Secret knitting

This is for a secret project I just decided to do, as I seem to have elected to treat my kids as though they’re five and will be excited by an Easter surprise. One might argue that they are acting as though they’re five at the moment, but that would be a whole other story.

Anyway, none of you care about that, you just want to know how Henrietta is. Big scare this morning when I went to get them up, as she couldn’t open her eyes and had to be lifted out of their roosting box.

She perked up after some fuss and gentle eye washing, and after I marshalled the other two out for some worm hunting so Henrietta had first dibs on food.

Then some regrettable internet browsing of hen fora until it was late enough to bother the vet. He was able to prepare an antibiotic, but didn’t have a collection slot until noon. By then I had crowbarred TallGirl out of bed to go in with her Dad, while I dealt with an endless chain of work calls.

Anyway, she seems a lot perkier this evening, and they all endured having powder squirted at their nethers to sort out any mites that might be lurking (CarbBoy was my lucky assistant and, what with hens being squirmy and my aim with a sauce bottle full of powder not being all that, let’s just say that CarbBoy is safe from mite infestation too.)

From all I gathered on line, she could just drop dead in the night whatever we do. The vet clearly thought we were mad to waste cash on her, and should just have had chicken for dinner. Crazy fool.

Work was unstoppable today. Very difficult team call. Doesn’t look like letting up any time soon. Maybe it’s good to be kept busy? I think I’ve been underestimating the effect all this is having on us all. Strange times. If I could just stop having that dream about the baked potato.