The other day, a chicken, the very meanest pullet (Miss Ethel), flung herself into my arms like a damned housepet, which is not A Thing We Do Here with chickens, but it was immediately apparent why she'd breached protocol like that. No pics because I handed her to Hotter and went straight into cutting her foot and toe free of string, the string from a feedbag in the workshop where chickens don't belong but like to go, with the scissors on my Leatherman. I was so focused on removing the offending string that I didn't notice my eyes were in pecking range. Miss Ethel held perfectly still and made no sound, allowed me pour witchhazel over her foot and pack the cuts with Mupirocin. She is now acting perfectly normal. Hotter says he's a little scarred by how close I got to a hurt pullet's beak but it was like we had an understanding.
The chickens in general are rather freaked out right now, because the varmint that's been after the chickens got one the other day (RIP Mer the Americauna, oldest of the the gang). Their wings had grown out and they'd taken to flying up through a hole in the tarp over their coop and going on walkabouts. Into dangerous places like the workshop, and the bellies of local predators.
So little as I felt like it, I stopped what I was doing paint-wise and devoted a day's toil to re-covering the chicken run, moving it up by the house to discourage predation and make the traumatized birds feel safer, and clipping chickens' wings. Oh, and performing surgery on one of the buggers with a Leatherman.
Life will go on like that, regardless of how depressed one might be; nature will still thin the herd, smallstock will take any opportunity to be a burden, and things need doing. Sometimes you reflect and realize that something could've picked your eye out while you were in your fugue state.
Painting is going slowly due to my back having gone out. I've been buying lots of things. New clothes and sheets and paint and humidifiers that make the house not smell like cat and I bought Middle Child a backup violin (it was an eBay find and cost less than $50), because he has broken a peg on his good one and it's in the shop. Middly doesn't know, and when the package arrives he will totally plotz. Hotter seemed a little judgy about that, but it's orchestra, not heroin. I like to pick my parenting battles.
Speaking of which, I also, thanks to a facespace friend selling a barely-used 5c for cheap, and increasing tension about his whereabouts after school, equipped Big Child with an iPhone. Yes, hell hath evidently frozen over. It turned out that with my employee discount (Eclecstasy has some nice perks!), the fact that I was supplying the handset, and the relative cheapness these days of family plans, this saved us money on the phone bill, but don't tell the kid that.
Yesterday during his first full day of having a phone, Big Child took it to school, then powered it up at dismissal when that is allowed, texted me courteously that he would be staying after school for "Scapula club," and was inducted to the "Damn You, Autocorrect" club.
I told him to have fun at Acapella and watch his data usage if they were looking at new songs.
How are all of YOU?