Okay, maybe not the actual avian flu; I don’t want anyone banning their children from my house due to a mistaken joke, but there is something wrong with Aussie.  It showed up in his gram stain… that’s fancy talk for bird poop!  It’s a bacteria and the avian vet, Dr. Dolittle (more on this later) didn’t make a big fuss of it.  We are to pick up medicine tomorrow and learn how you give a 3.5 ounce bird medication.  I’m sure it’s not like a cat; put it in their mouth then blow in their face to make them swallow… I’ve tried that on kids, just so you know, it actually kind of works.  Put down the phone, Family Services is closed on Sundays.  Of course, as soon as I was off the phone with the vet, I turned to Google.  Why do I do that?  Google is fodder for hypochondriacs.  If you look up hangnail treatment, by the time you are off the computer you are sure your arm needs amputated and probably should go ahead and register yourself for the kidney donor list while you are at it.  Not different for bird diseases.  Megabacteria = me telling The Boy Child that his new pet  will still live with us… just underneath the backyard. 

Of course we’d pick out the bird with a disease.  Why?  Because it’s me and why would anything be normal or typical in my life?!?  As it was it took me almost 2 days to recover from our three-hour overwhelming visit to Dr. Dolittle.  I think his office is actually a worm hole to another dimension… one filled with bird zealots, birds larger than my dog that scream louder than baboons, lecturing vet techs whose job it is to scare new bird owners into thinking that they’ve purchased a carniverous eye-gouging beast of a pet so that they can sell you books and classes to fix the problem, and a cat who has been ‘boarded’ at the bird clinic for over 2 years straight.  Now in my world that’s not boarding. That’s called abandonment, but who am I to point out the obvious?  When I finally made it back to reality after the appointment I took a beer, for medicinal purposes, and still tossed and turned all night.  The next night was book club, or, as the Voice of Reason calls it, “Nerdy Girls Gone Wild.”  Bird stress + book club = reason for reckless abandonment with libation consumption.  Which brings us to the hungover status during which I answered Dr. Dolittle’s phone call regarding Aussies’s abnormal test results. 

What did I do then?  What any girl does for stess-management: I went underwear shopping and then to see Harry Potter.  It might not be conventional, but watching Harry dole out the final blow to Lord Voldemort while wearing new lacy pretty panties was definitely a boost.  Now if only I had a pair of “I’m brave enough to give medicine to a bird” panties, I’d be set.  Instead, I’ll just have to put my Big Girl panties on, go back to Dr. Dolittle and learn to be a bird doctorer like the rest of the zealots there.  If you see me in an eye patch next week we’ll all know why pirates with parrots only had one eye!

Oh, and who ever you are, go get your cat!


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