Bumbling

I suppose it’s time to come clean and admit that I have another girlfriend.  Her name is Wilma, and it would be fair to say that she’s not in her first flush of youth.  In fact, rather like me, she has that suggestion of turkey skin on her neck that makes you a little anxious around Thanksgiving.

Outside of her neck, she’s pretty stunning in all her finery and has beautifully rounded contours that make you want to stroke her all over.  (No, boys - she’s mine!)

I had hoped she would be a musician, and it’s true that she can sing, though I don’t think she’d make the church choir - but I’m a fussy man when it comes to music.  If I was pushed and honest, I’d probably say that her singing voice sounds more like a turkey than anything else.  Which is fair, because she is a turkey.

Wilma is an inhabitant of Kilby Historical Farm, and, with her husband, Fred, form the ‘Flintstone Pair’ of magnificent turkeys at the farm.

Wilma got sore feet a few weeks ago; in fact very sore feet - bumblefoot sore.  So, for some reason, I was called in to see if I could help.  Why, in heaven’s name you would ask an ancient, retired trauma surgeon for humans, now a vicar, and a dog specialist - to help you with a turkey with sore feet defies imagination!  But living creatures and living pathology, and infection is much the same in bumblefoot in poultry as it is in an uncontrolled diabetic human with a rotten foot.

Poor old Wilma had both her feet affected, and so - with two stalwart helpers (one to hold the lady in question, and the other to pass me my instruments), we operated on Wilma’s poorly feet.

At this stage I cannot tell you of the long-term outcome, as she is still requiring iodine soaks and bandages every few days, but at least the swelling has come down, and she hasn’t shown any signs of systemic sepsis.

I’m not sure that I am her favourite man any more, and that pains me - but it goes with the territory.  If asked, I wouldn’t say that my dentist is my favourite man - which is why I now see his wife - also a dentist - who is much easier on the eye anyway.

I’m hoping that I won’t have to go and upset Wilma much more now, as the excellent staff at Kilby are looking after her well, and only call in the lunatic fringe (me) in desperation.  I am hoping, however, that in the not too distant future, I will be able to go and visit Wilma and stroke her rounded contours again without her giving me the stink-eye and bolting.  The downside of being friends again with Wilma is that if she is inclined to have forgiven me, and wants to give me a hug, her fingers and claws are impressively strong and the nails sharp - and if her bumblefoot has resolved, then her grip will be even more tenacious.

It can be hard to explain to Sheila what I have been doing, when I return home with scratch marks, and straw on my clothing, telling her I have been rolling in the barn with Wilma.  It should get easier though, as wood chips are better for bumblefoot than straw - so that should get me off the hook.  I hope so at least, or Thanksgiving this year may require a swift exit for me!

Philip+

Comments for this post are now off.