Daily Drama 54

I just returned from the 2016 Blogpaws conference . . . wait, almost a couple weeks ago! So where are the blogs? I’m writing about two fantastic capybara folks, really I am, with lots of photos! 

Tucson Petting Zoo

The blogs will be posted before my next trip, but the dramas have slowed me down.

Arizona Down Under Exotic Petting Zoo

This will be a little dramatic update, then, and maybe the roller coaster that is this week will take a break.

Today, my precious little budgie, Tank, gave up on me. He’s one of the two I adopted from Petco’s back room, and we never expected him to survive more than a couple days. That’s why he came to my sanctuary instead of going to a home. Two months later, his little bitey Spitfire is alone, and she pines. She knew Tank was unwell, we all did, but he was well loved.

Spitfire and Tank, their first day at home.

This morning I faced the fact that my pet sitter still had not responded to my request for service. I frantically started the search for a new petsitter, filling out their woefully inadequate forms, leaving so many boxes unchecked, no dogs, yes but my cats are not the issue, the “other” category only goes up to “4” but who expects fifty pets? That’s crazy, right? Fortunately, my sitter contacted me a couple hours into the task. Prompted by my voicemail message, he had checked his email spam folder and found my requests. EVERYBODY, CHECK YOUR SPAM FOLDERS! You might have a Nigerian uncle who bequeathed you a million dollars!

Frederick of Hollywood, 2014

I have been recording Guinea pig weights, just as if they are little capybaras. Frederick of Hollywood has been in a slow steady decline for the past year but I was surprised when his breathing became labored. Off to the vet he went, and now he is being treated for a touch of pneumonia.

Frederick of Hollywood, 2015

Once we get him stabilized, we’ll see if he responds to treatment for his advanced arthritis, and what the heck is going on with his spleen? The overall conclusion is that he is much older than 5-1/2 year old Stevie Ray who he came in with. Fred loves his banana flavored medicine and his Apple Banana Critical Care. I’m also giving him some baby squash in hopes of putting some weight back on him. After loading those hand feeding syringes with critical care, I’m really excited about baby food! It’s a piece of cake!

Fat Fred, 2013

It looks like the ratties will be here a while, so it’s time to build a larger habitat for them. I have never been quite so excited about a rat cage! Its a flight cage I picked up on Freecycle over a year ago and it has weathered to a lovely patina out in the barn storage area. It is large enough to hold some birdhouse climbing platforms, a pair of Levi’s, an IKEA bedroom suite, and two cute little white rats! There is a drawer underneath to collect debris, and I have a fistful of coupons from BlogPaws for fancy Ökocat kitty litter that should be perfect. Now we have a race to see what is complete first: the cage or this blog post. If you see before and after photos, the cage won.

Prince Dobalob: the curmudgeon persona

Dobby has had a lot of visitors lately. It’s kind of seasonal, the interest in pet capybaras. He sets aside his curmudgeonly Dobbs persona and becomes Prince Dobalob, the charming and entertaining donkey/pig. It’s fun to see the reaction to their Facebook posts as his visitors spread the word that while there are ROUS’s, there is no fire swamp. I guess I need to talk to The Bartender about that.

Dobby has friends in high places.

Also in the Fame and Fortune category, Dobby’s mugshot was selected by Don Moyer for his next puzzle! Selectees receive a copy of the proposed puzzle, a current puzzle, and a Surprise! Dobby just received his surprise, and it is a framed thank you card, signed by Don! Most amazingly, the card features Dobby, right smack dab in the middle of the card! It is truly magnificent!

No, in fact, I am NOT going to mow.

Did you know that Stacy’s Funny Farm is a Certified Wildlife Habitat? The neighbors think the sign just excuses me from traditional gardening tasks, but in fact my garden meets all four of the required criteria. The sapsucker nest is next door, but the top of their rotten tree fell into my yard. Does that count? I have a pair of hummingbirds buzzing me as I write this, and fledgling bushtits were fed by their parents on the tree branch above my head.

Better the cat food than the cats. The raccoons around here are fierce.

I’m on day four of trying to outsmart a raccoon who discovered where I (used to) store the bag of dry cat food. The nightly possum hasn’t checked out the recyclables lately, but it’s possible he checks up on the raccoon handywork for leftovers. I doubt he’s dextrous enough to get past bungee cords on his own.

Mr. Oliver Possum (This is right outside the kitchen door.)

Dobby’s mallard ducks are currently absent, no doubt in their eclipse molt. They’ll return in a couple of weeks. Dobby’s B&B is currently hosting a Bewick’s Wren with nestlings! I can’t really see them in the nest, but she is a very busy birdmom and they cry for her when she flies off to gather food. The crow and squirrel population have increased already and summer has just begun!

She built the nest way up, so you can’t see in. They were only eggs when I took this photo. (Yes, that’s Dobby’s bed back there.)

Did I say summer? As in the Olympics?

THIS is summer! (Not for Dobby!)

Daily Drama 53

Last month’s root canal is almost complete, it only needs to have a proper filling installed in the middle of my pretty gold onlay. It turned out my roots are tiny, curved with cute little bends at the ends, and one root had two canals (Surprise!) so two sessions of grueling endodontal procedures. A reclining position accentuates the viscous post-nasal drip that I usually ignore, but that pretends it can ooze down to clog my windpipe. With my mouth propped open to effectively prohibit gasping for breath through my mouth, panic increases in tiny increments. I retreat into an infantile version of myself. Like a baby strollered through The Fire Swamp, I trust I will survive. For two of the three appointments I have forgotten to bring my cell phone, leaving home in a hasty fury like a swarm of bees. Fortunately I have loaded my antique iPod with my favorite tunes, next time I’ll leave out the dance numbers. The music has spared me most of the technical discussion “a number 4 please” and if I close my eyes I don’t see the array of tiny drills, miniature brushes and vacuums, the wicked thingies that make everything hot or stinky. Now my jaw is sore, my hands are cramping from holding onto the chair for dear life, and I think my forehead muscles are sprained from frowning and wincing. Sorry, no photos.

A consolation photo of me playing Scrabble while Dobby grazes.

A fanfare for the next topic!

The chandelier installs itself! (Thank you, Connor.)

Six years ago, during major and sudden ceiling repairs, I took out the funky useless fan and made a space for a chandelier. I couldn’t find one I liked, except for one made in England that doesn’t do shipping. So I made my own. My handy-neighbor hung it and my life is now complete!

Check out the reflections! Most of the glass was my grandmother’s, silver spoons were my mother’s, miscellaneous kitchen tools and worthless items are mine, of course.

I managed to convince The Bartender, one more time, to help clean Dobby’s Swimming pool. It’s a couple days of draining, a fish rescue, a couple days of scrubbing, an overnight to refill.

Banished, for the time being

Oh, and two months of looking for the pump drain plug.

It was still in the pocket of my winter jacket.

The weather has been reminiscent of my early California summers, but I suspect that is the reason for the devastating loss of fish this time.

The reflection makes it hard to figure out what you’re seeing, but along the top arc you can almost see my beautiful goldfish. RIP my pretty ones . . .

A half dozen rescues under my belt and I have lost only one fish before, the overlooked victim of a bailing accident. This time I ended up with a stack of magnificent corpses, like carnival sardines or a horrific serving of sushi. You can’t tell me they are only 29 cent goldfish, I am heartbroken. Two lovely beauties remain, joined by several very vulnerable tiny newcomers who just better learn to swim deep, beyond the Mallards who immediately moved back in.

Three hoses to siphon out, three reversed to refill

The water is so clean I can see duck poop on the bottom, maybe it was better when the water was opaque. At least they look healthy. My broken pipe repair is holding, but I fear for it and expect the pool to suddenly empty overnight when it is most inconvenient to re-think my methods. The too-expensive-to-replace-filter has been hosed down, per specifications, but the pores are so clogged with teensy bio-debris that circulation is minimal. A very lazy 3/4HP pump. And so the water is already fuzzy.

Dobby went swimming as soon as I took down the barricade!

A month ago, I took in a pair of young budgies from the Petco “back room.” Like Spike, they had been treated by the veterinarian, were ready to go home, but could not go back out to the main floor for sale. The staff was thankful to have them come here because even after treatment, they are probably weak birds and the store is reluctant to sell them as certifiably healthy pets. Spitfire seems to have completely recovered from her ear infection and is all girl, a biter and a fighter. Poor Tank is still pouffy a month later. I have re-treated him through two more courses of antibiotics, tried a couple herbal remedies, probiotics, minerals and amino acids, special foods, and dandelion greens, fresh-picked twice a day. I got out my old copy of Stroud’s Digest on the Diseases of Birds and marveled at his diligence. I understand why the vet treated him and released him. Even though he has looked pretty rough a few times, I am amazed every morning I find him still alive. He lost a lot of weight, but has now started to eat everything in sight, so we shall see. A hungry bird is usually a bird on the mend. Tank’s a sweet bird so I hope he and Spitty will soon leave the infirmary and join the feisty flock in the kitchen.

My recycling bin is right outside Dobby’s kitchen door. Lately, when I toss out the empties, I have to be careful not to bonk the Possum that hangs out in there. He and his buddy come around to annihilate Dobby’s leftover corn cobs. They shred those cobs and leave little piles of cob sawdust. What in the world are they eating? The squirrels efficiently extract every kernel, then the hens perform a quality control check, and when the flock is put to bed, the resident mallards check over the cobs one final time. There can’t be any food left in them.

Mr. P.

 The duckling story is increasingly complex, and probably incomplete. I will wait to see if the story has an ending and then I will write it up separately. It’s kind of like the Funny Farm version of the Memphis duck parade through the lobby of the Peabody Hotel.

In this photo, the ducklings are in the pond next door, sitting on a log in the center of the picture.

Dobby has been a good boy lately, and I must face the fact that his kitchen protest statements are weather related. A rainforest animal who doesn’t like rain. Terrific. He is a funny guy, though. We played the Poop Game today, a game he always wins. I clean his pen, flush his Good Boy down his handy outdoor toilet. Returning to put away the scoop tools, I see him proudly indicating a fresh pile. He’s pouffy, nose nearly touching his product. I scoop it, flush it, and return. Pouffy again, there is a second pile, nearly as magnificent as the first! He’s pouffy and this time, he’s wiggling his ears. I praise him (it’s outdoors, at least) scoop and flush. Returning for the third time, he’s pouffy AGAIN! The last one is smallest, like an oversized Hershey kiss, listing to the west like it had too much sun. The “kiss,” I know, is the last, and so it was. Such a fun game, and I want you to know he made it up by himself. I HAD NO PART IN IT. Sheesh. What a guy. Sorry, no photos.

Consolation duckling photo: Ms. Mallard and 5 little ones, a couple steps from my front door.

Daily Drama 51

In the Pacific Northwest, winter seems to drag on and on and on. Summer is simply a brief, shiny, and distant memory. We have four more months of very iffy weather before “summer” which is unreliable until after Fourth of July. For now, I feed the ducks and chickens in the morning, then wash and dry my rain-soaked jacket in time for the afternoon Garden Party. It rains ALL THE TIME, there is slippery black mud everywhere, and even the ducks are wet. Dobby, supposedly a rainforest animal, refuses to do his “business” out in the cold, windy, relentless downpour. It’s just not right. Lots of fun coming up before summer, though. The ducks are starting to joust and I’m wondering how soon the Bully Pen will have to open for business.

Jillian The Volunteer, cleaning the Dude Ranch

My fabulous volunteer, Jillian, needs to adjust her schedule around tennis practice. I still can’t believe she offered to come on Guinea Pig Cage Cleaning Night! We were able to clean The Dude Ranch plus the two rabbit boxes in a New York minute! It’s so nice to have help for the “less fun” tasks! Unfortunately, we forgot about Dobby’s extra Jillian Corn, and when she went to say goodbye to him, she noticed that he had registered a complaint IN HIS POTATO BOWL. Ugh. Sorry, no photo.

Prince Dobalob The Author, taking a break from writing his new book

Part of the aviary fence is slowly rotting, as everything does here in the Pacific Northwest. Between the time when I counted rotten boards and showed my friendly neighbor where to install the new ones, another very suspicious hole had opened up. We hastily gathered up some plywood to patch the holes from the inside, and he can now replace the boards at his leisure. One week later, the suspicious hole resurrected itself, this time through the plywood! I set a 2×4 on the stringer and braced it with a CMU half block. Very late that night as I was readying Dobby’s kitchen area for the morning onslaught, a possum sauntered by, so close to the glass door he nearly brushed against it! So, yes, a suspiciously possum-sized hole. I kind of wondered why egg production had dramatically dropped off the last couple weeks. Thank goodness he didn’t go after the hens. And that reminds me I better check the hole from the entry-side of the fence, and maybe store a few rolls of chicken wire there. I’ve already directed the neighbor toward my stash of sheet metal.

Lula The Brave, one year ago, in the infirmary

My little hen Lula, who has been on Metacam just over a year now, is looking better day by day. Miraculously she has feathered out beautifully and seems to be putting on weight. Last night I found her roosted way up high with the other girls. I never thought I’d see her back up there, she has been roosting on a low laying box for months and months. The sun came out for about 5 minutes last week, and I saw her standing tall and enjoying it. It won’t be long before she’ll be joining the others for the Garden Party.

Honey The Innocent

It has been a while since I heard from Honey Bunny’s owner, and so it goes. I really don’t like to take “fosters” because they are exactly as much work as full-time residents. I’m glad I was realistic about Honey’s future here, but she is probably the most “spirited” bunny I’ve known. She would be a more suitable guest if she’d refrain from leaping up to the bookshelves, but it’s hard to stay mad at a bunny doing figure-8’s around your legs!