Well – two weeks on from his last trip to the vet and Barty shows no sign of improvement, but neither has he worsened. He’s happily wombling around with his flock, wobbling like a goose after one too many, eating, drinking, and (not very successfully) preening. So off we went to the vet again, to see of the antibiotic route would work.
Being nigh on impossible to catch, we had the great idea to pounce first thing, before they had time to leave their house. The dog crate at the ready, we covered their doorway with it already opened, to catch them one at a time as they leapt out of bed. Of course, geese being geese, they had their own agenda, which didn’t quite dovetail with our own plan. Both Harold and Barty, being real ‘men’, launched out of the house in unison first, to check the coast was clear before Lucy and Fliss came out. No time to think, we shut the house door behind them, slammed the cage door shut, and we all spent a few seconds staring at each other – us at two ganders in the crate, them perplexed by this strange forcefield surrounding them. No chance we were risking Harold escaping, they were both going for a road-trip to the vets. Hoisted on to the waiting Barty-mobile, we trundled up the Patch path and wended our merry way to Mike, the tame vet. One look at Barty, a quick check over, and whilst I clamped his wriggling neck, Mike jabbed him and that was that. From the honking and squawking on their return procession to the Patch, you would have thought they’d been gone for weeks, not an hour!
Let’s see how he fairs after this.