For the past week I’ve been meaning to write a blog entry. I have good intentions and then after I get the birds done there are other things to do and next thing I know it’s time to start supper and still no blog. This morning while I was doing the birds I thought “today is the day for a blog!”
Funny story just popped into my mind because of that first paragraph. When my son, Alex, was in high school, he used to feed and water the chickens for us. One day a friend called for him and he was outside tending the chickens. I told his friend, ” he’s out doing the chickens.” Alex talked to him later and after the phone call said, “Mum, when my friends call, don’t tell them I’m out “doing” the chickens.” Ah yes, it had a whole different meaning! However, I still think in terms of doing the birds every day. 🙂
So back to the subject at hand. The blog. The ever elusive blog. The well-intentioned but rarely-materializing blog. Usually when I do manage to write one, it’s because I had thought about something while doing the birds, so later it just kind of flowed. I’m big on stream of thought, as if that is a surprise to you if you’ve read this far! But I do like to have some idea of what I’m going to try to write about. Not so today, because in the birdroom today my thoughts were occupied with babies. Babies in the nest and soon to be pulled for handfeeding, as well as babies yet to hatch.
The drawback to this stream of thought writing is that many sentences end up being incomplete sentences. Mrs. Tilton would not have stood for that, back in high school, and it bugs me enough even now that I often notice after I’ve done it. But I’m a fast typist, and what I think ends up on the screen so there you go.
Babies. Lots of babies. Two clutches of five each for the parrotlets. One clutch could have been pulled at the beginning of the week, but I’m putting them off for a few days to help preserve what sanity I have left. The other clutch should be pulled next week. Then there are the eggs in the budgie box of Cinnamon and Sprite. SEVEN of them. IF they are fertile and IF they all hatch, there will be seven crazy budgies to feed.
Budgies are insane. Budgies are what the pet shops call parakeets, to those of you that are not really “bird people”. Every budgie is a parakeet, but not every parakeet is a budgie. A budgie is a budgerigar, shortened to budgie. Which reminds me of an old Monty Python skit. Forgive the paraphrasing, but it’s been more than 30 years since I’ve heard this. Two women, one says to the other, “I had to put me budgie down.” The other asks, “why, was he sick?” The response, ” no, we just didn’t like him very much.”
Handfeeding budgies is like handfeeding very small sharks. Crazy sharks. Even when they are in a brooder, when you reach in to pick one up, it’s not uncommon to remove your hand with two or three of them attached to your flesh by their beaks. It’s surprising how strong those tiny beaks can be, even at such an early age. They don’t break the skin, but it’s a very strong pinch. Even when I know it’s bound to come, it still freaks me out a bit. Lovebirds are the only other birds I’ve handfed that are very similar.
There is a bird show coming up in about a month. Bird “mart” is the more appropriate term, I guess. Vendors have tables and sell bird-related items as well as birds. Alex will dog-sit for us that day, since it’s not fair to leave Spotty alone all day. Any of the current budgies and parrotlets that are almost weaned and remain unsold will be going with us to the mart. I’ll also bring some of the toys I make and the wooden stuff we make, such as clocks and keyracks. It will be a long day as I have to get up about 4 or 4:30 in order to have time to do the birds and then make the drive to Manchester.
Living in the “sticks” is probably the most peaceful thing you can do, but it also has the effect – at least on some of us – of making the excursions into public more stressful. Too much traffic. Too many people. People are not as nice as they used to be. I don’t think it’s just my perception; I think it’s really true.
I remember as a kid walking “up-street” with my mother and saying “hi” to everyone and being met with a smile and a hello in return. That habit of smiling at strangers you meet and perhaps a nod or hello seems to be a lost art. I was in a Hannaford market yesterday and the lady in the checkout line in front of me became rather upset with the eventual total, and called it into question. The cashier read off each item on the screen as she glared at it. At the end of the list, she wrote out a check, still with the glare, and kind of stomped out. So I started watching people around me, and most of the shoppers had similar sour-pusses. I’m sure I’m guilty of this at times, too, sometimes probably just because I am not thrilled to be there with all the people. I’m going to try to make an effort to keep a smile on my face and see if I can’t get a few in return. Life is too short.
I’m very long-winded when it comes to writing, aren’t I? It’s getting a bit tougher since I’ve been having some real problems with a few fingers on my right hand. Arthritis, I’m sure. They used to just be sore and achy, but in the past few weeks a new wrinkle has been added, where I get a sudden sharp pain in the underside of my middle finger and it takes a while to subside. I don’t do doctors and I don’t like to do meds, either, but getting older apparently means I may have to suck it up and take an ibuprofen or something. Of course now they say how dangerous they are, even if taken only rarely. Sometimes you just can’t win. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
OK, I think that’s enough rambling, even for me. I have a feeling anyone reading this may be finding their eyes glazing over and their heads nodding. So, until next time, have a great day and smile at strangers, like in the old days. 🙂