Cat, Hen,Elephant

When one annouces with a heightened level of glee that one is now an 8 hen family, one deserves to get a smack in the face from Fate for the sin of being gleeful, and that is exactly what happened on Tuesday when Nora - one of the 'ens - decided to go over the rainbow to chicken heaven. I went on morning hen duty as usual and they all came skipping out as per usual except for Nora who sort of mooched out then plonked herself on the ground and sat there, labouring in her breath. Hello, I thought. And kind of knew that Nora's day had come.

Anyway, vet Andy was summoned. From being an eager participant in the previous morning's bread fight, Nora's comb and generally feathery demeanour seemed fine but behind her still clear eyes was a weary look, a look that said, 'Goodness but it's hard work, this breathing malarkey.' Andy took her to work, x-rayed her, and shortly thereafter she died. Andy said her lungs didn't look right. Having kept hens for 10 years now, I've come to realise that hens, when they decide to die, do so pretty much with little warning, especially these big Light Sussex types. Mrs Pumphrey and Daisy both went quickly and before their third birthday. Perhaps it's the breed? Who knows? Anyway, we are now a 7 hen family....sigh...no more gleefulness...

Bambino Bobble Wilson took it upon himself during the night of Tuesday into Wednesday to dismember the new bath plug I had recently purchased. So recent was the purchase that I had yet to get around to digging out the pinch pliers to unpinch the chain attachment and re-pinch it around the thingy doo-dah on the bath so it became 'as one' with the tub so to speak. Fate decided to teach me a lesson about being lackadaisical regarding promptness in performing household 'to do' jobs by allowing Bambino Bobble Wilson to play with the plug in such a forceful manner that the bit on the end became detached from the chain which became detached from plug itself. So when I got up yesterday morning I found the plug on the stairs, the chain under my side of the bed, the bit from the end of the chain in the doorway of the bedroom and the bit that attached the plug to the chain nowhere to be seen at all.

'Do you think he might have eaten it?' I said to Andy, who was already looking stressed because he was expecting public servant bigwig types at his practice for an open evening to demonstrate the fabulousness of the PDSA. This was a stupid question really, given Bambino's garbage hoover nature.

Anyway, Andy went to work and Bambino proceeded to vomit three times in quick succession, yet still maintain the air of a highly active cat who is constantly on the lookout for mischief. I reported to Andy the heady combination of sickie yuck coupled with normal behaviour otherwise. After an extensive search I discovered, tucked just under Andy's bedside table, a piece of metal that could be the missing plug attachment, wrenched from its original triangular shape into a wonky circle shape during the dismemberment of the plug. This morning Bambino presented us with a massive slug of a furball, but Andy has still decided to take him for an x-ray just in case. Sigh...no more lackadaisical habits...do household jobs IMMEDIATELY! Especially if they involve bath plugs...

And then there was the elephant. Tuesday was our 14th wedding anniversary and 14 years is symbolised by ivory. Well, we weren't going to honour the anniversary with the purchase of ivory goods so I jokingly said I was going to buy an elephant for the garden. Whilst Andy was at work I took photos of a patchwork elephant I made a few years ago, situated at various points around the garden, and posted the images on Facebook which caused some hilarity. The next thing I know, a two foot high furry elephant soft toy arrived yesterday (alarmingly vacuum packed to the size of a small rabbit) courtesy of my brother who had declared he thought the patchwork elephant looked lonely.

It is an adorable elephant. Squishy, soft and big enough that you can hug up to it on the sofa if you are feeling a bit sad or upset. A comfort elephant, if you like. It has been named Porter after a lady we knew years ago who was elephant obsessed. Initially, my brother suggested Zagrey, as in 'Elephants are grey' and I thought 'Indaroom' as in 'Elephant in the room' but these didn't seem respectful of the magnificence and therapeutic qualities of the creature, so Porter it is. It suits it well.