Feel Free to Laugh at Our Pain

Video was taken a few years ago, but the situation remains the same: it's egg-laying season for the geese, and the geese are crabby. Thankfully it's only four months out of the year.

Peppered Goose Egg, Part Deux: Success?

"Look out the window," I whispered to Spouse, "Maggie's eating the cayenne-filled egg!"

The goose egg (one of two) was the cumulative effort of over an hour of huffing and puffing to blow out the eggs, and then trying several different ways to fill the eggs with the rusty red spice per Chance's suggestion. Perhaps I should have also asked Chance for details on how she did it first. After trying (and failing) to fill the eggs with home-made funnels and straws before finally punching a hole big enough for a real funnel, much sneezing happened, and then I rubbed my eyes before washing my hands... d'oh! You can guess what happened, but no permanent damage was done to my eyes - just to the confidence in my supposed intelligence. I then partially hid the finished eggs in one of the empty goose kennels.

Back to Maggie: I watched her lick the tape off the hole where I had filled the egg, crunch into the shell... then an expression of confusion and horror covered her face. Spouse went outside as Maggie was backing away from the egg. Spouse grabbed the egg and held it up to Maggie's face... she continued backing away, looking in revulsion at what was once a tasty ill-gained treat. We're hoping she's learned her lesson. Thing is, did it take one or two eggs to teach her? We still haven't found the second egg.

Owie Owie Owie!

Godzilla was just doing his job. I was trying to herd Billy-Bob out of the gaggle (for reasons I'll get into below), and Billy-Bob was using the females as cover... which led Godzilla to mistakenly believe I was hassling the females. Uh-oh.

Godzilla got a good beak-hold on the back of my knee (through the jeans, no less), and wing-beat the living sh*t outta my leg. He remained latched on until my attention was directed towards him, and then gave me a couple more beats for good measure. Once it was clear I was no longer going after "his girls", he let go. I'm really proud of him, despite the hurtin' he put on my leg. He's doing his job: full-force offense when needed, then letting go when danger is over. Good boy!

On the other hand, Billy-Bob's personality has recently gone from charmingly cranky to down-right mean. He's getting rough with the ladies, and is bullying and interrupting Godzilla's wooing as well. We've enough ladies for them both, so it shouldn't be a matter of competing for scarce females. The past few mornings we've taken to isolating Billy-Bob from the group until they've had a chance to eat some greens in peace, then let him out when they come over to the pen to "see" him. I realize it's getting to be mating season, but mean poultry/fowl get eaten, and if he doesn't calm his crotchety-@ss down soon, he's going to become Sunday dinner. Seriously. The only question will be the method in which to do so.

[pics: back of my knee (do you know how hard it is to take a pic at that angle?), and Godzilla in the Mist.]

I Don't Know Why It Works

See the slight discoloration on the base of my palm, encircled? I had forgotten that I no longer had Kung-Fu skills*, and palm-struck a rootball to loosen it up. The knots of roots on the rootball did not budge. My meaty palm, however, did. A huge bruise was starting to develop, purple-red and oh-so painful. I took some homeopathic arnica montana, and as of this morning, the bruise is faded to the almost nothing you see in the pic.

I don't know why homeopathic remedies work for me. They don't work for everyone. My rational mind still thinks that the whole thing is a bunch of hooey despite years of healing with this modality. I will not argue, however, with positive results.

More posts coming up this week with pics of our tree-planting efforts.

[actually, I never had Kung-Fu skills. Shhh, don't tell my ego.]

Ankle Beaters

In the afternoons, I do a bit of auto-hypnosis before napping that I'll wake up if the animals need my presence. On Thursday, I woke up with a start, and heard the geese having a fit. Ran out to the pen, and see that the pups are having a bad case of the stoopids, with one of them on her back, tail a-waggin', while the geese are attacking the holy crap out of her.

As I go in to break up the party, Godzilla accidentally smacks me on the ankle bone - hard - with his wing. Ka-waaaaang.... I could feel the impact's vibration all the way up my leg. I grab both dogs by the collar and throw them into their kennel. On the way back up the hill to check on the geese, could feel that something was wrong in my ankle. Since I was still walking, however, didn't think much of it.

I went ahead and got the afternoon chores done early, and laid back down. At 9:00PM, was awakened by eye-watering, amazing pain. Tried to get up, but any pressure on the foot with the injured ankle almost made me pass out. Thankfully, Spouse was home, and he rushed me into emergency, thinking I had a hairline fracture. As it turns out, no fracture, but have been ordered to keep the ankle wrapped and elevated through next week, and given a hefty prescription of pain-killers.

When I said that I was hoping to get some solid rest, I didn't think it would come about in this manner. Ah well!

Ouch!

I noticed a bit of blood on Billy-Bob's feathers, peeking out from under his wing Sunday morning. At first it didn't look like much, but when he moved his wing, the slightly blooded area looked suspicious. Against our usual inclination towards self-preservation, Spouse and I decided to tackle Billy-Bob for a closer look. It took both of us to get Billy-Bob cornered to be picked up. The first failed attempt earned me a wing-beating and a bruise upside the head. The second grab attempt netted us the goose, and we quickly hustled Billy-Bob indoors and onto the kitchen counter to check him out.

Spouse and I carefully moved Billy-Bob's wing aside and checked the bloody area underneath. We freaked: under his back feathers it looked like a huge mess, and on a Sunday when no avian vet was open, of course! After calming down and cleaning the skin & base feathers off with a washcloth and spray bottle of clean water (plus a bit of calendula homeopathic remedy throw in for good measure), the wounded area was looking much better. The wound itself - which might have been a yanked out feather - appeared to have been already on the mend. Whew!

Although Billy-Bob was quiet and looked very calm while on the kitchen counter (probably scared out of his mind), once we carried him outside he immediately crapped all over me, wriggled out of my arms and then got the rest of the birds riled up into a HUGE ruckus. Spouse and I got our butts back inside the house before the geese started searching for the torches and pitchforks. Suffice it to say Billy-Bob and the rest of the gang are royally pissed off at us caretakers. It's going to take a truckload of tasty greens and several days before they'll forgive us for manhandling one of their gang.

[But Mama loves her geese, yes she does! Give us kisses!]

Warning: carnage!

Okay, okay: I shouldn't be eating spelt or anything remotely related to wheat. It does bad, very bad things to me. Watching Spouse's Italian family scarfing down artisan bread all week, however, had made me weak. I went ahead and bought a beautiful round loaf of rustic spelt bread at Whole Foods on our last shopping trip (I swear to gawd, I'm not paid by them!).

The next day, I swallowed a handful of gluten digestive capsules, grabbed the loaf, and was oh so lovingly sliding the knife into the crust when... ---> ZZZING! "OWWWW!!!" The knife jittered away from the crust and sliced across the first joints of my index and middle fingers.

I grabbed a towel. Blood was everywhere. Probably should have got stitches. Did it stop me from finishing the slice and eating it? Or heck, even PHOTOGRAPHING the grisly outcome of my actions? Oh h*ll no - HAD to eat a slice out of spite at that point; a slice sans blood, natch.

So now I'm paying for my weakness, twice: gastrointestinally, and bloody wounds to boot. Idiot.

[Thankfully I hadn't been using the Global knives, or else I may have not had any finger tips left to type this post.]