So Sandy is still here. His scabs are healing. I forgot to mention those here...he had scabs on him from itching from all the icky stuff on him. We put neosporin on them and he stopped scratching quite so much, though he still gives himself a scritch in those two spots every so often. More often than not, he's hurled himself at someone's feet feet up, looking for belly rubs. His favorite thing is to sit on Mike's lap and get loved up. We bought him chew treats and dog jerky and organic dog food. (I couldn't help my hippie self with the organic dog food.)

My allergies are hard around him, but I still pet the snot out of him and just go wash my hands. I'm vacuuming every other day and it seems to be going ok.

The only thing that was annoying is that he found the old squirrel hole out back and dug out the planter pretty well trying to get to that squirrel. If the squirrel plans on returning, I think Sandy will kill his furry rodent butt.

You may ask, Why would I think that of such a sweet little furry critter? I have my reasons.

Yesterday, he played soccer with the kids outside and some of the chickens that got out earlier in the day were scratching around near the corral where they were playing.

Yeah. He chased the chickens. However, not only did he chase them, but he also managed to scare one into the sheep fencing. (Sheep fencing for the farming-impaired is fencing with big squares in it about 4 inches by 4 inches.) The kids come in hollering that "there's a chicken stuck in the fence." Stupid me, I say,"How the heck did that happen?" "Sandy chased it!"

I go out and find a chicken stuck three squares up into the fencing, so it had had a little air behind it, only my stomach decides that at that instant I should go demonstrate my recent inability to retain digestive health and I realize that I should hobble as fast as I can to the nearest bathroom because if I bend over to help a chicken, it'd get ugly.

And clearly, because it was on the far end of the property, the dog was in his yard, and the chicken wasn't going anywhere (hadn't moved out of its predicament for a good 5-10 minutes), I had time to run in and beg Mike to save the chicken, whilest I released blessings upon the porcelain goddess.

The neighbors heard the noise and came out to see the spectacle of the chicken stuck in the fence, as Mike rescued it. Apparently, one wing had got caught on the wrong side and it had to be fed back through, in order to free the hen. She ran for the safety of the coop looking a little ragged and cranky.

How do I know Ms. Henny Penny was cranky? How'd I gain such insight into the psyche of chickens? She fluffed up her feathers and I swear, she huffed and clucked a bit pissily, and then trotted over near the coop. The most tell-tale sign? She herded easily into the coop. And lemme tell you...when it's nice weather, you can't get a chicken easily into the coop because they have lots of ground to scratch and peck at.

I can't believe that I've got a BA and half a master's degree and I'm an expert on chicken psychology.

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How's the knee?

I've just cried all week about it -- I'm just way depressed. It's frustrating and with the weather heating up, I've been getting my ass kicked every time I try to get anything done. That and I just hate that I'm always so freaking tired and that getting a job would mean nights of excrutiating pain and even a little walking, still means so much pain and swelling. I swear if one more person tells me I should take it easy, I'll punch them in the nose and stomp off.

And add that to the fact that my knee has a brain.

When I am very very swollen, I have cro-mag knee. When I am less swollen, my knee is more of a serious tool user, with less ridge -- a homo habilis knee. I look forward to the day when my knee becomes a modern day sapiens knee, which I am told is a good 4-5 months off yet. (I also got the impression from my therapist that it's possible it'll stay like this, though she knew I was teary and didn't say it outright.)

I was talking with Mike and we were talking about how I could get a picture of a brain tattooed on my knee. I figure when the swelling goes down, I can let Genny draw on the maze. And should I ever pursue a career in neurology, I could use it midway through brain surgery to make sure I wasn't lost. In the interim, I figure it answers a question my dad used to ask me when I was a kid, if I did something stupid that thinking through would have solved,"Why don't you use your head?"

Because I can use my knee, Dad!

Oh, dear. If I only had a brain....