I have been putting off writing this post for nearly a week now in the hopes that putting a little time and distance between me and “the event” would make it less true or painful.
I couldn’t help becoming attached. I couldn’t help being giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t help loving them.
Just. Couldn’t. Help. It.
The chickens… are no more. And this is how it went down:
It was Tuesday morning. The Man grabbed a few extra winks before heading to work, leaving no time for the chickens. So it was all me. It was my first time to care for the chickens and I was halfway looking forward to it. I had The Man on the phone to make sure I went about it correctly.
I carefully measured the feed into the bucket and playfully chatted with The Man as I crossed the lawn to the coop. I opened the door and found it eerily quiet. Odd. I asked The Man if he had moved the chickens to another building. Confused, he rejected that notion. I questioned, “Are you sure?” And then I took note: feathers. Everywhere. Loads of feathers. And not a bit else. I darted outside the coop. More feathers. And a hole. Dug right under the other side of the door. My heart sank. More so for The Man than for me. And for my girls. 10 weeks of hard work and anticipation of our first farm-fresh eggs.
We were so close.
|There must have been a struggle.|
To make things worse, our dog was incessantly barking like mad in the wee hours of morning. We shrugged it off as nothing… still relishing every bit of sleep with a new baby in the house. Darn critter. Or critters.
My princess angels are devastated. We never should have named them. Each of the girls went out to the coop to gather a few feathers as a keepsake in a Ziploc baggie. Peanut wrote and illustrated a book for Hamburger, her favorite. Ladybug drew a memorial portrait of Fluffy. Lovey has shed plenty a tear for Joseph.
I suppose we will have another go of it once The Man has time to beef up our poultry living quarters. I consider it a life lesson learned.
But in the meantime… I’m oh-so-sad.
Love & coffee.