June 28, 2008
After tossing back and forth on the bed for a couple of hours, I decided to get up. I made coffee, started laundry, re-made the coffee because I did it wrong (don't ask), straightened up the kitchen, and decided to write a story from yesterday. I sat down at 5:15 am with my coffee and computer. I listened to the coyotes in the distance for a while, and started typing. At that precise moment, the power went out... again. I figure I can type for about ten minutes before my batteries die.
Yesterday morning also found me sitting on the deck pounding on the keyboard, although not quite this early. I was working away, solving minor problems for my employer and doing some paperwork that needed to be completed before I start vacation. I heard a very familiar sound, but there was something different about it. I had to pause to realize why it was different. Then I realized: I was used to the sound coming from much farther away. I turned around to see one of our chickens staring at me from three feet away.
I talked to her a while, and she walked over to me and just kept slowly walking around where I was sitting. I got up and walked up the road a little ways to where I could see the chicken coop. She followed me. We walked back towards the house, and with a little encouragement, she let me pick her up. We walked up to the coop, and found a horrible sight. The only thing I can figure is that the raccoons figured out how to open the gate. Mounds of feathers littered the coop. I put her inside, much to her displeasure, and went inside. One other survivor was huddled in a nest box trying not to make any noise. I looked around, but could find no other survivors.
I fretted all day on how to tell Annie about the loss. She came home mid-afternoon, and settled tiredly into the big black chair, with a big black and white cat. She rested for a while, and I continued working. Finally, I decided it was time to tell her. Her eyes got glossy, but she did ok. After a while, she decided to go see the survivors. It wasn't long before I was being summoned to the coop. I was about to witness one of those miracles of nature that often escape us.
Another chicken had managed to escape the predators. The original two survivors were not really damaged. They had somehow managed to elude the attackers. This one had not been so lucky. She was terrified, but so tired and weak that once we got her out from under the coop, I easily picked her up. I had to. The other chickens were trying to eat her. Damned cannibals. We brought her down to the house, and Annie held here wrapped in a towel while I built a temporary shelter out of a large storage bin. I couldn't believe that this chicken was still alive. Annie talked soothingly to her, calling her Lila. I painfully informed Annie that she might not make it. "Are you going to kill her?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes. No. We are going to take care of her as best we can, but it might not be enough.
We opened the towel, and I began pulling leaves and feathers out of her wounds. I had already given her a cursory inspection, which is why I wrote that I couldn't believe she was alive. We don't trim our chickens' wings, so I thought maybe she had managed to get out of the partially opened gate and take flight. Further inspection made this doubtful. Her wings were pretty beat up, and one of them didn't have enough feathers to keep her airborne. Her face had some scratches and a little bleeding, so maybe she turned on her assailant and gave it a peck that made it stop long enough for her to bolt. Those wounds were nothing. Her back and sides are what made me what to vomit. She looked like something had taken a carving knife to her, and stopped when they realized she was still alive. Large chunks of meat were neatly sliced open, but not enough to come off. I considered actually taking them off, knowing that they would never graft back to the body, but was afraid to have her bleed any more. With a little luck, new feathers will cover up these three and four inch chunks so that the other chickens won't go after them.
She wasn't happy with the peroxide treatment, but I had to do something to stave off infection. We wrapped her back in the towel, and placed her in the bin located next to Annie's side of the bed to begin her convalescence. She had food and water, and was hunkered by the water, having been without it all day. She was so exhausted she fell asleep immediately, and Annie and I both had to check to make sure that her head had not sunk into the water. I still had little hope that she would make it through the night.
When my insomnia started around two, and my mind drifted around trying in vain to shake the aftereffects of the bad dream that had awoken me, I heard a noise. I heard it again a little later: a scuffling sound. Afraid that Lilo was investigating the smell of a bird in our house, I got up and found Lila standing up in the bin. I just checked on her, and she is up and walking around. It is a freakin' miracle.
I just hope she heals enough that she can go back in the coop. I do not want to have a chicken as a house pet.
Stupified...
Yesterday morning also found me sitting on the deck pounding on the keyboard, although not quite this early. I was working away, solving minor problems for my employer and doing some paperwork that needed to be completed before I start vacation. I heard a very familiar sound, but there was something different about it. I had to pause to realize why it was different. Then I realized: I was used to the sound coming from much farther away. I turned around to see one of our chickens staring at me from three feet away.
I talked to her a while, and she walked over to me and just kept slowly walking around where I was sitting. I got up and walked up the road a little ways to where I could see the chicken coop. She followed me. We walked back towards the house, and with a little encouragement, she let me pick her up. We walked up to the coop, and found a horrible sight. The only thing I can figure is that the raccoons figured out how to open the gate. Mounds of feathers littered the coop. I put her inside, much to her displeasure, and went inside. One other survivor was huddled in a nest box trying not to make any noise. I looked around, but could find no other survivors.
I fretted all day on how to tell Annie about the loss. She came home mid-afternoon, and settled tiredly into the big black chair, with a big black and white cat. She rested for a while, and I continued working. Finally, I decided it was time to tell her. Her eyes got glossy, but she did ok. After a while, she decided to go see the survivors. It wasn't long before I was being summoned to the coop. I was about to witness one of those miracles of nature that often escape us.
Another chicken had managed to escape the predators. The original two survivors were not really damaged. They had somehow managed to elude the attackers. This one had not been so lucky. She was terrified, but so tired and weak that once we got her out from under the coop, I easily picked her up. I had to. The other chickens were trying to eat her. Damned cannibals. We brought her down to the house, and Annie held here wrapped in a towel while I built a temporary shelter out of a large storage bin. I couldn't believe that this chicken was still alive. Annie talked soothingly to her, calling her Lila. I painfully informed Annie that she might not make it. "Are you going to kill her?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes. No. We are going to take care of her as best we can, but it might not be enough.
We opened the towel, and I began pulling leaves and feathers out of her wounds. I had already given her a cursory inspection, which is why I wrote that I couldn't believe she was alive. We don't trim our chickens' wings, so I thought maybe she had managed to get out of the partially opened gate and take flight. Further inspection made this doubtful. Her wings were pretty beat up, and one of them didn't have enough feathers to keep her airborne. Her face had some scratches and a little bleeding, so maybe she turned on her assailant and gave it a peck that made it stop long enough for her to bolt. Those wounds were nothing. Her back and sides are what made me what to vomit. She looked like something had taken a carving knife to her, and stopped when they realized she was still alive. Large chunks of meat were neatly sliced open, but not enough to come off. I considered actually taking them off, knowing that they would never graft back to the body, but was afraid to have her bleed any more. With a little luck, new feathers will cover up these three and four inch chunks so that the other chickens won't go after them.
She wasn't happy with the peroxide treatment, but I had to do something to stave off infection. We wrapped her back in the towel, and placed her in the bin located next to Annie's side of the bed to begin her convalescence. She had food and water, and was hunkered by the water, having been without it all day. She was so exhausted she fell asleep immediately, and Annie and I both had to check to make sure that her head had not sunk into the water. I still had little hope that she would make it through the night.
When my insomnia started around two, and my mind drifted around trying in vain to shake the aftereffects of the bad dream that had awoken me, I heard a noise. I heard it again a little later: a scuffling sound. Afraid that Lilo was investigating the smell of a bird in our house, I got up and found Lila standing up in the bin. I just checked on her, and she is up and walking around. It is a freakin' miracle.
I just hope she heals enough that she can go back in the coop. I do not want to have a chicken as a house pet.
Stupified...