I am %100 positive that anyone who has a pet or a child in the house can relate. You’re going about your business, head in the clouds when you manage to slide your bare foot or hand into something unexpectedly moist. You know well the onset of sheer panic as you try to figure out what exactly you have discovered, praying the whole time that it’s just water. But you know. You know that it is not water.
To be honest, I usually have a fair idea of what fluid I stumbled (slipped?) upon before I ever try for positive identification. First you have to analyze the viscosity. Is it a thick fluid with a slight squish? That’s going to determine whether you are dealing with vomit, diarrhea, or a simple water spill. And that’s on a hard surface. On carpet you must really investigate using at least two of the 5 senses. Your choice on whether you see, taste, touch, listen to, or smell the offending mystery fluid. And it is offensive. There are few things in the world worse than having your bare skin or clothes encounter wetness that you cannot immediately identify.
The occasional vomit on the floor from a dog that ate something it shouldn’t have. An unexpected puddle of pee. The stickiness on a surface collecting hairs for some reason. The toothpaste smeared on the counter after the kid’s morning rush. What’s that pool of liquid on the floor around the toilet? Why is the carpet wet right here? What’s on that discarded towel I should have picked up yesterday? What was that warm squish under my foot? It’s the anti- treat. The fun never ends.
Today after cleaning up dog vomit (she has a broad taste pallet but a delicate stomach,) I took a break on the porch. Our largest turkey, Carl, was basking in a sunbeam all by himself. I decided that he needed nothing more in the world at that moment than my love. We routinely pick them up and pet them. Its mostly to annoy them but also to keep them acclimated to humans to curb some of the aggression (Toms can be mean.)
Carl did not want to be held. I admit, it was about ninety- eleven degrees outside and too hot for cuddling. But my mind was made up. He was getting loved today. I grabbed him with my left hand, holding him to the deck. He screeched and fought but I pinned him down. This was gonna happen. I reached down to cradle his body with my right hand against his wing. My hand slid through a warm, thick fluid. In disgust, I released him immediately. cue furious cussing and hopping abourt on both our parts. Apparently, he had been in the Jive turkey huddle just prior to this aborted love fest. Some other bird shat on Carl’s wing (rude!). And I put my raw, bare hand in the result.
So, I danced (ran) into the house to wash my hands 3 times. Sir Dookie wing went about his business without a care in the world.
An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.