Tuesday, July 12, 2016

Too Much Fucking Nature, Part Ten Thousand

So I was sitting on my back porch talking to a guy on the phone about trying to get some help for a neighbor and all of a sudden I see a damn dark brown animal streaking after my chickens and I couldn't tell whether it was a huge cat or a dog or a jagaurundi.
"Sorry!" I yelled into the phone. "Something's chasing my chickens! I have to call you back!"

By the time I got out there, one of my barred rocks was lying in the grass and a heap of feathers was a few feet away. At first I thought the heap was her wing because, well, it was all confusing and I chased the dog and it ran and then it started raining like bejesus and thundering and lightening and I was running all over the yard and then I called my go-to neighbors when the subject is animals but no answer and then I called Mr. Moon which served no purpose but to upset him as he's on his way home and down near Gainesville.

Oh Lord.
Y'all.
Sometimes...

Anyway, Mr. Moon called another neighbor who came over and there wasn't anything he could do and by that time the heap of feathers which was not a wing but was my little fluffy Banty, Blossom, had disappeared (and I had closed the gate, probably with the dog inside my yard), and then my other neighbor got home and the stupid fucking dog ran up to my him because he's another neighbor's dog who had gotten loose and just decided to go kill chickens for a lark.

The barred rock got up and hobbled into the hen house and now she's in there, lying down in what I call the "dying place" because it seems like that's the spot that all of my chickens go to die if they get the chance. And for all I know, little Violet is dead too but I HAVE seen Dearie, but of course, the dog could have gotten her too while I was running around trying to find it.

That's what happens when you get chickens. I've had hawks take them, a fox, probably coons or possums, and now a dog. Maybe a cat.
Not my cats.
They know better.

************

All right. I've spoken to my neighbor who got the dog back to his owner and brought me one of my little red hens and I've seen the two banties and the barred rock seems to be up and walking around and I suppose she was just traumatized.
Mr. Moon is driving through a terrible storm and I might take a Valium.

Oh. Here's a text I just got from Lily:



 I should tell Gibson that Weredogs are real too. Dammit to hell.

What a day.

At least we got some rain.

Love...Ms. Moon

16 comments:

  1. Oh honey Mary I'm so damned sorry. You love those feathery babies. Your heart must be full of ache.

    Love
    Rebecca

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  2. When I was a kid our neighbours had a dog that killed chickens once. They put her down immediately because they said once a dog gets a taste for their blood they will keep coming back. Is that true?

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  3. Rebecca- I'm okay. Medicated and making soup out of all of the leftovers. Because you know- we need soup in this heat but honestly, I need to make it and you understand that. But oh yes- my little feather-footed Blossom. And it wasn't even a hungry feral dog but a pet dog.
    This is life in the country. This is the way it can be, even with all the glory.

    Birdie- I've heard that too and I tell you what- if that dog gets out and comes over here again and Mr. Moon can get to his gun, that dog will be dead. That is the harsh truth of the matter. I'm sort of glad to know that it IS a pet who is contained (usually) rather than a feral drop-off.

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  4. I am so sorry, raising chickens is heart breaking, I would love to have a few, but I can't stand this kind of thing happening to them. I have been reading but not commenting, this job is kicking my ass. Gail

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  5. Gail- Been wondering about you, sweetie. Kicking your ass in a good way or a bad way?

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  6. You can still say "love Ms Moon" after all that.I know its prudent to be philosophical about things - especially country matters which of course "just happen".You still get my respect though .Oh, and thanks for visiting with me.xx

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  7. that's why my sister stopped keeping chickens. well, one of the reasons. she couldn't handle losing them to varmints of one kind or another.

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  8. I don't think I could stand losing animals like that because of course I would get attached. As you have too. I'm so sorry about your lovely little hens, Mary.

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  9. I'm so sorry this happened. Sending love.

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  10. i'm so sorry mrs. mary. may the rain wash all our souls clean of our grief today.

    xxalainaxx

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  11. I hope the chickens are all right. Valium, indeed!

    I stopped by to see the Cuba postings. I love you, Mary.

    Sher

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  12. Angela Lambert- Even with everything that happens here in Lloyd, I'd a billion times rather live here than in a big city. I just could not do that.

    Ellen Abbott- Yep. You either have to accept the reality or not do it at all. I guess I accept. But it's still hard.

    jenny_o- Everything loves chicken. Everything. I swear. It's the truth.

    Angella- Me too. Thank you, sweetie.

    Jill- Damn indeed.

    Sarcastic Bastard- I love you too! It's so nice to have you here!

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  13. I know this is late to the conversation, but both ways actually. I like it well enough, it is just the drive and 5 full days a week. Gail

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  14. Gail- Well, I guess that's better than it could be. But Lord, honey. I know it has to be hard. I really respect you for doing this.

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  15. Again, I'm so sorry about the poor chickens. I actually feel sorry for the dog, too. He's just being a dog, doing dog things -- it's not his fault that he wasn't properly contained. Nature sucks sometimes.

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