Friday, October 12, 2012
Nine Days, Eight Chickens
But hubris is ever the nemesis. I no sooner wrote the above paragraph than I discovered Baxter had been left in the backyard. With the chickens. And then there were eight. We mourn Willow, and I dread telling Jessie when she gets home. It took time, a shovel and a pick-ax--and I still didn't get very deep--but Willow is laid to rest in the bamboo with a very large rock over her grave. And wasn't I the one who was contemplating eating our girls at some point when they grew old? Guess that's right out when I am this undone by the end of one. And Baxter. Now that he's killed one, he can never be let out into the yard with them again. I'll need to find time this weekend to fix the front yard gates so they both close easily and he can be let out there.
Now I need to gather myself back together and get on with work. Oh this is hard.