Five of the chicks went missing.
At least they had one last day of happiness, when the children came to play. At least they had that.
We know that two of them are no longer among the living. The feathers attest to that sad fact.
There are lots of "if onlys" going through my head right now.
I was warned, but I didn't listen. Jenny's friend told me about the marauding racoons, who leave only beaks and claws as evidence of their nocturnal thievery. But I thought I knew best, and that my chicks would be perfectly safe. I was wrong. Last night I woke up at about 2:30 a.m., and felt that something was not right, but I do this all the time (mostly with Lola), and nothing is ever wrong, so I convinced myself to stay in my warm bed and face the consequences in the morning. At the same time, Cicada was dreaming of the chickens. We now know that their little chicken spirits were trying to communicate something to us--if only we knew what.
This morning when daltonboy and I went out to check on them, there were only six in their little pen. There was no sign of a struggle, and the pen was totally intact. No sign except, of course, the one where there were feathers strewn about the yard. But what I mean is, there was no sign in the immediate vicinity of the pen.
We looked around, and found two chicks in the neighbor's yard. Then another one came walking out of the bushes. They were all very docile and their forlorn little peeps indicated they were eager to be caught and put back in the pen.
Later, after we went out and came home again, there was another chick waiting outside the pen, looking forward to being returned to her sisters.
We can only hope that three of them escaped the evil predator and found loving homes. Maybe they are in a warm and cosy weasel den somewhere, with a kind weasel mother who lost a litter, and is willing to raise the chicks as her own. Maybe they'll show up sometime, weary and bedraggled, sadder but wiser, alive. They are in our prayers.
As for the Fallen Two, rest in peace. You will live forever in our hearts. Know that we would have loved you as long as you produced eggs for us, and would have enjoyed eating you after that--a lot more than that cat did, anyway.
I'm sorry . . .
7 comments:
I'm sorry for your loss...
I don't think I'm going to tell the kids. It's a good thing they can't really count that high so when they come next time they won't notice. I think you should have your sons camp out with BB guns for the next little while. That would show the stupid cat.
So it was a cat? Hmmm. We used to lose ours to coyotes, but it doesn't like you live close to coyotes. Raccoons would likely do it as well. Ah, the circle of life. The vicious, vicious circle of life.
Jenny: my boys + guns = NOT a good idea. Did you miss the story about the time daltonman decided to kill a mouse and sat around in the basement with a gun for three days, firing wildly at it as it ran behind our cans of food storage? Classic.
Desmama: I have to believe it was a cat, because 1) I've seen this cat prowling around, eyeing the chickens evilly during the daytime hours (much as its owners, our neighbors, eye me); and 2) I refuse to accept the possibility that a raccoon could be in our yard. Raccoons give me the creeps. Also, this guy at Home Depot told us that a raccoon would just kill all of them and leave the parts lying around. The cats, apparently, like to leave less evidence.
So yeah. It was a cat.
i dreamed about baby chicks last night! what do you think that means?
Last night, I dreamed about a former general relief society president (who was wearing way too much blush), a televised dance/lip-synch contest, an illigitimate grand-daughter (not mine, the general rs pres, although that's not true, it's just a figment of my dreamy imagination) and painting fire on cars with poster paint. It was a doozy, but not a chicken in the bunch.
Too many sweet & sour meatballs before bed, I think.
I am sorry about your missing chicks. Maybe the crazy neighbor took them?
Rest in peace, little chicks!
DG, all the civilized world -- as that group is represented by readers of your blog -- condoles with you.
As the duly-appointed shepherd of the LDS congregation across the street, I will listen for any passing references to juvenile chickens included in miscreants' confessions of misdeeds. I don't get a lot of cats coming to my office, but you never know.
The skunks in Idaho during my youth typically often left the heads lying around . . .
I bear the burden of guilt with you, Daltongirl. If only I had called when I awoke from my dream! I am so so so so so sorry.
But that picture of the girl and the chick is adorable.
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