Mycelium and the chicken dream

Wee wan does not have 'too much sugar in the blood'- hooray! A bit of fungus is fine, but diabetes is no fun at all. I took the urine sample along in a tupperware bowl which I will wash and re-use for food, much to wee wan's disgust, but healthy urine is sterile you know. Now we'll wait to see what type of hyphae the mycologists find. Luckily I have a date with a dog and two friends today, one of whom can advise whether the new prescription will work for ringworm. The GP's eyes narrow when I start with, "My friend who is a doctor mentioned that...", but screw that- it's my kid.

As last week, the most exciting event was the dream last night. I was living in a kind of medieval souk of winding stall-lined alleyways somewhere near Holyrood, and in my shed was a chicken living inside a metal gimbal only just large enough to contain it. That seemed excessively cruel, so I freed and held it while it flapped and shat all over my hand. But I couldn't let it go free because the whole medina was full of wandering cats, all tortoiseshell like Her Catness. Thus I was condemned to wander the 3-D maze of alleys clasping my shitty chicken, trying to get my bearings by triangulating between views of Castle Hill and an Iron Age dun below the medina.

This dream is partly related to a brain-damaged chicken sponsored at Gorgie City Farm many years ago. It had been victimised by the Rhode Island Reds and left so head-injured that it would accept being carried around. Also, I ate a chicken ready-meal last week while in a persistant vegetative state, and am suffering the guilts.

Today, I hope that everyone's dog is well- even mine, David Duff.