There are many diseases in the world, some unique to humans, some which are shared with animals. Like most people, Hank’s never given much thought to diseases which only affect animals. He barely notices any illness, being generally healthy. (Except for his condition, of course.)
Some years ago, when bird flu first became a thing, Hank ignored it. Bird flu was in Asia, and only people who fucked hawks got it. Or something like that. He wasn’t clear on the details. Other diseases then dominated the news, and Hank forgot about it.
In the modern world, disease can move crazy fast. Think about it: one delivery of infected chickens gets shipped from rural areas to a major city, like Hong Kong or Bangkok. Most of the chickens get killed, but one gets out. It infects a chicken being sent to Canada, because apparently, they like foreign chicken. Once the next chicken gets to Canada, it doesn’t take long to reach America.
Only a few birds have been affected, the news reports. It’s confined to chickens and roosters, which are still safe to eat. So long as you cook them and dispose of the feathers, it’s fine. Also, don’t rub your face into any chicken bellies and definitely don’t fuck them. That’s good advice regardless.
Hank’s never been close to a chicken. He doesn’t eat them except during the new moon, just like with eggs. It’s too much trouble to eat chicken (or chicken adjacent) when the full is near to full.
How he gets bird flu, he doesn’t know.
He’s pretty sure he’s got bird flu. Last full moon, he clucks and coughs and pecks and sneezes and attempts to claw out his butt with his foot. That hurts. The next few days, there’s vomit and diarrhea all over, a high fever, and he feels like shit.
His doctor says it sounds like the flu, but it doesn’t match any of the current strains. His doctor doesn’t know anything. More importantly, his doctor doesn’t prescribe anything.
So Hank makes an appointment with a vet. When he calls, the first two vets ask what type of pet he has, so he hangs up. The third isn’t as organized. They get a name and a time, and that’s all they care about.
Sitting in the vet waiting room without an animal is weird. The other people assume he’s there to pick up a pet. When the doctor calls him back, she stares at him. “Is something wrong?”
Hank scowls. “What would you give to stop bird flu?”
“Bird flu? I deal with dogs and cats and ferrets.”
“Can you look it up?”
The doctor stares at him some more, then goes to her computer. She finds an answer in a few minutes. “It’s still being tested.”
“That’s fine. Give me some.”
“Do you have a parakeet that’s unwell?” She sounds hopeful.
“Something like that. It’s definitely bird flu.” He checked the symptoms many times on the internet, and he’s sure.
“I’d really like to see your bird. I don’t specialize in birds, but I can give you a recommendation if it looks sick…” Hank must have a proper look on his face, because the doctor winces. She wrings her hands together until he extends his credit card. The doctor stares at it for a few moments before snatching it up.
She returns an hour later with an experimental drug and a ten-thousand-dollar bill.
The medicine tastes terrible. It’s hard and not meant for human digestion. Hank forces it down. It’s worse than the time he had human flu, but a few days later, he feels fine. He knew he was right.
