Sick Chicken and Presidential Debate

Our dual missions today were to get chicken Helen Reddy to eat and to be sure I could watch the presidential debate. The later would be by myself because the others are studiously avoiding thinking about politics. 

First, we worked in the garden some more, making great progress on uncovering the row of native grasses back to the first set of native shrubs. I put some cardboard down where I cleared out. We will have at least one more session to get the rest done, all the cardboard laid, and the sawdust put on top. 

Betsy and I reseated a screen that had fallen out. To keep it in place, she hammered in a nail so the wooden piece that overlaps the screen can’t fall too far down. I had to shimmy up parkour style, putting my back against the water tank and walking my feet up the foundation so I could use a hook on a pole to pull the piece into place. I guess I  thrilled I’m still strong and agile enough to do that.

Next up, a bath, then lying on the bed to stream the debate on my iPad. Who knows what it will do to the election outcome, but my gal Kamala bested the Donald over and over, even if he will never admit it. 

By midafternoon, Helen had stationed herself under the house, out of arms reach. The chickens peck at the condensation dripping off the water heater pipe, making an annoying clanging in the house. Helen was peck, peck, pecking away. She does not come when called for feeding like the other chickens. Or like Dolly, who comes after me every time I go in the yard. Why, I don’t know. I’ve never fed her, but here she comes, ready to peck at my shoes or pants. She does not know the meaning of “no” or “stop it” or “get away”.

Betsy got down on the ground to see if she could grab Helen. No, so we waited for Keith to come home and crawl under the house to encourage her to come out. When he did, I was ready with a towel to throw over her. Betsy put some oatmeal and chicken feed in hot water, then as I held Helen in her towel, she forced her mouth open to shove food in. We got a little down her. Betsy sucked up liquid with a syringe and dripped it into her mouth. I got covered with oatmeal and liquid as that chicken shook her head. Another bath for me.

We left Helen in the chicken coop while we went to Quiz Night. I ordered the frittata again, expecting the same as last week. Nope, this time, a regular broccoli frittata. Delicious, but not the kumera I was expecting. The staff said the cook makes what the cook wants. Ah, well. Not a great QN, our team coming in 2nd from the last, when usually they are in the top third. I did not win the steak package raffle I’d put $2 into, and there wasn’t any local Morepork Pinot Gris either. Still a fun evening, and for a moment, I considered suggesting creating a similar event at our Elder Luncheons in Windermere. I came to my senses.

We put Helen in her box in the pantry and went to bed ourselves.

Steps Today: 2,290