Mulish & Co.

Sad Tiger

Sad tiger at bus stop on Oak Springs

Going, Going, Gone or The Sudden Departure Of A Guinea

Gone. Vanished. Our guinea girl, our dear La Bête has gone missing. I was so preoccupied with Hazel that I didn't notice La Betty packing up her bags to leave. I feel deeply sad about this. I loved that bird. She showed up one day out of the blue. I mean, she was just there, in the yard, hanging out with the hens as if she'd been with them her whole life.

I only know that she came up Delano Street from the south then she climbed the little hill to our yard. She was like some eccentric aunt. Michael was immediately smitten while I was overcome with curiosity. Never in my life had I seen a guinea yet I immediately knew what it was.

La Bête makes a horrible racket - a two toned honk that can be followed by what sounds like a a shelf full of pans and skillets clattering onto the floor. The noise was abrasive, it made me shrink and feel conspicuous that such a sound was coming from our yard. You never knew when she was going to belt one out. She's a lovely bird though.

We noticed that she'd left, no note, no nothing, on Wednesday when I was locking up the coop. I'd just given Hazel her medicine, offered her some food and put her up for the night. Michael noticed first, asking if I 'd seen La Bête. She was there in the morning and she was there, I think, before I left for work. The guinea has not missed a meal since she moved in so I thought she'd return for dinner. That was not to be.

Thursday morning I checked for her straight away. She wasn't there. I wanted to call in a missing persons report but imagined the conversation:

"I need to file a missing guinea report. Her name is La Bête. She looks like my aunt, wears a funny hat, has beautiful brown eyes and wears a spotted lavender coat."

"Ma'm, if your aunt from guinea, the ol' biddy you call her? If she hasn't been gone for at least 24 hours we can't file a missing persons report"

I opened my windows in the morning while doing my morning meditation and I could swear I heard her call from far away. It was so faint and sitting in meditation I simply acknowledged the sound - "Guinea call" - and let it go. Poof, gone. It may not have been her at all, it could have just been wishful thinking. Speaking of which, I wish Beagle were trained to track or even to point in the direction of the birds' departure. The poor thing just looks confused when I ask her, "Which way did Betty go?" She wags her tail and lowers her head. No pointing, no sniffing or tracking a trail.

I think to myself that she may come back. She may just show up for dinner or breakfast. She could be sitting on a nest somewhere or out looking for love. And then I think to myself, maybe this is a warm up to what seems more and more like the inevitable loss of Hazel. Maybe this is just a tinge of the pain of attachment that I will feel when dear Hazel marches on.

It's lousy, the pain of loss. But I wouldn't trade the feeling that I get from the companionship of animals for anything. The outward flow of compassion and love that comes with the tending is satisfying if even for a moment or two. I want to say it's too brief but it's everything even in its brevity. So maybe, as short as it seems, the time we have is just long enough.

She's Beautiful And I Love Her

Our first tomato of the season.

Purple Cherokee, 7.35oz

Hazel Takes Her Medicine And The Tomatoes Taunt Me

Hazy has had her third dose of cherry flavor SMZ-TMP antibiotic. I'm no chicken but I can imagine that my little hen doesn't associate plump red cherries with the syringe full of pink yuck coming her way. She fights it, turning her head left and right, up and down. I manage to get her beak open (no small feat) and squirt a bit in at a time, being careful not to drown her with the stuff. I have yet to see any improvement but we only started it yesterday. Time will tell.

 

When we're done, I put her down to stretch her legs and peck at strands of grass. She's unsure on her feet, wobbly. She takes slow and deliberate steps through the grass. I let her be and turn to survey the garden. The tomatoes are unruly. They make me want to abandon them but I can't. I imagine selling the house with this tangle of tomato vines. Would it bring down the property value or would the new owner reap the reward of my efforts? Both probably. The Cherokee Purple has taken to using a cane and a walker just to stand upright! If I could only stop myself from checking on the clusters of green tomatoes I'm sure I would be rewarded with a surprise of purple tomatoes one day.

 

The love the beans shower me with makes up for the spiteful sunflowers and hollyhocks and the ever stubborn tomatoes. Beans love me and I love beans. We will be friends forever. The longshot at the end of the movie about my life won't be of me walking across a prairie into the sunset, no, it will be me walking through a field of bush beans with an overflowing basket of the things slung over one arm. It will be a poignant end, maybe a chicken or two will dash across the frame. But hey, it's not over yet! I'm not going anywhere until I get at least one tomato from at least one of the 8 plants that are taking over the backyard.

 

Introducing Flexibility Into Your Routine

The problem with getting up early is that there is so much more to do. Yesterday I rose at 8 a.m. and went through my routine with no extra time to spare. Today I left my bed at 7 a.m. only to find that there was so much more to do than yesterday. You think you have an extra hour but it's like revelling in the purchase of a new truck, suddenly all of your friends are moving or buying oversized furniture. You find yourself, not spending a wild weekend camping, but instead, moving boxes or bureaus or both.

Upon opening the door of the coop I could tell that it was going to be a busy morning. Hazel was once again, feeling poorly. I told Michael I'd have to run up to the pharmacy for her antibiotics and he, in turn, told me that Slip was feeling down. A sick dog has nothing on a sick hen. A sick dog fusses and licks and moans and groans while his stomach churns. A sick hen retires. She withdraws and finds a quiet place to look small. I can almost feel her discomfort. Slip gets a stomachache once a month from eating god-knows-what in the yard. Probably chicken poop. It takes him a day but he gets over it. Hazel, on the other hand, will probably not make it through the heat of the summer in her condition.

I allowed for meditation and free writing and hit the road. It didn't take long. The pharmacist was thoughtful enough to make Hazel's suspension cherry flavor.

Home. Dosed the bird and moved her to the "hen hospital". Turned and found the Cherokee Purple was clamoring to escape from the cage and raised bed. The Indeterminates. They're all like that, ingrates one and all. As full as it is with tomatoes I have yet to see any of them begin to blush because THEY HAVE NO SHAME! I spent the next 20 minutes tying up the droopy arm to the cage and propping it up with a 1x1 which will no doubt give way while I'm gone giving the Cherokee yet another opportuntiy to run amok over the onions and basil.

In the end I still got some writing done. I still was able to sit for 20 minutes and center myself for the day. Not all was lost. Today flexibility and compassion went hand in hand. Now off to the clinic!