I was considering cancelling the chicken party because I’ve been so depressed and worried about Plato, but I did promise, so we went, I cooked, and dull-as-dishwater chicken and mashed potatoes were a big hit.
While doing my research on how to deal with Plato, one suggestion was to find a vet who does house calls. Sound advice; Plato hates his vet, who is extremely loud, and I was afraid he might not be strong enough to deal with that. But even if such a thing as a house call vet existed, I can’t imagine what he might cost.
Shinsuke’s dad is a vet, but I didn’t even consider asking. They live in Otsuka, which is not close. But then, while eating his chicken, he offered to drive down here today and check on Plato. He gave him an IV, an injection, and a couple of kinds of medicine, all in the comfort of our futon, on the quilt my Ma made. And he wouldn’t let us pay for any of it.
That was two hours ago and Plato is already feeling better, offended but not traumatized. I am weeping with gratitude. God bless the lowly chicken. The milk of human kindness is flowing thick and rich today.