This morning was relaxing and yet not so relaxing as my daughter's new dog paced the house looking for her. Unfortunately for the dog, she was 150 miles away at the beach with her friend. Even with my earplugs on I could hear the jingle of his harness and the clicky clack of his too long nails. It seemed like a beautiful Sunday morning until I visited the chicken coop and realized one of my tiny racers(that is what I call them) who lays the light pink eggs, had managed to damage her wing. She also seems to be dragging her leg a little. I wonder if this is sympathy pain for my twisted ankle? Nah. She and her twin sister are usually the first two chickens to greet me when I bring them food. She stayed under the table and watched all the chickens eat some delicious fresh oatmeal I made for them.
I felt badly for her and so I carefully caught her and hand fed her some oatmeal. I rummaged through my purse to find the band used on me this past Friday when I twisted my ankle and I used it to wrap her wing in place. That is when I noticed the limp. I stuck her in the small chicken coop where the baby chicks and the cocktiels live. She is not happy about the quarantine, but it is necessary.
While working in the yard I also spotted some mating grasshoppers. Brett walked over to where I was standing trying to get a good photo of the action and he asks, "What did you find?" Looking over my shoulder he sees the subjects of my photo and says, "Oh, just mating grasshoppers." Uh huh. So now Brett is an insect mating specialist?? Yikes.
At some point during the day I decided to poke at the eggs sitting in my incubator. I started with 34 eggs and only have six chicks. Someone needs to be hatching soon. Sure enough, one hatched at about 8:30 pm and #8 is hatching as I write. I sure do love these baby chicks.
There was fun activity during the middle of the day, But I'm leaving it for the end because the picture included might be upsetting if you have a weak stomach. The evening was filled with hatching chicks and the unearthing or un-pineshaving of Chloe's hamster. This hamster has had a tumor and ate the tumor and even survived Brett sitting on him about six months ago. Tonight, he lay peacefully in his little house. Since we found him at bedtime I promised to freeze him for burial in the morning. He didn't feel as though he had been gone very long, but Chloe was sad. She decided she doesn't want another hamster. I'm so glad for the no hamster decision. She cried a little. I wrapped him in saran wrap and placed him in a box in the freezer. Tomorrow we will say our formal goodbyes to Weasel Scamper Stricker.
Chloe arrived from the beach at around 3pm and I finally made it to pick her up at 4pm. I made sure to bring a bottle of wine for her friend's grandparents. Having two girls at the beach for the weekend can be exhausting!! We leave one friend's house and head to another. Chloe was invited to carve pumpkins and decorate cakes. I'm inside visiting with some of the other parents who are there and I walk outside because I see Chloe with a sharp object. I ask her to refrain from using the object to carve because it "doesn't look very safe." I return to the indoors where the air conditioner and adult company are keeping me happy. Chloe walks inside. She calmly raises her hand and says, "Mom, I cut my hand. Do I need to get stitches?" I look at her hand and say, "You might need stitches." She begins to scream, "NO!!!!!!!!! I DON''T WANT STITCHES!" I realize this whole situation can be avoided if I take the wait and see approach. "Look Chloe, we are going to have to wait and see what the doctor says, but we should probably grab your stuff and go get it checked out." I remain calm and avoid saying the word stitches and Chloe remains calm and keeps the paper towel on her hand to stop the bleeding. I take a quick look and assess the cut. It could probably take stitches, but maybe we can just butterfly it. We get to the car and I say to her, "Chloe, this is one of those times where I hate being right." She replies, "I'm so sorry mom. I should've listened to you. I really do hate being wrong!!" I consider recording these words to playback when she is a teenager, but I refrain. I call my friend and her husband who just happen to be a nurse and a surgeon. I drive to their house and after looking at her hand and understanding the complications involved in stitching her up, they kindly butterfly her wound. We all agree if she decides to be a hand model they will need to airbrush the scar. If you have a weak stomach I encourage you NOT to scroll to the picture of Chloe's hand at the bottom of the screen.
Today was a good Sunday. Lots of lessons learned. We learned how to identify mating grasshoppers, how to fix a broken chicken wing, how to butterfly a cut, how to freeze a hamster for later burial, and how to teach your child a lesson that she teaches herself. The last one was the hardest. Oh how I wish we all learned by words alone.
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