Playing vet

Quite frankly, I've had enough of waiting for Delilah to either get better or drop off the perch, so I've decided to take matters into my own hands. The poorly chook has been put in a cardboard box and moved to the living room. I have made up a sloppy oat porridge, and am determinedly shoving it down her throat at regular intervals. This is no easy task, as she clamps her beak together and glares a me in a 'don't even think about it, mate' manner. There then follows a bizarre struggle, as I try to hold on to the hens head, prize open her beak and poor porridge down her neck. This is a task which easily requires three hands, but I'm managing it. Poor Delilah does end up covered in globs of breakfast cereal, though. She really hates me now.