Fate's Fickle Finger
First of all let me apologize for being so negligent with my blog. You know how life can get really strange sometimes. When you look back, all you can see is the slight impression of heavy stress leaving footprints in your short term memory?. Well suffice it to say, such stress was a houseguest of mine for about 2 months, but is now gone and I am able to once again do it my way.
To say that the little goslings have grown is an understatement. Suddenly, Franklin doesn't look so big next to his kids. And boy has he taught them well. They goose and bite with the best of the elders. Margaret Mother Goose, the old lady of the flock, is so danged nervy, I opened my door to leave for an appointment and in she started to come looking for that special something like a cookie. I gave her one because she is one to deposit dissatisfaction wherever she may be and I don't think I could handle that.
For those of you who are "fish persons" you will relate to this. Since Bryan the goldfish died, his mate Lissa has been so forlorn and for awhile there I thought she would just up and die any day. She began shedding scales and had some funny looking blistering growths. I assumed she had "ich" which is short for a very long Latin name for a fish disease. Cure? A little formalin to the water. Well as soon as she looked better, she began to be a tad more animated. But I am told that goldfish are social fish and need at least one other fish to be happy. So I set out on a matchmaking tour of PetsMart. I got one certainly younger than Lissa, but oh my, did the new fish latch on to "big mama" with a grip. I think they will be fine. Unless I awaken tomorrow to find a small fish skeleton, I think the new one is a hit.
The duck population has grown by leaps and bounds. There are plenty of strange looking ones but there is a particularly ugly duckling that I am afraid is beyond the turning-swan phase. He looks like a plant that has been cross bred way too often and to way too many close relatives. He is so ugly he is cute. I also have another hybrid goose with fishing line wound around his Rt. ankle. It is pulling his dew claw up and he is limping a tad. I am calling him Cujo, and he is a smart cookie, when I call his name he comes waddling over to the porch because he knows I will let him eat out of a bowl., I hope to tame him down enough to take him to a vet for his foot. Fat chance? Well, probably.
Enough has happened in the last 9 months to fill a book but I don't much like writing one so I will just keep on blogging away. I will be reentering school again in the fall after an absence of 25 years. Not sure just yet what I will be taking this semester but it will probably be fun. I always enjoyed taking classes in just about anything---well--maybe not statistics, but almost anything.
The picture today is of Margaret (Bernie to some) Mother Goose. The matriarch and least respected by the others. You can pet her as much as you would like. Her feathers are soft like suede. She is a character. She doesn't ever seem to sleep. Her voice is horse and raspy and, well, annoying at times.
Until next time.