M
mlp
Guest
I am currently medicating Dagwood twice a day. In lieu of trying to chase him down while all the ducks are outside and stressing him that way, I have been crawling into the duck house after I put them to bed at dusk, and then again in the morning before I let them out.
Now, the duck house is 8' x4', but has a low, sloping roof, and I have to lower my butt to get through the door on my hands and knees. Not a terribly graceful or dignified exercise at the best of times.
The door has an upper and lower latch. When I get in, I pull it closed behind me, being extra careful to do it completely in the evening - I don't want any duck(s) who might get past me to get back out in the dark.
So, last night, I had emptied the syringe into Dagwood's beak, backed up, and the door didn't open to the push of my feet. I turned over, sat on my butt, and pushed harder. The top yielded, the bottom didn't.
That's when I realized that the hasp on the bottom must have flipped over and onto the staple portion of the latch. That bottom latch is a tricky one, and I usually have to manipulate it just so to lock it - that that one would close on its own is sort of a miracle in reverse.
So I sat there, hunched over in the duck house like an aged Gretel imprisoned by the witch, and c.contemplated my options while the ducks muttered in the corner. Call the neighbor a mile down the road and ask him to come down and free me? Kick the door down and spend half the night re-securing the duck house? I chose the former - fortunately I am blessed with a freakishly high embarrassment threshold.
Now, the duck house is 8' x4', but has a low, sloping roof, and I have to lower my butt to get through the door on my hands and knees. Not a terribly graceful or dignified exercise at the best of times.
The door has an upper and lower latch. When I get in, I pull it closed behind me, being extra careful to do it completely in the evening - I don't want any duck(s) who might get past me to get back out in the dark.
So, last night, I had emptied the syringe into Dagwood's beak, backed up, and the door didn't open to the push of my feet. I turned over, sat on my butt, and pushed harder. The top yielded, the bottom didn't.
That's when I realized that the hasp on the bottom must have flipped over and onto the staple portion of the latch. That bottom latch is a tricky one, and I usually have to manipulate it just so to lock it - that that one would close on its own is sort of a miracle in reverse.
So I sat there, hunched over in the duck house like an aged Gretel imprisoned by the witch, and c.contemplated my options while the ducks muttered in the corner. Call the neighbor a mile down the road and ask him to come down and free me? Kick the door down and spend half the night re-securing the duck house? I chose the former - fortunately I am blessed with a freakishly high embarrassment threshold.