-From my practice notebook, 8/9/05 (about two years ago)
My right eye is purple today, the eyelid, the area under my eye. So far the white of my eye is still white but already I can imagine a few days from now the old blood making its way down from the lid to the globus.
Globus. That was what the eye doctor called it. No damage to the globus, he said. But the risk, he continued, is that you’ll develop a secondary infection in your sinuses or in any of the areas back there. It could even go to your brain.
In the emergency room, or the Urgent Care’s version of an emergency room, they told me to lie down on a bed, and they pulled the thin blue curtain around me. I could hear the nurses and doctors walking in their rubber-soled shoes on the linoleum. Ploit, ploit, ploit, their footsteps seemed to say.
Over in one part of the room I heard someone talking in low tones to a patient about migraine headaches. Then two nurses or orderlies talking, a third and fourth person joining them. The one male voice was saying that his wife was craving steak so he took them out to eat at Texas Cattle Company the night before. Guess what she ordered, he asked the other nurses. What? Chicken tenders. They all break out in laughter.
He goes on like a newborn comedian: My son went to dinner at some friend’s and he came back that night and told us, Mom, Dad, they served us filet mig-non. Filet Mig-Non, the male nurse said for effect. They all burst into laughter again.
I sat in my space, folding my legs left over right, then right over left. I practiced my brave face, afraid that if anyone showed me the least bit of compassion I would start to cry. I noticed the blue fabric of the curtains seemed to have a repeating eye pattern. I thought, That’s spooky. A wall of medical supplies on one side and an evil eye staring at you from the other.
Finally, the curtains parted and a tall, stocky woman stepped in. She was wearing a white smock. She asked me about my eye, took a close look and in her eyes I could see almost a fear, What is this??, and she asked me about the rooster. I told her the story and still her face held that disgusted look, not a judging look but a disgust just thinking about a rooster on my face, like those pods in Alien, the original one, that wrap around a person’s entire head.
I told her I thought I needed tetanus. She agreed. I told her I should probably get something for infections. The rooster walks around all day in bird droppings, I said. Eww, yes, and again the bloom of disgust. That’s a good point, she said, all while continuing to stare at my eye.
In the background I could hear a man’s voice, Dr. Raul G. of the blue, blue eyes. I had hoped he’d attend to me but no, he is with the migraine headache patient while I am with someone whose mouth and eyes are stuck in the Yuck position. Don’t doctors see way worse than me? Maybe that’s ER, not urgent walk-in clinic.
And now I’m thinking, I wonder what she did when the retarded man with scrapes from his head down his elbow and thigh went in. Of course, he was oblivious, flipping through magazines as if they were those cool books that show frames of a cartoon that when you flip fast through the frames animate the images. A galloping horse.
Lindo the Rooster (now long gone), photo taken around
2004, a year before he attacked me.
Yikes… :0
And, you know, sometimes I pronounce it ‘Fil-ay Mig-non’, too. Just for effect. LOL.
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I know that feeling when you’re in the hospital waiting for your turn and the nurses and doctors seem oblivious to your fear. Thay seem to have gotten used to seeing people in pain that they can talk about mundane things in the midst of fear. It always made me feel like screaming, “Can’t you see me sitting here?” Feeling like you’re invisible in a hospital is worse than getting sick.
What happened to Lindo? Did you keep him even after the attack? He’s a huge rooster, it looks like. I’ve never cuddled a chicken before. Was that you in the picture holding him?
BTW, I hope your eye turned out fine. 🙂
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My eyes are fine. I have two puncture scars between the bridge of my nose and my eyes.
Jim was about to break Lindo’s neck right after the attack but the girls and I wouldn’t let him. We kept Lindo for a few more month, but we were worried he’d attack the girls or a stranger (he sometimes chased people walking on our road.) Finally we took him to a place that accepts roosters run amuck. I suspect they sold him for cockfighting (it is illegal in NM, but only recently).
Photo is of Dee holding Lindo. He always let her pick him up and hold him. He was gorgeous.
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Vivid description of waiting for “urgent” care. Nurses can be angels or unempathic idiots. I’ve had both myself. Gorgeous rooster, but horrifying that he pecked your eye. How old did he get to be?
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I think he was about two going on three when he did that.
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ybonesy, I remember when this happened. And how scary it seemed. So close to your eyes. It wasn’t something that was even on my radar of things that could happen to a person. I remember the process you and your family went through around whether to keep Lindo or not. It had a big impact.
This is one of those things in life you just have no control over. How could you ever plan for something like that? The photograph is beautiful. I’m struck by how strong and elegant Dee’s hand are. Strong hands. Do your girls ever mention Lindo? And I’ve been wondering about the hens, too. All of these events are about loss. I guess we learn at a young age.
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That rooster went to town on you. Sounds like you needed someone to hold your hand. Great details in your writing.
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Yes, the girls mention Lindo, but they don’t cry over him. They do get weepy over Rose, Emerald, and Sandy. Those three were attacked about four weeks ago. We don’t know what it was — coyotes, racoon, big hawks or owls. Whatever it was took all in one night, took the entire birds minus bunches of feathers. One of the hens was dragged a long way — we found her feathers in other places. They were also stealth. We didn’t hear a thing.
Having animals this way teaches about loss. Dee buried the one baby turkey that died the night of the attack on the three hens. (We think the mother turkey stepped on it during the mayhem.) Something about the fact that Dee was able to bury that baby struck me.
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Through all of that, you were noticing the ‘eye’ pattern on the blue curtain. 🙂
As a younger person I made the uneducated mistake of squatting down to say “hi” to a male turkey. He immediately puffed out and started drumming and circling. EEK! I stood up FAST. He “unpuffed”, so of course I had to squat down again just to see if he’d puff up again. Guess what?
I’m glad you made it through that OK. We don’t credit fowl with dangerous temperment, but they are taloned and beaked. (pronounced bee-ked)
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Great descriptive details in this piece and I wish we had a photo of your eye (maybe this incident is part of a karmic connection to St. Lucy?)
I have two scars on my thigh from my most recent chicken attack, courtesy of Penny, my fat, irascible Rhode Island Red hen, who comes at me when I am not feeding her fast enough. But sometimes you just fall for the strangest, most unlovable critters, reason be damned. Sorry you had to lose Lindo (and now the hens), but with little ones around, it was the cautious thing to do and may be teaching the kids about tough love.
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Maybe I will post photos of my eyes. I once sat at a lunch table at work in a Chinese city, and the man to my right was from Germany. He had two scars on the interior of the bridge of his nose, just like my scars. I almost asked him if his were also caused by rooster spurs. I didn’t ask the question, though. I thought he might think it was a pick-up line.
Interesting connection to St. Lucy. You know her story, right? She poked out her own eyes so her betrothed would not marry her and she could instead dedicate her life to God. Maybe Lindo wanted me to dedicate my life to not whacking him with bamboo poles every time I saw him coming my way ; – ).
Seriously, though, our girl chicken Rose was like a cat or a dog. She was our strange little pet.
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Hi ybonesy – a little late getting to this – I wanted to tell you my rooster story, which is a tale of Corrales as well. It’s posted on my blog, C. Little, No Less – August 26 – My Feathered Friend.
Thanks for all you are doing here, it is interesting and enjoyable to visit RedRavine and is inspirational to me.
Thank you for inviting me to walk down the good red road.
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So glad you’ve come by and commented, Linda. I wanted to comment on your blog, but I couldn’t remember the password for my Google account.
But here’s the link to that post: http://chickenlil.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_chickenlil_archive.html
What I wanted to say was, it’s such an alive piece of writing. I could see that rooster in the tree under the moon, his little beady eye watching you and you watching him. And it did capture this Rio Grande valley area, the mix of people and the sort of “let it be” attitude toward animals and neighbors.
I’m glad to know we share a common rooster bond. Not sure what to call it. I don’t hate roosters, and I’m sure you don’t either. But I definitely look at them askew.
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ybonesey, that trackback link is (without the . at the end)
http://
chickenlil.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_chickenlil_archive.html
thanks for your thoughts.
I look at them (roosters) as stew, actually.
I am posting a poem tonight, which I was inspired to do by your memories of mother, cleaning.
I don’t reveal all in my blog, but it can’t help but be a bit beyond the surface, if you are to say anything at all.
I love the photos and the writing on redravine, thanks so much.
Linda
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oops, let me see if I can fix that in the other comment.
I personally also look at roosters as stew; my family does not cooperate. HA! I just realized that you were playing off of my askew comment.
I’ll check out your poem. Also, hope you saw the new Submission Guidelines. Might be something you’d consider?
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OK — I think it works now.
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