The Return of the Klutz

And a cheery hello again!

You can close your mouth now. I did promise, and it’s only week two.

This week, I thought I’d take the opportunity to clarify that which, as mentioned briefly last week, befell me most recently in my long line of mishaps.

For those of you unfamiliar with my modus operandi, I generally end up in hospital and in plaster due to a combination of features, almost always involving heights and at least one animal (husband included).

I remained true to type on this occasion.

A little back story first. Before Christmas, a small rogue dog managed to get into Chikkinopolis and scare the holy crêpe out of our flock of chickens. Most of them managed to fly up into an almond tree and escape his worst attentions, but one lame-brain (Harriet, the “Deb” of the chicken world) thought it would be a good idea to wedge herself into a hole in the wall.

Thus having presented her plump rear end to the afore-mentioned trouble-making canine, she ended up pretty well chewed in the area of said rear end before I could respond to all the fuss and feathers and effect a rescue.

I truly believed she would give up the ghost overnight, since birds in general are very prone to shock and she was quite damaged. But I placed her in a cat carrier in the warm kitchen, washed and patched her to the best of my ability, and hand-fed her with baby parrot food. She survived, against all odds, although she was lame on one leg.

Early January, the weather was clement, so I decided to take her outside to our covered fly-free zone on the front terrace to scratch around and exercise her weak leg. With her clasped in my arms, I tried to pass through the French doors with her, unaccompanied by dogs, so that she could enjoy a little freedom unmolested. Regrettably, I failed. A small dog managed to slip through under my feet, and then a large dog grasped the opportunity thus presented to barge me from behind, so that I hit the top step (of the three descending to the terrace) in a perfect position to trip over the small dog, landing at the bottom of the steps without having touched the two steps in between.

And I landed on my elbow, in such a way that both forearm bones broke and displaced, a ligament snapped and the nerve was crushed. A slight mess, then.

I have been asked why I didn’t just chuck the chicken and fall on my hands. People, please! It happened in a split second! Had I been blessed with a decent pause for thought before making contact with the concrete, clearly I would have face-planted so that at the very least I could have benefitted from plastic surgery!

Instead, as it turned out, I had to spend the best part of a week in hospital having plates, screws and other inserts placed inside my arm to allow it to repair. So-called friends, including my husband, took delight in labelling me the bionic woman, in the mistaken belief that this is in some way humerous (pun intended). However, it transpires that my body is now rejecting all the foreign stuff and I will need to go back into hospital soon to have it all removed.

More “Scrapheap Challenge”, then, I’m thinking.