Anchor Struck

My flagging career is on hiatus until some technical problems are sorted out, so I’m using

the time to prepare the farm for the annual garden party this Saturday.  More on both of

those topics soon.  I have something heavier to share.

Yesterday morning after the hens had finished laying, I moved them from the new garden,

where the coop is, to the old garden, where the blueberry grove is.  I thought about putting

Slinkee in the house before I did that, but I had seen Jude use her as sort of a herder, and

the girls were insistent about the transfer.

Chickens don’t grasp the concept that the shortest distance between two points is a straight

line, but they eventually made it.  Slinkee was actually of some help, although I had to keep

her nearby so she wouldn’t go after stragglers.

An hour later I heard a sharp squawk.  I called Slinkee several times but she didn’t respond.

I found here in the blueberry bushes with Justine’s body.  She had snuck in and bitten her

head, breaking her neck.  Furious, I yelled at her and took her out of the garden.  I did a

quick count of the others and picked up Justine.

The only clear thought I had for awhile was to put her body in the freezer for our friend Lee.

Beyond that, I was wholly nonplussed.  I felt terrible.  I sat in the tree swing and tried to

regroup.

But irrationality ruled.  For one thing, I fell into a dark place about failing as a protector.

And that got me easily into unresolved feelings about mistakes I made as a parent.  It was

a wild over-response to a minor problem, but I simply couldn’t control it.  I couldn’t have

felt worse.  I started doing some simple chores, keeping Slinkee in sight, because the move-

ment eased the psychic pain.

After an hour, I decided to go in for some lunch.  I counted the chickens again and realized

I was missing one.  I found kate’s body in another part of the grove.  Just before or after

Slinkee killed Justine, she had ripped kate’s guts out.

I felt even worse.  I staggered over to the bench of the arbour and sat down.  The surviving

chickens ran over to me and it seemed like they were rushing to comfort me.  Instead, they

started tugging on kate’s intestines like they were giant worms.

Man, nature can be such a bitch.

I rushed out of the garden with kate’s cadaver, her entrails trailing and the others chasing

them.  I choked down a turkey sandwich and some Sun Chips.  I tried to distract myself  by

watching some obscure Olympic sport.  That didn’t help, so I took Justine and kate down to

Lee’s.  He wasn’t home.  I was wary of leaving two dead birds on his doorstep, so I left him a

note that I’d have them at home in the freezer.

I busied myself with more chores through the rest of the afternoon.  The pain was almost

physical at times, like I imagine withdrawal might feel.  Jude got home about six.  I told

her the story with a catch in my throat and tears in my eyes.  Being my best friend, she un-

derstood and hugged me huge.

I took her to the freezer to show her the girls.  They weren’t there.  I was so upset I had left

them in the truck.  Since they had been out several hours, we decided to bury them.  Jude

dug a hole next to the coop as I cut two 4″x 4″ boards to place over them.  Then we put an

old cast iron bathtub on the boards.  The tub was going there anyway to catch rainwater

off the coop roof.

Jude’s comforting and the impromptu ceremony helped a lot.  We went in and she fixed us

a fine meal of salmon wraps.  Today I feel much better, but I’m still grieving the girls.  Here

they are:

Justine – named by Dan.  Not the most

gregarious.  Justine, that is.  She had

beautiful chest feathers that looked like

an elegant evening gown.

kate – named by kris.  She also had the

evening gown look, plus a diamond

necklace to accessorize.  Very friendly.

She had become our favourite.

Rest easy and safely, ladies.  I deeply regret letting you down.