Musings of the Week;
or, I Think I Left My Sanity at the Vet's

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Contrary to what you might think,

This is not my normal attire. It's just that all my Minions bedsheets were in the wash, and all I had was this boring white one to wear for the selfie.

This past Sunday's episode of Cabinet of Curiosities was all about haunted locations, and I wanted any spirits that might have been tuning in to know that I take them all very seriously. Very seriously. Like I do everything else in my life. In fact, let me share some sage words of wisdom:

Every time you get dressed remember that, if you die, that’s your ghost outfit forever. ~Unknown

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And what do you know, I got another freeloading roommate (read: pet).

Everyone, meet Pablo.

Pablo is actually a girl.

Short version: a friend in town saw this little chickita (that's Spanish... haha) with an offset beak and one eye at the local feed store and knows I'm such an animal lover (read: sucker) that she called me and gave me the sob story. Poor little disabled fluff.

She also told me to name her Picasso, because her face looks like a Picasso painting.

So here I am caring for a chick. I couldn't buy any friends to keep her company, because chickens, being vicious little fuckers, will turn on the weakest link. So after a little research on chicken loneliness, I gave her a stuffed animal, some super fluffy squares I'd knitted for a blanket, and a mirror (chickens also aren't too bright).

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Her heating lamp is off-screen, and I put a heating pad in there for when it got too cold in the house. She also has an old spice jar to eat out of. With her offset beak (called crossbeak), it's easier for her to scoop food rather than peck it.

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Here's a picture of her good side.

Just kidding. That's her ghost eye.

I am happy to report, though, that after five days she's healthier and stronger than she was before, and she's already starting to grow some wing feathers.

You are never going to believe what I did today.

I took a little roadtrip with my pig.

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Pics or it didn't happen!

Chop Chop is a miniature pot-bellied rescue pig. Yes, I said miniature.

Pot-bellied pigs can get up to around 500-700 pounds. That's 225-315 kilos. Chops, being a mini, is only about 250 lbs, or 110 kilos.

Now, here's the question.

What do you do when your pig needs his hooves and tusks trimmed and you just had a falling-out with the only veterinarian who does house calls? Oh, and you don't have a trailer?

Answer: you put him in your car and take him to another vet, of course!

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You never know when you'll need those back seats to go all the way down.

And what do you do when you're a single woman who needs to get a 250-pound pig into your car?

Call for backup!

Let me tell you a quick story.

My friend, Sara, came over, ready to lend whatever help she could. My car was backed up to the fence as far as it would go, the hatchback was up, and my homemade ramp was in position and ready to support some piggie. We entered the backyard, calm, collected, armed with banana-bait, soft words of encouragement, and plastic storage container lids to gently guide Chop Chop in the direction of the ramp.

ONE HOUR LATER

after sprinting, sweating, attempting sophisticated flank maneuvers, frustrated stomping (by me), and much angry cursing (by me and the pig), Chop Chop stepped into the car like it was his idea all along. He was pleased to find two fresh bananas waiting for him, in fact.

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She's smiling. I'm about to pass out.

Everyone at the vet's office was tickled to see a pig in the back seat of a hatchback, and went to take photos. I, in the meantime, had developed a nervous twitch.

The reason for all this fuss? I wanted Chop Chop to be sedated during his nail and tusk trim. It's terrifying to be physically restrained and then have your nails essentially pinched off. It's not supposed to be painful, but if the vet accidentally trims the quick (the equivalent of cutting your fingernail too short and clipping the skin underneath), it can be awful.

When my animals hurt, I hurt. When they're uncomfortable, I'm uncomfortable. I feel like it's my job as a parent to protect them from trauma and soothe them in times of fear or pain.

But apparently it's dangerous to intravenously sedate a pig of his size. I'd be rolling the dice with is life. And as much of a pain in the ass as he is, that's not something I will ever knowingly do.

So here I am, sitting in the lobby, humming to myself so I don't hear Chop Chop squealing outside. Because I'll start bawling. In public. Don't care.

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The receptionists all had varying looks of pity and nervous fear in their eyes as they pretended not to stare at me.

Thankfully, this doctor and his two burly young male assistants (can I get me some of those?) were amazing, and it was all done in about ten minutes. When I got back into the car, Chop Chop was actually doing really well. He was lounging on the seatbacks and quite enjoyed the return trip. As humor would have it, he slid down to the floor of the car (on his feet) and ended up literally stepping out of the side door and strolling back into the yard when we got home. Easy as cake. I don't know why I try so hard...

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I wonder what's going to happen next week?!

lenadr