My Lovely Mud

My Lovely Mud

When I was a kid I used to love to play in the mud. I would collect old stray containers, empty butter tubs, old pie tins, any thing that could be used to form the mud into different gourmet delicacies' of dirt. All of this had to be done in secret, if I was ever caught playing in mud or with mud, mom would kill me! Usually I would go way out back on a rock in the woods with my tools, after a rainfall when the mud would be plentiful.

These would not be any old mud pies, there would be wild onions, scallions and any available flower or fauna in bloom at the time used to season my creations. I would sit there on my rock serving meals, making dirt dishes for hours. When I went back to the house my mother would be furious, wondering how I could possibly get so dirty. All her friends little girls 7 or 8 years old and they would be sparkling clean with cute little pig tails and white socks. I was a crusty mess, torn pants, cuts, bruises and scrapes, covered head to toe in my lovely mud. My mother would throw my clothes out and of course I would get a beating but it was worth it!

All those bitter sweet, dirty memories came back to me as I look out my back door, watching the ducks diving through the mud. How could I have loved something that I hate so much now? Those ducks were diving; running in circles, splattering mud and muddy water wildly in the air, they are having a grand time. They love the rain and the mud it brings to life.

Suddenly I'm tempted to get out my plastic containers and old pie tins, go pick some flowers, chives, garlic scapes and create a muddy delicacy for my husbands' dinner. I could join the ducks and share their innocent joy of frolicking in the mud. How long do you think it would take before Bruce has me hauled away or the neighbors call the paramedics? Look the lady next door has finally snapped. Not to mention all the bird poop mixed in with that mud.

I've decided to be a sideline spectator, let the ducks have their fun amongst themselves. Watching them gives me the opportunity to experience their joy that is good enough for me. Someday though I may be tempted again to join them and I just might do it.

Freebird Goes to the Vet

Freebird goes to the vet

I know that I've not mentioned Freebi in a while but he is still around. About one month ago his middle toe on his right foot became infected; its one of those bent, deformed bird toes that happen every now and then. Noticing him limp around the yard one Saturday, I went to pick him up and check it out. Free's poor toe looked like a swollen sausage about to burst. I try not to panic but or course I do and call the vet, Freebi is may special boy.Once again, we are very lucky to have a vet that will take care of fowl farm creatures. If you can bring it to him, he will take care of it. The vet said to bring him in immediately.

Off we go to the vet, my mother-in-law drove and Freebird road on my lap (with a towel under him). That rooster sat in my lap happily making his burrrr burrrrrr noises with an occasional grrrrrrwwwwwl, that’s a rooster growl by the way. As the care started rolling Free hunkered down and decided he better hide his head under the towel, smashing as close to me as he could get. The ride to the vet is only five minutes and surprisingly uneventful (when have you ever heard me say that), Freebird is one good little rooster.

The bird and I go into the office while mom waits out in the car. You would have thought that these people had never seen a chicken before, let a long a pet rooster hiding its head under a towel. Freebird had the attention of every one in the waiting room and the vet staff. Slowly I try to get him to lift his head up and come out from under his towel. It took me a few minutes of cooing and talking to get Free to looking around; finally he did and realized it is not all that scary, until he saw a dog in the same room. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrwwwww, back went the head under the towel. People now have their cell phones out ready to take pictures of the rooster at the vet, I really didn't see the thrill but I guess this is not your every day occurrence.

Freebird starts to get a little antsy and pops his head out to take another look around, click, click click; he is now famous with his vet office paparazzi snapping pictures. One woman comes over asks if she can pet him. Free takes one look at her and gives a screeeeeeeeeeeeee grrrrrrrrrrrr, which means back off lady. This makes me laugh because he is the gentlest bird on the planet. I tell the women give me a second to turn him around so his back is to her, he loves to be scratched. This way he could not see who is petting him and he was happily facing the wall, no more scary people or dog. Freebi starts to give his content burble of burr baa burrs waiting for his turn in examination room. Meanwhile I'm answering a barrage of questions about the star rooster.

The vet tech calls Freebird in and two more techs come with her, they all want to pet him, take pictures and look at Free. One tech gets a bowl with warm soapy water to soak his foot in. The other tech is preparing bandages, scissors and tape while the other tech is still snapping pictures as Free is nervously posing. I'm holding him while his foot is soaking in the warm water with the tech gently massaging his toe and foot, debriding it. What the heck? I don't think I have ever gotten this kind of care or attention at any doctors' office!

Finally the vet comes in, examines Frees toe and tells the tech to antibiotic gel it and wrap it up. He fixes a couple of syringes, one for antibiotics the other for pain, yes pain. My freaking bird is getting the good stuff, heck I'm the one who has to pay the bill, where is my shot? I'm holding the spoiled brat while his foot is being wrapped up, he gets his shots and we are good to go.

By this point Freebi is has his head back under the towel, clinging to me and there is no way I can set him down to pay the bill. Of course the receptionist kindly takes my debit card out of my pocket for me, process the payment and slips it back into my pocket, how kind. I'm told to bring Freebird back in two days for another injection and he may need one more after that. Honestly I don't remember how much that initial visit cost me, I'm probably blocking it out of my memory but this is my Freebird, he is worth every penny.

We go back through the waiting room, Freebi is now hiding from his paparazzi and mom drives us home. I think to Freebi's amazement, he survived the ordeal. When we get home I let him loose in the house, shaking his feathers he cautiously struts off; tap thump, tap thump, tap thump, burrrr babaaaaa burrrrrr. Pumpking runs up to Free and is desperately attempting to sniff the bird head to toe; where have you been, whats that smell, ahhh butt checks. I'm running around to get his special water set up and arrange a place for him in the barn where he can keep his precious toe clean.

When I come back looking for Freebi, I can't find him anywhere. He was raised in the house as a chick, in a cage on our table, he knows the house well, and he could be anywhere. I do a few laps through the house and eventually I notice he is sitting quietly on the back of my over stuffed leather chair, right where he used to sit with me in the evenings when he was a chick. There is a lot more to those feather brains then they ever given credit for.

By Freebi's second vet visit he was strutting across the counter, posing and even gave them a good old Cock a doodle dooooo. Pictures were being snapped; I explained how he likes to be rubbed under his wings (wing pit rubs). By the third visit, he was a pro and rode in the seat next to me on his towel all by himself, like a big bird. He let anyone pet him and strutted around the waiting room, the counter and his exam room, he owned that office.

Every evening after work, I go out to to the barn to get Freebird for his soak and foot massage. The toe had looked very good, almost healed and then he relapsed. Freebi stands on one foot with me holding him up with his other foot in a hot water soak. Slowly I'm starting to see an improvement again but his toe is obviously going to take a time to thoroughly heal. He has been very patient and a very good patient, not many roosters would tolerate the foot soak but the massage must make it feel better. After each treatment, his foot is wrapped up with antibiotic gel and he gets his treat for being such a good boy. When I let him down to run around a bit, giving him a little change of scenery from the barn; he does a tour of the house then stomps off to his chair, tap thump, tap thump, tap thump, baaa baaa burrrrrr.