Anchor Struck

I had a rewarding, productive day Wednesday.  I went into Campbell River to help Jude find and deliver some furniture for a client, then ran a passel of errands before coming home to do yard work.  After supper, I settled into the sofa for the first game of the Stanley Cup finals.  Jude went out to work in the garden.

As the boys pummeled each other in the brutal ballet that is hockey, I heard Jude yelling at Slinkee in a voice that could only mean our dog had killed another chicken.  The luckless fowl had escaped the confines of the garden into the rest of the farm, where Slinkee is queen.

Because Her Nibs had eaten some of the hen before Jude intervened, we couldn’t tell which of the girls it was.  Slinkee had started with the legs — not the KFC-type legs, the actual leathery-like spindles with claws, including the plastic leg band.

After tempers cooled, Jude went to check the survivors.  It was Garbo that Slinkee nailed.  Named after the ethereal, reclusive movie star for her blond head feathers and shyness, she had become our favourite.  She was the smartest of the flock, the first to realize that humans in the garden usually meant upturned soil and bountiful worms.

Her intelligence was her undoing, alas.  She kept finding ways to get through the netting of the fence.  Many times I found her outside the perimeter.  This time Slinkee did first.

Jude and I consoled each other and I vowed to check the fencing yet again for breaches.  We distracted ourselves the rest of the evening with the hockey game, a first-rate first effort for the Bruins and Blackhawks.  Since we’re Vancouver Canucks fans, we don’t have a particular pick to win.  Given our problems with bears and raptors, we may stay neutral.