take her to the Vet or not sleep ever again.  
So Ann and I went thru the routine required for the job.  Close all outside doors.  Close all inside doors to the room in which Gus was at the moment reclining.  Quietly as possi'ble fetch one of the cat carriers and introduce it into the Room so she doesn't see it.   Fail.  Gallop after Gus and pin her in the corner when she immediately guesses what was up and attempts escape.  Snatch her up and into the carrier before she could put plan B into effect.  On our way to the Vet  I mused that the problem might be an ingrown toenail since I had not had her claws clipped lately since I was too old and feeble and blind and clumsy to do it myself any more.....(at what point did she become so much stronger than me?   I somehow missed that subtle transition point.)  And to my relief and abysmal shame, that is exactly what it was.  One long claw had curved into a paw pad and must have been hurting like hell when she walked.  What a rotten Mother I turned out to be.......this would cost me huge .....A trillion in kitty treats not to mention endless hours of painful  immobility while providing her with a reclining tummy to doze on and being unable to scratch any part of me that itched or any muscle that cramped without disturbing her.  She is still demanding apologies from me and there is no sign of her letting me forget my heartless neglect of her well being.  Sigh.  At least she is no longer limping piteously and breaking my heartless heart.   And the  vet bill, including antibiotic shot and  blood test, was under $1000.    
Tenks Gott.

Then, without having the chance to recover from this episode the Pet God decided to smite  me with another heart wrenching situation.  I went in to bid my Fabulous Finches goodnite on Friday and, as usual, I proceeded to count birds on perches and in nest boxes and came up one short.  Omigod......where was Judy the smallest female, Mickey;s beloved?   I immediately began examining he floor of the cage for signs of the dreaded Egg Bound Female Syndrome and there, in a corner was the pathetic little creature barely moving and seeming to pant ever so slightly.  Panic time.  This condition was usually fatal and I had no skills as an avain midwife.  Desperately I thrust my hand into the cage and seized the poor mite, brought her out into the light, examined her, petted her feathers, scratched her neck whispered sweet nothings and prayers into her ear and put her back hopefully.  Nothing.  Still seeming to be dazed, almost comatose she sat and sat and sat.  

I had already ruled out the idea of finding a Bird Vet, especially in the middle of the night so I called the breeder where I had gotten her and asked for advice.  I was told to grab her gently, check for a lumpy looking lump in her nether parts under her tail feathers and, if found, to squeeze it gently to break the egg and the impasse.  I did all that, found no lump and when I squeezed gently anyway all I got was some poop for my efforts.  Tearfully, I replaced her in the cage, spent 15 minutes meditating and sending good thoughts her way and finally staggered off to bed thinking my usual cop out thought.....'que sera, sera".   
Barely slept and upon rising went in to look for a corpse only to find all four birds sitting on the perches looking, as far as my untrained eye could tell, alive.  

When my caregiver arrived we both examined the creatures and she said that poor Judy seemed to have no feathers along her back  between her wings and she suspected some sort of family brawl.  (I had not seen this condition but had felt something strange in the texture of her back as I petted  her)  One or more of the other birds must have ganged up on her, plucked out some feathers and left her in a state of birdy shock and post traumatic distress    WTF???.   Apparently I have got myself a dysfunctional bird family.  Or perhaps just a normal bird family since, I suspect, all families are dysfunctional to one degree or another.  Careful scrutiny since has indicated that Judy is mostly OK if temporarily short some plumage and tempers seem to be calm along Finch Lane.  
Oy.  In fact, Oy Gevalt!

Excuse me while I go in and put cold cloths on my head.  I just had to go out and shut off the pool motor because water was pouring off my roof. I think the raccoons have once again chewed through the tubing on the solar panels which heat my pool water.  No one can come till Monday.   I think I should have opted to be a Justin Beiber groupie.


  1. At least your life isn't boring!

    I think your cat will forgive you...then, I don't know cats.

  2. Ohhh ~ your poor babies! Cuddles to them both ~
    (I'm a Bogie girl, meself...)

  3. And there was I starting to think that global politics was interesting... Thanks for refocusing me on the here-and-now.
    Your posts are a continuing delight.

  4. My hens sometimes get that bald place from (oh dear, this is delicate) being over-fucked by the rooster. His favorites get the bulk of his attentions and chicken sex is fast but it can be brutal and claws are involved. Could this be the case?

  5. I worry inordinately about Daisy, Lo, so know the process! Glad Gus and finch are both ok and hope they stay that way! We older folks can't take all the stress.
    Love from Daisy's Barbara

  6. a P.S., Lo!
    Just thinking about Pearl over at

    and how lucky we are that our pets don't smoke, drink gin, or borrow our cars!


  7. You have my sympathy. Sometimes i wonder if i should have stuck to goldfish. Then i remember there are tons of varieties of those, and they can get sick, and you have to maintain the water...

  8. I was nodding as I read your post. Our situation is the same. 5 cats to worry about, one recently with a limp funnily enough, but it got better by itself, thus saving us a bomb.
    Two foxes to be fed each night and mange drops to be administered on slices of bread and jam. Sid and Floppy the seagulls who have been visiting us for years (apparently they can live for as long as 36 years . And Daddy the feral cat who fathered out kittens. He has cod liver oil and spirulina on his food each night, this is minced chicken wings (Tom's job each night ).
    so you see we are kept pretty busy and a lot out of pocket through these creatures but wouldn't have it any other way, even if some times it is a little wearing. lol

  9. Things are well and truly awful if you are contemplating being a Justin Groupie!

    Aye, I think any family that ISN'T dysfunctional is actually more dysfunctional than most....

  10. Oy gevalt is right!


    And re: the cat, of course the kitty must be appeased. Treats, my dear! And might I suggest albacore tuna?


  11. If they could only talk these problems would be a whole lot simpler to deal with....

  12. Well, you know what they say. It always comes in threes, so your solar panels have probably intervened before another animal tragedy had the chance to surface. Of course, I don't know who they are who say that. I think people count to three, and then they start over.

    You're supposed to be able to just about disable a cat or at least turn her into a limp rage by scrunching her up at the neck like a mama cat and then all legs go boneless and she can be dropped right into the crate. Tater didn't get that memo. All limbs stretched out to all sides at all times when a crate is in the room. She looks like Sputnik.

    1. I meant "turn her into a limp rag," but "limp rage" works too.

  13. Yes, a Beiber groupie may have been easier. You'd just have to fight your way through all those teeny boppers and you can handle them.
    Having pets can have it rewards and it's heartbreaks. A toofer, as the sign says in my dry cleaners. Ha

  14. Raccoons have moved right to the top of my least favorite wild animal (even though the babies are so stinkin' cute). I failed to get outside last night early enough to bring in my hummingbird feeder and they had taken it down, taken it apart, and left it scattered some distance from where it was originally hanging. I never did find the suet feeder for the woodpeckers that vanished in late winter.