This little piggy
After mentioning on a farm-related message board all the chicks I ordered this week, I noticed in a comment from someone there that they didn’t buy Cornish X Crosses because they (the person, not the chickens) belonged to the Animal Welfare Institute. I was intrigued, and started Googling. I figured it had something to do with their growth speed, because I know that if you don’t slaughter them pretty young, their legs can break because of their phenomenally fast growth. What I found —
Almost all of the chicken you have ever seen in a supermarket is of one general type, derived from the Cornish Cross hybrid. The Cornish Cross is a large broiler/roaster designed for commercial production, but amazingly adaptable f or pastured, no-drug rearing. The controversy over this bird arises from the fact that it owes its existence to the industry’s desire to create a creature that could survive the abuses of confinement rearing, grow at an abnormal rate and be ready for butcher in 6-8 weeks. It is not a breed; it will not reproduce true to type. It the end point of selective hybridization, and the industry will create more next year from the same hybridization methods. It is a food source whose genetics are owned by corporations. It has been developed to withstand the cruelty and abuses of the commercial poultry industry. If it disappeared tomorrow, those abusive management practices would have to change. All of that has led me to be concerned about raising these hybrids, as has the fact that raising them is disapproved of by people whose opinion I respect, like the folks from the Animal Welfare Institute, and the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy. It concerns me even though pasture rearing that bird is an improvement over buying one in the store, for you and the bird. On balance, I have decided against doing so. In part that is because I have raised them on pasture and concluded that while they thrived and foraged in a pastured, no-drug environment, their failure to run around like other chickens suggested that they were not comfortable trying to support their immense bodies on what are after all, little chicken legs.
(source)
— bothered me so much I called McMurray Hatchery and changed my order so that we’re getting White Orpingtons (the white ones) for meat instead of the Cornish Crosses. As a benefit, if I find myself unable to chop off their heads out of my innate pussy-ness, they’re good layers.
While I was at it, I swapped out the three White Rocks for three Delawares because I read from two people that their White Rocks consistently had health problems while none of their other chickens do.
The lady who runs the shelter where we get all our foster cats called Robyn yesterday to see if we wanted a pig. I called her back to tell her we were interested, but purely from a dinner table standpoint. She didn’t think the lady would be willing to part with the pig knowing that it would be eaten, but she’d check.
Apparently someone saw several pigs parading down the side of the road in south Huntsville back in December. They tried to rescue them but could only catch one. The woman who called the shelter had agreed to take the pig, but now he weighs 15 pounds and is getting too big for her. I suspect she thought it was going to be a little potbellied pig, but it isn’t.
It’s the kind you eat.
He sure is cute right now though. I told the lady at the shelter that he’d be treated like royalty until he was old enough to slaughter, and that he’d be dispatched quickly and humanely. I haven’t heard a definitive answer back yet.
Watch it now before it’s pulled.
When the assistant called me back, I sighed with relief and limped behind him to the examining room. I’d been waiting for an hour. Such was the luck with accepting the earliest possible appointment with the foot doctor, one late in the afternoon at the busiest office.
“Decided to come talk to him about the surgery?” the assistant asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m tired of the constant pain and ready to do something other than orthotics to get it taken care of.”
I have a congenital defect in my right foot, where my heel bone is fused to another bone. My foot is slowly collapsing as I get older, and that collapse has led to a pretty severe case of plantar fasciitis. I’d been to the doctor once before, where he recommended an orthotic to stop the collapse, and then surgery to release the fascia and a compressed nerve if the pain didn’t go away.
Switching shoes from the cheap Kohl’s Reeboks to expensive New Balance ones designed for pronators like myself, along with the orthotics, made the pain less, but it didn’t get rid of it. In the last couple of weeks, it’s been getting worse, with some days worse than others. Living in constant pain begins to really wear on you after a while. To make it even worse, I’ve done something to my left elbow with all the building I’ve been doing. Holding an 18-volt screwdriver at arm’s length while torquing it around and applying pressure to drive the screw really takes its toll on the joint, particularly when you’ve just built two things back to back that took ten pounds of screws each.
I was at the doctor’s office to tell him I wanted to go ahead and schedule getting the surgery, and to beg for him to squeeze me in soon because life’s going to get really busy in March and April with the chickens and planting and whatnot. If I could get the surgery in February, that would give me time to get some healing in before everything got hectic.
I waited another 15 minutes in the exam room, feeling like a dork in a big reclining chair with one shoe and sock off. Finally, though, the doctor came in and shook my hand. He barely looked old enough to be out of high school.
I explained about the foot again to jolt his memory, while he poked and prodded around. Interestingly, there was no pain around the nerve this time, just a really sore spot on the bottom/side of my heel.
“I’m ready to get this taken care of for good,” I said. “The orthotic helped a little, but it still hurts quite a bit. It’s keeping me from doing as much work as I could be doing, and between my foot any my elbow I’m hardly able to work out at all. I’m starting to gain weight, and that’s even MORE unacceptable than the pain.”
Since I jobbed my elbow up — the podiatrist’s non-expert opinion is “tennis elbow”, based on how I did it, oh joy — and the the pain in my heel. I’m only working out twice a week now, just on the elliptical. Lifting weights isn’t an option because of the elbow, and the days I do the elliptical I pay for it in spades later in the day. I tried taking an entire week off, with no workouts and no building, and neither problem got better. The elbow does seem to slowly be healing, but it’s been hurting since sometime in November.
“Well, before we try something as drastic as the surgery I want to try one more thing,” he said. “A steroid shot.”
My heart sank. I’ve heard nightmarish tales about these injections.
“Really?” I asked. “The last time you saw me you said you didn’t think that would help because the nerve was impinged.”
“I know, but there’s no pain on the nerve at all right now and I think maybe it isn’t really impinged. Once you’re on board for surgery, you’re committed. Let’s try this one other thing.”
“Be straight with me here. I’ve heard nothing but bad about these injections, heard they’re about the most painful things imaginable. Are they?”
He made a face and a pshaw noise.
“There’s a little pain, but it’s quick and not that bad.”
“That’s what ALL you doctors say, right before you make us scream in agony.”
“I’ve had the shots. They’re not that bad.”
“In your foot?”
“Yes.”
“Where will you do the shot? I have a friend who works for a podiatrist, and she said if you go in from the bottom that means you don’t like me, but if you go in through the side you do.”
He laughed.
“There’s some truth to that,” he said. “But I’m going to go in right where the pain is.”
Great. That’s right where the side and bottom meet, but a touch more to the bottom side.
I hemmed and hawed, but finally agreed to take the shot. Pretty much immediately, I broke into a cold sweat. I can take pain with the best of them, but like I said, I’ve heard nothing but horror stories about having steroid injections into a joint.
The doctor left the room, and a couple of minutes later his assistant showed up with a large syringe chock full of something creamy and white. A needle roughly the length of my pinky poked out of the end.
“Alright Nate,” I said. “I know you’ll be straight with me. He’s trying to tell me this shot isn’t going to hurt too much, but I’ve heard nothing but bad about them. Which is it?”
“It hurts like hell,” he said. “I’ve seen grown men cry when they get this shot. He’s lying through his teeth.”
“I KNEW IT! I can’t be responsible for any cuss words I scream when he sticks me with that thing.”
“I heard you. I’ll probably cuss with you!”
Nate left me alone with the syringe, and I had a good ten minutes to sit there with it and fret about the shot. Finally, the doctor came back in.
“Why such a rush?” I asked. “You can go see someone else if you want; I don’t mind waiting.”
He smiled.
“I promise, it’ll be over quickly.”
He swabbed my foot with an alcohol pad and got the syringe and needle ready.
“I’m going to hold your heel pretty firmly,” he said. “Most people’s instinct is to pull back when I start.”
I gripped the arms of the chair almost hard enough to bend the metal. The feel of the needle sliding into my foot was weird, but not really painful.
Hmmm, I thought. That part wasn’t so—
He started to depress the plunger, and the pain was so sudden and strong my ass lifted up off the chair. Tears came to my eyes. Not crying tears, but the kind you get when you do something like pluck a nose hair. Involuntary pain tears.
The doctor was wrong, though. My first instinct wasn’t to pull back, it was to kick him in the head with my other foot. Fortunately I was able to keep this desire in check.
In my adult life, there have always been two markers that define what I call agony: having a catheter yanked out while I was awake for it, and having my shoulder rotated in a way to test for a torn labrum when the labrum was really torn.
Now there are three markers for me to define agony.
Imagine having the worst stone bruise possible. If you up that pain to double, you get to the level of my plantar fasciitis on a bad day. Seriously, there are times when I can’t walk because of the pain. Now, on top of that, imagine someone putting their thumb on the bruised part and bearing down with all their weight.
That’s what the shot felt like.
After about 20 eternal seconds I felt like I couldn’t breathe. After 30, when I was starting to wonder if I was going to pass out, it was suddenly over and he pulled the needle out.
“See?” he asked. “It’s over quickly, and it’s not nearly as bad as people make it out to be.”
He told me it might take a couple of days to completely start working. As of this morning, it hurts worse than before.
I climbed out of my car and went around to the back to fetch a needed item from the trunk, simultaneously melancholy and excited. Sad about the events that made what I was doing possible, but happy about what I was doing. I pulled the thing out of the trunk and checked it over, trying to see what all I needed to do to make it functional. It was held together by cable ties. Great.
I shut the trunk and walked to the front of the country house I was visiting. Through it, I could hear a dog barking like hell and a woman’s voice telling him to quieten down and get to his crate. By the time I reached the door, all was quiet.
“Come on in, Fred,” the woman called when I knocked.
Pulling the door open, I was hit by the smell. Given what’s going on in the house, it’s a completely understandable smell, but it always kind of takes me by surprise when I’m there. It’s potent, but like I said, expected.
“I’m in the kitchen,” the woman called.
I walked down the hallway, marvelling at the sounds of excitement around me. As I passed the closed french doors leading into the front room, I saw what I’d come for and felt even more certain it was the right thing to do.
In the kitchen, the woman was latching the door to a large crate with a big black and white dog and small black cat in it. The cat, who I noticed had a tube sticking out of his neck, didn’t seem bothered by the portly dog at all.
“I think that’s the closest I’ve ever seen a cat and dog without one of them freaking out,” I said, once the lady and I had exchanged pleasantries.
She told me that both animals were pretty laid back about other animals, and that the cat was currently being fed through that tube sticking out of its neck. She didn’t tell me how the cat came to be in that situation.
I asked if she had a knife so I could cut the cable ties holding the thing I was carrying together, and she got some scissors and clipped them for me.
“Rita and Penny are going to be thrilled you’re doing this,” she said while I got busy assembling. Rita and Penny do volunteer work for the woman.
“Well, it just seems like the right thing to do. I know some people might feel like we’re trying to replace Spot, but the way we look at it is that there’s room in our house to give another cat a better life.”
I got the new cat carrier put together and stood up.
“Let’s go get Joe Bob,” I said.
A little over a year ago, Robyn and I fostered a pair of kitty siblings we called Joe Bob and Myrtle (real names, “MoonMan” and “MoonDance”). They’d been found in the wild and raised by two volunteers for the shelter where we get all our foster (and non-foster) cats. Both cats had been adopted, but brought back because of a death in the family. They went to the pet store, where they lived in a tiny cage for a couple of months.
Robyn brought them home to give them a break from the cramped cage, and they stayed with us a few weeks. During that time, we fell in love with Joe Bob because he was such a good boy. Eventually, though, they went back to the store and both ended up adopted.
But a short time later, Joe Bob was returned again, for reasons unknown to me. For the last ten months or so, he has languished in either a cage at the pet store or in a room with 20 or more other cats at the no-kill shelter.
Not any more.
He’s currently staying in our foster cat room until he’s sufficiently comfortable with being let out. He’s already showing his personality, though he’s forgotten everything about us and gets all hissy and growly when we let another cat in.
I know someone out there is getting ready to leave an indignant comment about how we should be ashamed of ourselves that we’re getting another cat so soon after Spot’s death, that we’re trying to replace him, or some such other stupid shit. If you don’t understand the reasoning behind wanting (the need) to rescue another cat quickly because there’s room at the inn, I can’t explain it to you.
I was going to ask when you were going to bump the count back up to 11, but I didn’t want to seem crass. I know the need you feel to rescue again completely.
So glad Joe Bob is back. He’s such a pretty boy!
OK Fred..if you are iffy about chopping the head of a chicken do you really think you could slaughter a pig?
AND thanks for reminding me that I NEVER want to get a steroid shot in a joint..EVER.
Aaannnnddd..I am so glad you gave JoeBob a good home. Poor baby deserves to have you guys after being adopted twice and returned twice.
Thanks, Christine. We’d talked about keeping either one of the two fosters we have now, or one of the two right before them. Then, Wednesday morning when I was getting out of the shower, I remembered Joe Bob. The adult cats don’t get adopted nearly as often as the younger ones, so we decided he’d be perfect. He’s about 2.5 years old, roughly the same age as Sugarbutt and Tommy.
Welcome Joe Bob! He’s got the best home around, that’s for sure! I completely agree with filling the void quickly, both for the newly rescued Joe Bob and also for you. It’s not “replacing” Spot, but it’s easing the pain of his loss. My cousin lost his best buddy this fall, a huge Chesapeak Retriever to diabeties. He was a total mess…. he couldn’t get over the death of this dog that he loved so much… within a week his wife had found a new puppy that needed a home. He took the new puppy to the grave of the old dog and together they told him that this new puppy was gonna take care of the family for him. They still miss Bear, but the new puppy sure did ease the pain. OK, I’m crying now remembering all that… but I definitely agree you’ve done the right thing.
-Nancy
Joe Bob = YAY!!! I really thought you were going to keep Elle, though, truth be told. You guys are awesome.
Oh god, Fred - I was just diagnosed with Morton’s neuroma - the one foot problem you REALLY don’t want - and I had to have a cortisone injection a couple weeks ago. Right into the nerve, via the top of my foot. It hurt worse than anything I have ever experienced (and I have given birth). Yes, you described it perfectly - it took at least a minute and a half to unload the steroid through the plunger and I was yelling the whole time.
The pain in my foot is pretty much gone now - but unfortunately with Morton’s, it’s only a temporary fix, and I imagine I will be on that surgery table at some point soon.
Hooray for Joe Bob - you guys are just the best.
“The doctor was wrong, though. My first instinct wasn’t to pull back, it was to kick him in the head with my other foot.”
That’s good stuff. Thanks for the laugh, Fred. And congrats on the new kitty, he’s a cutie pie.
Look how happy Joe Bob is to be in the foster cat room! Bless his heart.
I was SO hoping you were going to say you screamed “Kelly Clarkson!” like Steve Carrell getting his chest waxed. I really hope the shot works, Fred; after all the agony you went through, it better!
I don’t get it. I had a steroid shot in my foot for plantar fasciitis and it only stung a little for me.
I’m sorry about Spot, but so happy for Joe Bob.
I totally understand the Joe Bob thing. He is BEAUTIFUL!! And he will never replace Spot in your heart, merely join him.
The cat we just lost, Bose, was a Russian Blue. So was our very first cat, Silver Streak. We got another Russian because they are cool cats . . . and in no way did I expect Bose to be like Streaks. And he wasn’t. Does the nickname “Bozo” mean anything? He was a very different, and very dear cat, and we have probably accumulated more cat stories from being owned by him, than from our other cats combined.
For one thing, he was the proximate cause of my husband’s breaking his ankle, back in 2002. For a brief time, his nickname was Calamity Bose.
Joe Bob has gotten himself a very excellent home, yessiree!!
No negative thoughts from me, I completely understand. We got Whiskers just a short two months after Stormy died. It helped even though we had 3 others. We eventually got up to 7 cats, and now we’re back down to 3 again. And the ONLY reason we’re not getting any others right now is because we’ve agreed to get a dog when we’re down to 2 or we buy his grandma’s house that has a huge backyard, whichever comes first.
Welcome Joe Bob, such a handsome boy!
That middle (close-up)picture of Joe Bob is just stunning. I’m glad your hearts and home had the extra room. That’s one very lucky lil’ furry. Have a great weekend.
I hate to agree with Shana, but I had a steroid shot on my foot, on that nice soft tender spot just inside the heel on the BOTTOM of my foot, and it was no more painful than a tetanus shot. However, my doc used a freezing spray before the shot…maybe that made the difference? Or maybe us women just have a higher threshold for pain, right Shana?
OMG– I should just not try to read you at work. I made it all the way to the pictures. Joe Bob is a carbon copy of my cat Little One (named because he was a carbon copy of his Mom, Kitten who belonged to my sister). Kitteen lived to be 20 and Little One lived to be 16.
So, in my mind, you got a winner.
I CAN’T BELIEVE THERE HAVE BEEN THIS MANY COMMENTS WITHOUT ANYONE MENTIONING HOW DAMN CUTE THAT LITTLE PIG IS.
The closeup of JoeBob’s face looked very much like Spot.
What a lucky boy you are to get adopted by the Andersons.
Welcome home,JoeBob.Welcome home.(Darn that Ty Pennington. I can’t stop saying that phrase.)
Fred,the mere fact that you had me on the edge of my seat in that last segment means that you SHOULD most definately be writing stories for the masses.
THAT PIG IS SO DAMN CUTE!
Welcome Joe Bob. Is his face gray or black? Hard to tell. He is a cutie. You seem very partial to the part white part black kitties what with Tubby, Spot and now JB. Some things are meant to be aren’t they?
Joe Bob is gray and white; the camera made him look too dark.
The pig is cute, but your comment about wanting it for the “dinner table” cracked me up so bad, I forgot the cuteness. Can you imagine the horror on the poor woman’s face who rescued him - too funny! And I agree with Jeanette - no way would you be able to slaughter it. Have you not
read, “Charlotte’s Web!”
And, yes, my father, a bear of a man, had that same shot in the joint of his big toe. He told my mom that he hoped he didn’t leave any marks on the ceiling after they peeled him off it!
Congrats on Joe Bob. I completely understand. I lost my dog in October and it just about killed me to wait till December to rescue a new mutt. The house was just so empty without her. I think it’s awesome you’ve gotten a new cat and I think most animal people know that you can never replace one that you’ve lost. We just try to fill the void in our hearts and homes. Congrats again!!
Don’t eat the little piggy, he’s too cute!!
I was going to comment on how adorable that pig was after I finished reading all the comments, truly!
Welcome Joe Bob! It *never* would have crossed my mind that anyone would be so rude to question you and Robyn bringing another cat into your household right now. That would have shocked and sickened me and clearly it would have come from someone who didn’t know ya’ll. lol…I’m feeling a little angry at this non-existent person!
I know someone who had that same shot for the same reason just a couple weeks ago and you pretty much described her own experience. Within a few days she was comfortably out walking and shopping in a big mall somewhere in Florida, so hang in there!
If you have the love to give, the shelter to provide and the desire to share your home with a very very lucky puddy tat …then it is as simple as that. My mom worked at a no-kill shelter for the last 2 years of her life. Whe was 71 years old and put in a long 10 hour day when she was there which was every Thursday. When she wasnt there she made cat blankets out of donated materials. Every. Single. Cat. deserved to have a cozy place to sleep at night …and a fresh clean place to lay its head. She fretted about those cats more and more and it started to worry me. I love that you and Robyn have such big warm hearts and I used to tell her about you both and your love of the cats. I thought for sure she would become the crazy cat lady but she only ended up taking one kitten home. She had 2 at home already. Mom passed away peacefully in her sleep in September 2007 and I have taken on the cats as my own. Thank you for being such good people.
I had a steroid shot in my thumb joint and holy hell that shit hurt!!!!
I get what you’re doing with the cats, though, I really do. I got a new cat the day after I had to put mine to sleep. Part of it was b/c my cat’s cancer made her death something I could prepare for (as much as that is possible), part of it was b/c I didn’t want my remaining cat to be lonely, and part of it was b/c a new cat distracted me from the grief.
Welcome Joe Bob!!!
Fred, I think nobody’s mentioning the cuteness of the pig because they know it’s going to be porkchops and bacon if you get it. And also, I can’t believe that shot hurt you that bad. I got one and all I felt was like a little electric-type surge shoot straight up to my big toe. You must be sensitive. Ha!
Hey Fred
I have had several steroids shots…in my foot, the joint of my big toe and in my spine. And they all hurt like hell. But if it helps, I always had a flair up for a few days and between days 4-7 afterwards I would notice improvement. My doctor said that’s very common. So, hopefully you will be on your way to less pain in a few days.
Cute little piggie!!!
You haven’t lived until you’ve had a steroid shot between big toe and the next!!! NOW THAT is PAIN!!!
Couldn’t get the video; said it was “Unavailable.”
Sami
That pig looks mighty yummy to me.
I too have experienced the steroid shot into the joint….worst pain ever. I think I would of rather had the foot cut off.
You gave a great description of the pain caused by the steroid shot, Fred. When I had to have one in my heel (through the bottom of my foot) for my plantar fascitis, I was convinced that having gone though natural childbirth I could handle any pain. I actually did Lamaze breathing before the shot to relax and prepare for it.
I was NOT prepared for what felt like a sledgehammer right on the most painful area! The tears flowed and the room went black! So much for mind over matter. It took several days, but the shot did its work. I wish you many pain-free days ahead.
By the way, I don’t think it would be wise to view any future food animals as cute.
Cute damn pig.
The foot thing. Yeah, I had the exact same thing. The underlying cause may be different from yours, I have no idea, but the cycle of your pain and the pattern of things looks just the same as with me. I also have dealt with the crippling plantar fascitis. I am about the same age as you. I will spare all of the lengthy history, but give you just the stuff that relates to what you’re going through. I’m really big into hiking. I thought that was what caused it because the morning after a hike, I’d be in agonizing pain in my heel. When I went to the podiatrist, she started out by wrapping my foot to help support the arch. That was fine, for a bit. After repeated visits due to continued pain, she resorted to the steroid shot. OH.MY.GAWD!!!! That was brutal!!! My butt clinched big time on reading you tell of your shot. I could feel it all over again!!! Do they NEED to press that thumb so hard into the heel, can’t they just take our word for it?
I actually have had 3 or 4 of those shots over the course of my treatment. Last May, she started talking about the surgery that you are contemplating.
And then, a light came on. I’d been MUCH more sedentary since it had begun. I was also gaining some weight. She told me to try one more thing, increase the exercise again, and see if it was not the exercise CAUSING it, but the LACK of exercise aggravating it!! I did and BAM! The heel problem is gone and I’m pain free. I’m also free of my orthotic inserts. What was happening was that fascia was shortening due to the lack of exercise. Working out will lengthen it and keep it pliable. NOT exercising will cause it to tighten up and rub those parts of your heel bones that make it inflamed.
I know how you used to love to hike a lot. And I know you’ve said you’re not doing anywhere near as much of that. I suggest you try getting back out and exercising on a regular basis and maybe you’ll see the positive results that I have!!
Mmmm……Bacon…..
Joe Bob is good. Good stuff.
1st - Shot in foot: cringe. Thanks for that.
2nd - Welcome home Joe Bob, welcome home.
3rd - Why don’t you call your CUTE little pig Bacon? Sounds like an apt name to me!
Glad for JoeBob!
Never EVER going to have a steroid shot. Know someone who got them for siatica, hurt like hell they said.
Pig=FOOD!
Joe Bob is a beautiful little cat, and you did a very good thing by bringing him home. I’m sure Spot would approve, if he knew. Anyone who has had and loved a cat will understand why you adopted Joe Bob so soon after Spot died.
Pigs? Cute? Pigs = food for them as eats ‘em. All baby animals are cute, but pigs aren’t so cute
once they’ve grown up. And pig poop stinks worse than dog, cat, and human all put together. It is
unspeakably disgusting.
As for the shot, well, some people do experience a “cortisone flare” that is said to be quite painful.
Most people, though, don’t. I’ve had cortisone shots (at different times, and from different doctors)
in the shoulder, in the hip (twice, for a stubborn bursitis), in the elbow, and in the knees. Never
once had any problem with it, it wasn’t any worse than, say, a penicillin shot. But I never had one
in the bottom of the foot and that probably makes a big difference. Or maybe the doctors look at me
and see a white-haired old lady and go gentle. Who knows… But whatever, the cortisone does actually work, and the effect lasts for about six months or so. I thought it was magical, being free of pain for that long while my body recovered from the inflammation that caused the pain to begin with.
I’m so happy to hear you’ve given another furbaby a wonderful home. Good for you and I’m sure Spot is happy about it too:)
Fred,
I am so sorry you had to go thru that painful injection.. my hubby had one a couple of years ago and he never again!!! Your braver then me!
Fred and the others, try this with your next steroid injection in the heel: sit up and watch the entire, long, drawn-out injection. I swear by it. When I watch it isn’t nearly as bad (that was 20 years ago, and I did end up having the surgery.) Since my kids were toddlers I had them watch when their shots were given, and it worked for them, too, although they were just little puny immunizations.
While Joe Bob is indeed lucky, I’m not so sure about the little pigster…
Ice the elbow. I developed pain in my right elbow after spending a day using a handsaw to trim tree branches around my property. After that I went for about a month with the pain and couldn’t get it to go away…tried lots of ibuprofen and it didn’t do anything but ease it for a few hours and then it would return. Then I read about icing tennis elbow (the symptoms of which were identical to my elbow pain), so I iced my elbow (at least twice a day, or more). Bought reusable ice bags at the drug store and kept one in the freezer at work and one in the freezer at home- at work I’d place the icepak on my desk and lean my elbow on it). Kept taking the ibuprofen as an anti-inflamatory. Within LESS than a week of starting to ice it the pain was completely gone. Hasn’t returned and that was three years ago.
Ice your elbow.
Joe Bob is such a pretty (and waaay lucky) boy. You did a good thing.
The piggy is darling.. We had one once, we named him Pork Chop, he was supposed to go in the freezer - he ended up my daughters best buddy - he thought he was a dog. Ever see a pig try and herd cattle? He was better at it than my heelers and hilarious to watch. Smarter than heck, really social and HUGE.
Needless to say, we couldn’t slaughter him. (yes, we’re suckers - and I say this with one of our “barn cats” laying in my lap and the other sleeping on top of the computer)
We had him for 4 years and gave him to the Ag department at our local high school when we moved across country. Last I heard he was living in luxury and was everyone’s buddy at the schools farm.
Holy Hell Fred!!! No wonder your bloody shot hurt so much - where was the local anesthetic??? A couple of times a year I get a cortisone shot (steroid) into the metatarsal joint of my big toe and the knuckle of my index finger. I have rhuematoid arthritis. The doc always gives me a local first. Is that doctor some kind of sadist? You poor man.
The pig is very cute.
Linda - the doctor CLAIMED there was a local mixed in with the cortisone. I’m still not sure if I believe him. I suspect mixing the local in the ‘roid makes it not *keep* hurting like the shot did, because of all the pressure you get when you squeeze a few cc’s into tissue.
I have the anti-inflamms Dr. Judy gave me a few weeks ago, and I’ve started taking those until the cortisone really kicks in. I’m already noticing that with the pain going away near the spot where he did the injection, it just highlights that the OTHER side of my foot hurts too. I thought it was all just radiant pain from the one spot.
Maybe I’ll get to get another shot, woohoo!
HOORAY Joe Bob!
I’ve had that shot before for plantar fasciitis. Hurts like hell, but it really does work. Good luck with it. So glad you gave Joe Bob a home. He looks just like a cat I had when I was a kid - Mr. Jeremiah Fuzz. I totally understand the need to give another cat a good life - and what a great life he’ll have at the And3rson home.
Name the pig Sir Francis Bacon! Hee.
Sir Franks n’ Bacon?
I’m such a geek…
I love the Close up picture of Joe Bob!!!!!
He looks like he has eye liner on.
Kay suggests watching the injection. I’m sure that would help with MY pain, because if I watched I’d pass out and when you’re passed out you feel no pain.
Snort…..Fred screaming “Kelly Clarkson!” THAT is damn funny.
BTW….cute pig.
The pig is freakin’ adorable.
Name it Misery.