racoons, regret and resting hens

a short tale of backyard carnage.

The post that was supposed to get sent last night didn’t go.

I forgot to hit ‘send’.

I was distracted and didn’t notice till this afternoon.

Oops.

This morning I woke up and saw three chickens in the yard.

Oh shit… I forgot to lock them up.

I went to find the other two and then?

Well…

Then dear reader I saw one, cowering behind a tree.

The ther one?

Well,

That white chicken had turned red and her internal organs were missing.

Oops.

It was that kinda day.

It’s funny?

I thought it was a good day.

I was getting all of the tings done.

Taking care of the dogs.

Working on the fence.

Making stuff, reading.

It was the kind of day for air kicks and air guitar with a whole lotta head banging thrown in with AC/DC’s Thunderstruck playing in my subconscious.

(after writing about Ozzy, I went on a bit of a metal binge)

Anyway,

My mistake… well… our mistake - mine and Laura’s - of not looking after the girls cost us.

But today?

I dug a hole and laid Jellybean to rest.

And the chickens?

Well they clucked.

One ate a bit of intestine that I didn’t scoop from the coop on time.

And then?

The sun shone.

Slugs were fed, stories told.

I used to call a good day like this a real five egger on account of the fact our hens would produce five eggs on a good day.

So today?

Despite the loss, it was a good day - a real four egger.

That’s what happens when we lose someone that we care about.

The days continue to be good ones.

But deep down?

We know something’s missing.

Check your chickens chumps.

There are fucking racoons everywhere.