The rains during the past couple of weeks combined with the break in the heat wave hasn’t bumped the Great Speckled Bird back into what must have been a spry, active youth as I’d hoped it might. [The Great Speckled Bird: Respecting our Betters] [The Liar: The Great Speckled Bird, Part 2]
From the inside of Night Fortress 2 there’s a step up through the exit hole and he’s having a lot of difficulty with it because of his crippled leg and wing.
Those chains, incidently, are part of an ongoing war with generations of Brother Coon trying to dig into the fortress at night. The links where they meet the ground have treble-hooks wired to them to discourage digging there, but it’s a labor intensive game. They’re the first line of defense. Under the wood chips they’re on the holes are stuffed with prickly pear cactus, then covered with wood chips. Brother Coon eventually gets past them all and insists on my going to the next level of debate: The Lost Coon Diggings
Even the largest hen doesn’t have a problem with it. But after the hens are all out harvesting the night carcasses under the bug-light he’ll still be in there crowing, evidently dreading the prospect of fighting his way through that opening.
I load the chicken drinking water up with home-made colloidal silver, catch him and soak his legs in orange-peel tincture, and it all seems to help, but gradually GSB’s hard living before I got him’s coming home to roost.
Usually GSB doesn’t indulge in cliche, but maybe his mind’s going, too. Lately I’ve heard him say more than once, “If I’d known I was going to live this long I’d have taken better care of myself.”
If he keeps doing that I might be tempted to chop off his head.
C. W. McCall “Wolf Creek Pass”