An Interesting Day
The night was long - Rocky, the smaller dog, was sick. He and his bigger buddy, Rufus, ran loose yesterday and at least Rocky ate something he should have passed. All night long he was sick as a dog, passing rancid gas (although the sound effects were sometimes amusing), burping a true stench, whining because of his belly ache. Difficult to tell if Mr. Fuzzy slept any better than Rocky. As Mr. Fuzzy arose at 6:15 a.m., Rocky was no better. Not one iota. When 7:30 rolled around, the veterinarian was duly telephoned and a 10:00 a.m. appointment made, not just for Rocky but also Beatrice Tweedle, one of the feline Tweedles who were born here three and a half years ago. Bea (as she prefers) had a swelling at the base of her tail for the last several days which seemed not to trouble her but after three days, it troubled Mr. Fuzzy.
So as 9:30 came, Mr. Fuzzy walked out the door with Bea in a carrier and Rocky in tow. After an hour of time at the vet's office and $300 lighter, Mr. Fuzzy had a cat with an abscess and a dog who had probably found a dead deer and had a completely filled digestive system from stomach to the, uh, well, tail end... Rocky's problem seems to be solving itself (much fur in evidence) and Bea needs an antibiotic twice a day for a week.
As this trio rolled to a stop at the the front porch, a huge hawk flew away from the carcass of one of the first chickens on the farm, a Cochin. They are fine chickens, good layers and excellent mommas. The hawk was so bold as to not fly away until Mr. Fuzzy has exited the car and stepped in his direction - from less than twenty feet away. The poor little hen was killed within three feet of the porch. The hawk's wingspan was perhaps five feet - huge.
The good news of the day - sunlight! Mr. Fuzzy thinks the last sun beams were viewed on Saturday. The day broke with scattered clouds but those dissapated by noon and old Sol ruled the day from then until sunset. What a pleasure and relief to feel the warmth and enjoy the visual intensity of a sun raked fall landscape.
Mr. Fuzzy cut and loaded about a thousand pounds of oak fire wood yesterday and so today was reserved for moderate activities. On the morrow, however, as the weather is due to hold well, the chainsaw and Mr. Fuzzy will be tight companions for another thousand pounds of oak firewood from a triplet tree which shed on third of its size in a wind storm last summer. Mr. Fuzzy had hoped to have cut this two months ago but the blasted pneumonia disrupted his plans. It is fairly dry and hopefully will be ready to burn in a month or two of curing. Mr. Fuzzy's woodpile is nowhere near as voluminous as it should be and he fears a rough winter.