sweasel.com

Why can’t we all just get along?

Said in a Bill Clinton voice

Right Chicken – “That looks like chicken shit on your foot”

Keep at it Sweasy, you already did the unpossible when you posted on the weekend, so finishing the month should be a cake walk now.

Kind of sad, huh. Are any of your original four chickens still alive? Did you ever do a painting of Violet? You always said she was the prettiest (maybe that’s why she was picked on—pure mean-girl jealousy).

Just wanted to be say–they’ve been fun so far, and it has also been fun to see you far surpass any earlier personal record. I’m hoping the streak will continue (but don’t want to overload you with expectations–because I know that sometimes the very fact that you know people are counting on you can make it harder to get something done!)

“Flock!”

“Pre-pare to peck on the right file…”

“Hen 2nd class Prissy! – WAIT FOR IT!!!!!”

“Peck!”

Violet’s sister Vita was the beautiful, pecked-upon one, Deborah. Violet and Vita died within a month of each other…two years ago, I think.

Mapp, the last of my original chickens and my all-time favorite, lived to eight and had a stroke this Spring. Well, the vet said chickens don’t have strokes, but it was a brain thing. I had to have her put down, which sucked hard.

I lost four chickens since Spring. Mapp to old age and three probably to the fox. One definitely to the fox (bastard got stuck in the run) and two just vanished without a trace, so probably fox.

Vita. It would help if I’d read the books from which you took their names. I’m so sorry about Mapp and the others.

So how do foxes get at them? Through the wire? Under the wire? Through holes. I’ve always imagined coops to be somewhat critter proof. Obviously not.

Helluva thing, Durned. You know how a nest box sticks out the side of the coop? I’ll find a photo if you can’t picture it. Well, bastard headbutted the bottom out of the nest box and got in. I had two hens in there. One screamed, I ran out and the other was just…gone. Not a trace. Not a feather or a drop of blood.

The other chicken was huddled in the back of the coop. I was sure she was wounded and I’d have to off her, but she’s completely unscathed. I mean, scared. She stopped laying. The fox had a big mouthful of her feathers, but she was somehow fine.

He escaped in the confusion, but there wasn’t much I could have done to him anyhow. Beat him to death with a hoe?

The other two chickens vanished when they were loose.