You know those days that you buy your first vanilla bean with grandiose plans to turn in into something other than a vanilla bean, possibly the most sublime dessert on earth, because you’ve been reading a baking book that devoted 100 pages to the virtues of fresh ingredients?
But then your puppy tries to eat your cockatiel and the next thing you know your husband is driving 50 miles on a Sunday night to the closest emergency avian vet in Los Angeles and you’re happy that he doesn’t have to drive 70 miles because that’s the second closest. And the kids are traumatized and your traumatized and the puppy is puking and no one will sleep.
You know those days, right?
When at 11:00 you get a call saying that the bird will survive and the kids finally sleep and the puppy stops puking and you’re so relieved and happy about the cockatiel that you forget about the vanilla bean and don’t remember it until later when you spy it on the counter at 12:30 while you and the husband give the bird her antibiotics and pain killers.
Two separate medicines. Have you ever administered medicine to a bird before?
Some days, a vanilla bean simply remains a vanilla bean.