Mellow in Her Old Age
I only have a few minutes before the day officially begins with the opening of the chicken house. The new hen (yet to be named, but with her only companion named Pearl, Buck and Jam have been suggested) seems to be adapting very well to her new digs. The dog is sleeping on the couch, and I’ve heard one should let them lie. And I agree.
Just a quick update on Gandy, about which I have been mostly silent lately, assuming half don’t care and the other half is tired of hearing about our puppoid tribulations. Even so, she has been at the center of our tiny universe, and that center is what I have been writing about and photographing lo these past ten years.
Today marks the first time I would characterize Gandy as being “affectionate”, meaning she not only let me rub her neck and ears without suspicion, but actually seemed to invite and then enjoy it. She’s putting the brake on the biting almost all the time now, and jumping up out of exuberance is her chief crime now, especially with strangers. It’s not mean behavior, but neither is it acceptable. If we ignore it, it goes on. If we reward her stopping, she thinks that starting again, then stopping, is the Perpetual Treat Machine. We’re not done yet with modifying each other’s behavior towards a tolerable mutual exchange of reward and punishment. My wife would probably say the same thing of our relationship, and it’s been an unsettled battle now for almost 42 years. We are, all of us, hopeless mongrels, under the thinnest guise of domestication.
As you see here, only ONE of her barely fits in the knee space under my desk where I once could have easily housed a half dozen Gandy’s with room for my size 12 boots left over. I’ll weigh her later today but I’m guessing she’s pushing 40 pounds. She’s gone from laptop to luggable and is celebrating month number 5 this week.