Can I ever think of “this and that” without my mind thinking “dese and dose”? What is that from? A movie? A TV show? This old mind can’t recall, but somewhere in my memory is someone with a heavy accent saying “these and those” and having it sound like “dese and dose”.
But I digress. Which, actually, is pretty much all I do in these blogs. The mind wanders, and the fingers follow. It’s a good thing I’m a fast typist or I’d never keep up.
The pungent smell of sauerbraten is in the air. Yum. Many of my best childhood memories revolve around food. My mother loved to cook, and being Hungarian/Austrian, along with time spent in Germany, a lot of the foods of my childhood were of the more exotic variety. Not to us, of course. Chicken hearts and gizzards… cabbage and noodles… sauerbraten with the delightful potato dumplings and a gravy to die for … goulash … paprikash … all good stuff but at least one of my childhood best friends thought we ate some weird stuff.
Food was a comfort and a reward when I was a kid. I believe to my mother it was a way to show she loved us. Of course there was the time she made me a walnut torte as a birthday cake, even though I have always hated walnuts and was 17 or 18 at the time. Hmm.
Baby birds currently being handfed are parrotlets and budgies, with more to follow. There are two parrotlet sisters, now fully feathered and just beginning to pick at millet. They had a sibling hatch ten days later – very odd, that – and he is growing very slowly. When I finally was able to pull the three oldest budgies and they joined him in the brooder, he was so happy to have some similarly-sized bodies to snuggle up to!
The pic on the left shows the three older budgies along with the young parrotlet. The latter is the one with the eyes wide open and whose head is just above my fingertips. He is similarly-sized despite the fact that the budgies are 8 to 11 days old and he is 20 days old! In the pic on the right is English budgie mom, Smokey, with the last two kids. As soon as they are both banded I will remove those as well, and they will join the others.
The parrotlet parents of the current three kids are laying another clutch, and already have 3 eggs. There is another pair that have 6 eggs and are sitting and due to hatch them before the month is over.
We are ten days into the month of March and yet it is snowing like crazy right now. I’m sure the weatherman will say it’s a squall, but yesterday’s squall left a quick 2″ on the ground. Last weekend was bitterly cold with a wind that wouldn’t quit, and we have the same in store for tomorrow. A good weekend to stay inside. I look forward to spring weather and mud season. There should be at least a week of it before the bugs ruin it. That is what screened porches are for!
Spring is also the time for Spot to go to the vet. He’ll need a shot this year and testing for Heartworm, as usual, along with the preventative meds. This kid does NOT travel well. The minute he gets put into the car (in his crate) he begins to whine. To hear him you’d think someone must be removing his nails one by one or perhaps slowly removing an ear. I’ve tried singing to him, talking to him about everything under the sun, being stern with him (“Spot, you are FINE, now cut it out.”) – nothing works. When we get there and I carry him in, he shakes like a leaf the entire time. I give my usual warning about how he may bite out of fear and to please be aware and wary, and then it’s all quickly over and we head home. At that point I have enough of his hair on me that I could easily build him a brother. You know the old wives’ tale of porcupines shooting needles out? That is how I envision a nervous Spot – with projectile hairs just shooting out in every direction. It sure seems that way. Once in the car on the ride home, he seems to know it’s over and there is usually no more carrying on. I’m very glad that Spot has been so healthy and we only have to deal with this once a year.
Years ago we had cats. At one time there were three of them. Maxwell Pussyboots Golden was the first. A birthday gift for my son, Alex. I’m not a cat person, but he wanted one. Growing up longing for pets, I wanted him to have any pet he wanted, so Max was found in time for Alex’s 7th birthday. As he got older he developed a bit of an attitude. Max, I mean, though the same could be said of Alex at times. He also grew to hate going to the vet. One time I was bringing him (crated, of course) and it was clear he had peed in the crate. I just knew it meant he had also peed all over his long fur, and this was proven to be true when we got to the vet’s and he was brought out for his check-up.
Talk about stink! Oh my word. The vet gave him his shots and stuffed him back in the crate, and wished me good luck in cleaning him up. When we got home, I got the biggest bucket I could find, filled it with nice warm water in the tub, and brought the crated Maxwell into the bathroom. He knew something was up, and he knew he did not want to be a participant. I grabbed him by the scruff, dragged him out of the crate, and dunked him in the bucket, right to the top of his head. Just once. There was no way on earth there could be a twice, because he became a whirling dervish and was out of that bathroom faster than you’d think possible. A streak of soaking orange fur. I’m not sure where he even went. He made sure there was no finding him, until hours later when he cautiously sauntered out, hugging the walls.
I prefer dogs. 🙂
Don’t forget to move those clocks ahead this weekend! Spring ahead and enjoy that extra daylight!