![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Is Monday.
Mar. 5th, 2007 07:49 am( First, the beasties: )
( Turisas tomorrow! )
( Thus. Things to do today: )
That ought to keep me busy!
( Turisas tomorrow! )
( Thus. Things to do today: )
That ought to keep me busy!
Test results
Jan. 31st, 2007 06:22 pmWell, I just called the vets to get Thoth's test results... and they're kind of mixed. ( Read more... )
Anyway, that's the ferret news. Not much else going on - tired all the time, sleeping a lot, car will cost in the region of £700 to fix. Argh.
Anyway, that's the ferret news. Not much else going on - tired all the time, sleeping a lot, car will cost in the region of £700 to fix. Argh.
Ferrets and kittens.
Jan. 22nd, 2007 05:33 pmJust got back from the vets, and Djinny is booked in for her spay. Hurrah! (Because nothing says 'neuter the cat' like a couple of entire toms just mooching around the garden, keeping an eye on the place...just in case...) ( So, yes. At The Vet. )
Oh, and Axl is apparently as happy as larry up at the kennels. He's not at all interested in people (!) but loves being with other dogs. It's a relief to know he's doing well!
Oh, and Axl is apparently as happy as larry up at the kennels. He's not at all interested in people (!) but loves being with other dogs. It's a relief to know he's doing well!
Well, fuck. *Snort*
Aug. 4th, 2005 10:13 pmYou know... sometimes good days come completely out of the blue. ( Just, in fact, like this... )
One last thing before I go:
OK. Two:
*Happy sigh*
One last thing before I go:
OK. Two:
*Happy sigh*
Slay and I appear to be trading viruses at the moment. I've got a particularly jolly little throat infection allied with a marvellous sinusy/catarrhal sneezy cough; bucketloads of mucus and headaches. Still, at least it means that sleeping on the sofa isn't such a chore, as I can prop myself up so I don't cough quite so much.
Poor Pepsi. As long as we are either within her eyeshot or out the house she's fine; it's when she can't see us that she seems to panic. I don't blame her. She should be kipping on the bottom of someone's bed, not being confined to a damn crate, no matter how often I turn her out or how comfortable I make it. I'm at my wit's end. Surely something will come up...?
Update on Titch; growing well, when I took her on she weighed a whole 247 grams and has just topped 350! She's beginning to play, and is getting a bit more confident. And demanding; her food bowl was empty last night and she basically hung on the bars of her cage and screamed until I went and filled it for her. At this rate it won't be long until she can join the big ferrets outside.
And speaking of ferrets...my friend Sarah has bred a litter this year; I'm going to have - well, hopefully - a couple of hobs. On thursday one of the kits died - he'd been unable to walk, and although mum was bringing him food and he seemed a happy little soul the fact remained that his legs didn't work. So off he went to the vets, and they decided to x-ray him the following day. Well, poor little sod died that night. Bad enough, but two more of the kits are going the same way...
The trouble is that appart from the weakness/paralysis (posterior paresis, to use the technical term) is the first symptom of just about everything. I'm digging out my various ferret vet textbooks to see if I can track anything down but...I get the horrible feeling she might lose the lot. Bit like the disease called 'fading pup syndrome'; perfectly healthy puppies just...fade away, one at a time. And no-one knows why.
Still, I'll keep looking. Even so, it looks like the indomitable Titch might be the only kit I do get this year!
Okay, back off to crash out on the sofa. And cough up another lung lobe or two!
Poor Pepsi. As long as we are either within her eyeshot or out the house she's fine; it's when she can't see us that she seems to panic. I don't blame her. She should be kipping on the bottom of someone's bed, not being confined to a damn crate, no matter how often I turn her out or how comfortable I make it. I'm at my wit's end. Surely something will come up...?
Update on Titch; growing well, when I took her on she weighed a whole 247 grams and has just topped 350! She's beginning to play, and is getting a bit more confident. And demanding; her food bowl was empty last night and she basically hung on the bars of her cage and screamed until I went and filled it for her. At this rate it won't be long until she can join the big ferrets outside.
And speaking of ferrets...my friend Sarah has bred a litter this year; I'm going to have - well, hopefully - a couple of hobs. On thursday one of the kits died - he'd been unable to walk, and although mum was bringing him food and he seemed a happy little soul the fact remained that his legs didn't work. So off he went to the vets, and they decided to x-ray him the following day. Well, poor little sod died that night. Bad enough, but two more of the kits are going the same way...
The trouble is that appart from the weakness/paralysis (posterior paresis, to use the technical term) is the first symptom of just about everything. I'm digging out my various ferret vet textbooks to see if I can track anything down but...I get the horrible feeling she might lose the lot. Bit like the disease called 'fading pup syndrome'; perfectly healthy puppies just...fade away, one at a time. And no-one knows why.
Still, I'll keep looking. Even so, it looks like the indomitable Titch might be the only kit I do get this year!
Okay, back off to crash out on the sofa. And cough up another lung lobe or two!
Tired, shattered and shagged out. And I only worked from 1 until 7:30... ten hour shift tomorrow, oh what joy.
And I did it again. Client comes in with a box.
We're always suspicious of boxes. People thrust A Box across the front desk at you and say "I found this/my cat brought this in" and regard you with a touching faith that you are going to fix the contents of the box. They rarely tell you what's in the box. It's kind of a lucky dip thing. The contents of said box can be (and have been):
Maggoty hedgehogs (all ages)
Baby birds, from just pipping out the egg to armed and dangerous almost-full-grown crows
Injured adult birds (Again, from a moribund sparrow to a pissed off hawk)
Exploding pigeons (Open box, mass of feathers and blood leaps for freedom and promptly dies)
Dying ducks
Myxy rabbits
Dog chewed hares
Extremely angry grass snakes (which promptly vomit on you)
Bats
Baby deer, taking their last breaths
Mice
Rats (Open box, say "it's a rat", watch client scream and fall over)
Ferrets
Now, the last one on the list comes in several flavours; young, old, angry, savage, screwed.
Today, the Mystery Box contained a Pine Marten - according to the client. Yeah rrrrrriiiiiiiiiight, I said, when one of my less brave colleagues thrust the box at me. I was drinking a cup of tea at the time. And eating a chocolate biscuit. (Clients can be very generous when you've just euthanased a beloved elderly pet. Buggered if I can figure it out.)
Anyway. The plastic (!) sandwich box certainly smelt like a mustelid, so I cracked the lid and took a peek.
This is always an exciting moment.
You never know what's going to happen. 'I think it's a pigeon' turns out to be an angry sparrowhawk, attempting to emerge from the box talons first and damn the torpedoes. 'I think it's nearly dead' is a mouse that legs it along your arms, hurdles your shoulder and buggers off into the kennels or under the dental table. (Incidentally, people really are that dim sometimes.)
So. I open the box. It turns out that the occupant is a four week old baby ferret, polecat colour, big tick load, dehydrated etc etc.
"What is it?" chime the staff, from a safe distance.
I explain that it's a ferret. They argue with me, and I insist that as I've seen baby ferrets before and indeed bred more than my fair share they can wind their bloody necks in and shut up. It. Is. A. Ferret.
I indentified it as a hob (male) initially, but after a good look I actually think I got it wrong. *Ahem* Blame it on the heat of the moment.
Well. Nobody else wanted to play, so I de-ticked, fed, watered, and housed the little tyke (called 'Titch', so far) in the spare cat box I always have in my car. Nobody else wanted her, she's old enough not to need round-the-clock feeding and I was going to get another couple of kits this year anyway...
*Sigh*
She's gorgeous. I've fed her and housed her in an old rat cage; she's curled up asleep, and I'll post a picture as soon as I've got one. Awww. I've got a new baby! ;)
ETA: Pic!
And I did it again. Client comes in with a box.
We're always suspicious of boxes. People thrust A Box across the front desk at you and say "I found this/my cat brought this in" and regard you with a touching faith that you are going to fix the contents of the box. They rarely tell you what's in the box. It's kind of a lucky dip thing. The contents of said box can be (and have been):
Maggoty hedgehogs (all ages)
Baby birds, from just pipping out the egg to armed and dangerous almost-full-grown crows
Injured adult birds (Again, from a moribund sparrow to a pissed off hawk)
Exploding pigeons (Open box, mass of feathers and blood leaps for freedom and promptly dies)
Dying ducks
Myxy rabbits
Dog chewed hares
Extremely angry grass snakes (which promptly vomit on you)
Bats
Baby deer, taking their last breaths
Mice
Rats (Open box, say "it's a rat", watch client scream and fall over)
Ferrets
Now, the last one on the list comes in several flavours; young, old, angry, savage, screwed.
Today, the Mystery Box contained a Pine Marten - according to the client. Yeah rrrrrriiiiiiiiiight, I said, when one of my less brave colleagues thrust the box at me. I was drinking a cup of tea at the time. And eating a chocolate biscuit. (Clients can be very generous when you've just euthanased a beloved elderly pet. Buggered if I can figure it out.)
Anyway. The plastic (!) sandwich box certainly smelt like a mustelid, so I cracked the lid and took a peek.
This is always an exciting moment.
You never know what's going to happen. 'I think it's a pigeon' turns out to be an angry sparrowhawk, attempting to emerge from the box talons first and damn the torpedoes. 'I think it's nearly dead' is a mouse that legs it along your arms, hurdles your shoulder and buggers off into the kennels or under the dental table. (Incidentally, people really are that dim sometimes.)
So. I open the box. It turns out that the occupant is a four week old baby ferret, polecat colour, big tick load, dehydrated etc etc.
"What is it?" chime the staff, from a safe distance.
I explain that it's a ferret. They argue with me, and I insist that as I've seen baby ferrets before and indeed bred more than my fair share they can wind their bloody necks in and shut up. It. Is. A. Ferret.
I indentified it as a hob (male) initially, but after a good look I actually think I got it wrong. *Ahem* Blame it on the heat of the moment.
Well. Nobody else wanted to play, so I de-ticked, fed, watered, and housed the little tyke (called 'Titch', so far) in the spare cat box I always have in my car. Nobody else wanted her, she's old enough not to need round-the-clock feeding and I was going to get another couple of kits this year anyway...
*Sigh*
She's gorgeous. I've fed her and housed her in an old rat cage; she's curled up asleep, and I'll post a picture as soon as I've got one. Awww. I've got a new baby! ;)
ETA: Pic!
