Dogs Versus Chickens In The Time Of The Flu

Last night because Mr. Moon was sick and I knew that if he was hacking and harking in bed he would be afraid he would disturb me and get up and wander the house trying to find a place to rest his sore body, I just started out in the guest room which is no sacrifice. I love that bed and that room, too, and I gathered all my comfy covers that drive Mr. Moon insane on the coldest of nights with their sweat-inducing down and went to sleep after a few pages of Terms of Endearment, Zeke, my tiny dog snuggled down beside me.
I woke up at one-thirty, lightning flashing and slashing the walls of the room and thunder shaking the house and I knew what was coming. Sure enough, Pearl was soon whining at the door. She is deathly afraid of storms and so I let her in and then Dolly had to come in too and although I went back to sleep, Pearl kept waking me up, scratching on the bamboo rug trying to find a place of comfort. So I got up and went to get her old quilt and in doing so discovered four dog poops and a small river of pee which I cleaned up the best I could in my half-wakeness.
We finally all settled back down, the dogs and I, the rain falling outside and that was when I began to dream. The dreams were ridiculous and frightening and that old house where half is known and half is not was transformed into a hotel like the one in The Shining and people were wandering around, most of them monsters merely disguised as people and I could tell the difference by smushing their heads with my hands. The monsters' heads were like soft rubber balls, the real humans' heads like real humans' heads.
The dream went on and on and some of the symbolism was so ridiculously plain that it almost makes me giggle to think of it; seriously- my mind was having a merry old time of it, scaring me and reassuring me at the same time. I will not relate any more but suffice it to say that I finally reached the point in my dream where I said, "This is a dream," and the woman in the red velvet gown I was looking at faded away.

The phone woke me up at eight. I had slept late and it was my neighbor who had obviously been up for quite a while, asking me if I could watch their dogs next week while they are away. I could barely figure out where I was, much less what watching their dogs would mean but I think I said that I would.

Dogs. Dog poop, dog pee, dog nightmares and thunder-fears. Dogs. Dogs. Dogs.

Mr. Moon got up and he is still sick. Bless his heart. He did stay home today. I made him egg-in-a-bowl which is what my mother made for me when I was sick and I made for my children when they were sick which is nothing more than soft-boiled eggs in a bowl with torn-up bits of toast and butter and salt and pepper. It is a comforting food and one that sits well in a sensitive tummy. He ate the breakfast and spent about an hour reading the Sports page and is now asleep in his recliner.

Then Jessie called. She had gone back to the dermatologist and he had taken such deep samples of her not-going-away skin problems that she got woozy and had to have two stitches. Results in two weeks. Damn. I should have gone with her.

And then May called and she, too, is sick. She refuses all help when she is sick and that makes me crazy! "Do you need juice, gingerale, egg-in-a-bowl? What can I do?" I ask her and she says, "No, nothing," and I can hear the swelling of her throat, the pain in her body over the phone. She is my Mini-Me-Martyr, that girl. ARRGGGHHHH!

And so this is how this day has gone so far although I did try to take a walk but it started raining again.

But Owen is coming over and I will keep him away from his germy grandfather and we will play and that makes me happy. And when I went out to feed the chickens I actually saw that very egg you see before you in the picture fall out of Ms. Daffodil's butt! and I have to admit that this is the very first time I have ever witnessed the egg leaving the chicken. She was standing up to give birth and I was amazed to have caught the event because usually the chickens squat and huddle down in the hay, not to mention the fact that Daffodil is not one of my more prolific layers.
So that was a nice little surprise and if the rain clears, Owen and I will go back out, perhaps with some grapes for the chickens. I will show him how Elvis, when he takes a bit of tasty food from my hand, either drops it on the ground for one of his hens to eat or else gives it to her directly from his beak. Now that's a gentleman-rooster.
"Owen," I will say, "Observe the rooster! He is kindly and generous with women. And so should you be."

He will observe, that boy and perhaps he will remember. I hope so. There is much to learn from chickens.

Or at least that's what I tell myself and at the very least, they give me eggs which I cook softly and put in a bowl for my sick husband and they entertain my grandson and they do not try to get into bed with me at one-thirty in the morning nor do they poop in the house nor pee either which are some of the many reasons I love the chickens so.