Pets and Vets

Life at Casa Noce has been relatively calm over the past few weeks. My days consist of going to work, cleaning out the hen house, cooking and missing my sons. On Mondays it's Italian class, on Thursdays it's Choir, on Fridays Italian caffe and Dante Alighieri society once a month. I've been feeling decidedly middle class for some weeks now. There was a brief bit of excitement when the election provided us with a hung parliament, and now we have all settled into the new politics, with Dave and Nick at the helm.

It all seemed so cut and dried, it couldn't last. On an international level, panic has been induced by the on-going violence in Thailand. Advice from the Foreign Office to keep out of Bangkok unless absolutely essential is not welcomed when I know the Talented Younger Son is due to fly there in the next week; my oldest, oldest friend is there at present, and spouse and I have booked two weeks in Thailand this coming August. The shocking protests have been quelled by the army and there is again a sense of calm, apparently. Oldest, oldest friend says all is well, especially out of Bangkok where a heavy military presence is much in evidence. TYS will be heading for Singapore and then we'll just have to wait and see which bit of Asia he travels to next.

On a local level, things are just as dramatic, at least as far as I am concerned. Gabbana, my adorable senior hen, has been looking a little off colour for a few days now. She appears to be listless and lethargic. We decided to give her a soothing warm bath last night, something which is very relaxing for chickens, and which would help to clean her grubby looking bum. It was whilst bathing her that we discovered a nasty growth, of infection, or parasite, we know not what, in and around her vent area. Poor little thing must be in such discomfort.

And so this morning it was off to the vet. The first visit I've paid to a vet since Pernod, my gorgeous doggy, had her ear bitten by another dog at our obedience classes. That was in South Africa, a long time ago. The local vet was very kind and patient, and Gabbana behaved beautifully as he examined her. He discovered lice under her feathers, which apparently can cause the listlessness we've noticed. He was less concerned about the growths, which we will continue to try to remove in warm baths.

The next job was to get the medication required for Gabbana, all the chicks and their house. We have to treat everything. This afternoon, spouse and I, wearing old clothes and dust masks, carried out the first dusting. I held the chickens firmly while he lifted their feathers and dusted them liberally. It must have looked quite a sight. The girls are docile and don't mind being handled, but Cockie is skittish. We had to wait until he took himself off to bed. I reached into the hen house and took the sleepy cockerel from his perch, and then in the fading light, wearing our elegant masks we dusted the trembling little bird. I do hope this treatment works, and quickly too. It's a horrible job.

Respect

Last week group of students came into the school Library, with permission, to work on their Science project. They were quiet and sensible and I was able to get on with my own work, undisturbed. Unbeknown to me, another student had turned up with the other seven. Unannounced, uninvited and without the necessary permission from a teacher, to be out of his lesson. I had no idea that there was a truant in there among the others, and would have remained ignorant of the fact had he not proceeded to do something incredibly stupid.

I became aware of the sound of what seemed to be someone talking on a phone. Not possible, I thought. They're good kids, they know the rules, mobile phones are permitted in school but must be in a pocket, out of sight and silent. It must be one of them using his computer with the speakers switched on. But the low chat continued, the sotto voce becoming a little louder as the speaker became more confident, convinced he would not be heard by me.

And then I heard him say, "Is that you Derek? Hello mate. Is that your Lambretta you're selling? I've got it up on my screen now..."

I left my desk and made my way quietly to the other side of the Library hoping to catch him red handed. At this point his inner teenage yob took over,

"It's a well sexy bike. I'd like to have sex with it, phnaaar."

I strode up behind him, seeing the motorbikes clearly displayed on his computer screen. He heard me and clicked out of that screen with a speed and deftness to be wondered at. In the same moment his mobile phone left his ear and appeared on the desk, beside the keyboard.

"I have reason to believe that you were using your phone, " I said, with as much calm authority as I could muster.

"What?"

"You were making a phone call, and looking at something on the school computer when you were sent down here to work on your Science."

With impressive sleight of hand the phone disappeared into his pocket.

He denied all knowledge of the phone, the motorbike, everything, and looked at me with that scornful expression so beloved of the teenage male.

It turned out that he was not with the others, he was not working on Science, he had no permission slip and on and on it went. I suggested he accompany me back to the teacher whose lesson he ought to be in. He stood up and towered above me. Not much intimidates me, but very tall year 11s can be a bit of a challenge.

I marched him back to his teacher. He of course denied everything, more or less accusing me of making up the entire incident. He yelled and shouted and swore at us, then barged out of the classroom, knocking over desks as he went, and was gone.

And that was that. I referred the incident to his head of year, and left it to him.

But that evening I happened to be surfing about on Facebook and fell into conversation with some old students of mine, young people I'd taught years ago in South Africa, whom I now count among my Facebook friends. They're adults now, and I suggested that they can stop being so formal, addressing me always as Mrs M, and call me by my first name. "Oh no!" said one of the young women, "in our culture we have respect for our teachers and our elders, I could never do that!"

I told them I appreciated the ideas of culture and respect, but to go easy on the 'elders'.

I can't pretend it didn't give me a nice warm glow, though. It certainly put things into perspective for me, and in that one brief comment I realised just what it is that's missing from our schools.