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03 June 2010

Things are going smoothy here now, thankfully, unlike our Memorial Day Monday Fiasco.

Wolf and I were sleeping soundly, listening to the lovely soothing Monday rain rock us into a deep and soothing sleep.  He and I both woke with a start, I quickly searched my mind for what had woken me.  I listened harder and heard Surgeon barking frantically.  His serious bark.  I sleepily asked Wolk, "What is he barking at this time?"  He often barks at the Lord and Lady, but this was....it was different.

Before I knew what was happening, Wolf had sprung from the warm bed and slipped on some shorts.  He mumbled, "I don't know but I am going to check."  He walked down the hallway, quickly.  I heard the front door open and then I heard a chilling and authoritative "HEY!!"

I jumped out of bed, sheet and all.  And ran to the front door.  My eyes scanned they future goat yard.  I saw what I thought was a chicken at the end of the chicken lot.  Through our small window I saw Wolf throwing down either Doc or Ringo, one of the black banded chickens.  It's wings flapped once, halfheartedly.  Wolf met me there, muddied hands and bleeding. He opened the door and I saw his hands were shaking. I stared at him, uncomprehending.

Me: "What happened?"

Wolf: "Damn, big ass dog.  Killed our chickens!"

Me: "What!! All of them?"

The chickens had literally flown the coop the night before, we believe with the help of a curious Surgeon wanting to either play or make sure they were all right - as they have become increasingly more talkative lately.

Wolf: "I don't know!  They got one for sure!"

He walked back towards the bedroom, muttering curses under his breath.  He ducked into the bathroom, bleeding.  I growled under my breath and slid into some PJs.

Opening the front door, I saw it was Ringo - our least friendly and stupidest chicken the stray dogs had killed.  I moved his lifeless body under the porch out of the rain.  Surgeon greeted me, hopping on to the end of his chain.  I spoke soothing words to him.  I rounded the corner and saw my other favorite chicken, Wyatt, gasping for breath.  I knew he didn't have long to live.  I picked him up and took him to the cover of the porch.  Looking at him more closely, I saw he didn't have long.

I quickly snapped his neck.

I looked around for the third and fastest, Doc, but couldn't find him.  

Right then, I wanted to go stray dog hunting.  I like dogs, but I know once they have found a source of food, they will be back.  I worry about my young guineas, who are still in their brooder, how many of them will I loose.  And I will not tolerate harassment of my goats.  No.

It is time to buy a shotgun.