Wednesday 14 April 2010

Sprout.



Took the bloody hen to see an avian specialist in Horsham today. She's got egg peritonitis, and the idea was, that the amazing Alberto Rodriguez would spay her tomorrow. Poor old Sprout is turning out to be a real roasting tin dodger, she's been booked in for PTS twice since January. Both times I've cancelled the appointments, because the first time, we got snowed in, and the second time, she rose from her death bed, and made a recovery that Jesus would have been impressed with. Apart from a slight wobble on St Valentines day when she spent hours squeezing something out of her bum, that wouldn't have looked out of place on the set of Alien, she's been fine until last week. Anyway, after weighing up the pro's and cons, I decided against the spay, and Sprouty is now the proud owner of a contraceptive implant, which should prevent her little chicken self, producing any more eggs, and fingers crossed will cure the peritonitis. In the meantime, the Paxo is going out of date, and I'm not only doubting my sanity at owning a barren hen, but trying very hard not to work out how many eggs and chicken breasts I could buy with the £103.89p that todays vet consult cost.

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