One of my whacked out knees got even more whacked out and I've been babying it with ice, rest, a knee brace, more ice, anti-inflamatories, more rest.
Finally I see some progress.
Rick has been mostly tending to the donks and clucks, except in the mornings. I refused to relinquish that lovely time of day; it's my favorite time to commune with the bunch. Feeding, spraying fly repellent, even cleaning up manure with more than enough help from the chickens. Its all good.
As a result of all this inaction I must rely on a small story I've wanted to relay for a couple of weeks now.
I've mentioned before that she gets soaked beet pulp in the mornings. When we first started this routine, and for a few weeks, I had to trek over, interrupt her breakfast of hay, throw a lead line over her neck and coerce her to come to the shed for her "treat". Then, it got so I could just call her and after five or six repeats of "Alice, Alice-badallas", she'd saunter over to the shed.
Now, dear Alice, tells me when its time for beet pulp and oh yes, let's me know she's ready. Sometimes its understated and she'll just hang out in the shed staring at the bowl and sometimes it's a little more vocal reminder. "Where is it!" And when she sounds the call, I'm well trained, stop what I'm doing and get her beet pulp.
Dear little Alice