I am anxious. Instinctively, I want to prod and poke at Mini's humungous swollen eye. I have restrained myself to just grabbing her and having a good look. The actual eyeball is nowhere to be seen at this stage, and the cyst tissue has hardened in the gap between her eyelids. The swelling is now the size of a marble.
None of this sounds good, does it? I have to admit it looks even worse. My little splash hen is filthy from the winter, and has a giant crusty eye. From some angles, she resembles a praying mantis. Or one of those swivel eyed reptiles, anyway. She certainly wouldn't win any beauty contests.
Yet, the strange thing is, she's coping. In fact, she's more than coping. She pootles around the garden, looking for tasty things to eat. She runs for treats. She hasn't lost any weight, and her overall condition is good. She is getting better at avoiding the sneaky Maeve, who sidles up to her on her bad side to deliver a swift peck to the head. All in all, she's just getting on with her chickenny business.
So, I am resisting my urge to interfere. The last time I started prodding and poking, her eye bled and she shrieked at me. I should probably take the non-too-subtle hint.
Meh-meh.
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