The Day the Chickens Died

I drove home two weeks ago, excited to see Andy as he'd just started his new job. I drove past our house (as one must do before turning into the drive), and I see Andy standing in the yard near the chicken coop, looking at me with hands held as a warning, as if perhaps I should just stop there and stay there. I drove slowly past where he stood, near the chicken coop, and although I couldn't see much, I could clearly see that the bodies in the chicken yard aren't moving.
My heart stopped.
I parked, got out of the car, and walked into the chicken yard with him. It was one of the most horrifying things I'd ever seen--chickens all dead, two roosters barely breathing, and a stunned, paralyzed turkey. (The ducks were fine, though, just waddling around happily. We will never understand this.)
We had no idea what had happened--Mason was tied up (no, this is not our first choice of dog treatment but he cannot be contained as he hurts himself trying to escape and the invisible fence--which worked beautifully for a while--was shorting out and he was constantly loose). We were just stunned.
At one point in our silence among the carnage, Andy choked out, "Maybe the ducks did it."
It was welcome laughter.
It didn't take long before we heard the story--our wonderful neighbor (an older man whose family lives near us and he takes care of cattle next door) had driven by and seen Mason in the coop, so he intervened and tied him back up. So by the time we got home, Mason was contained and snuggling with a dead chicken. (He'd managed to burrow under a tiny spot under the fence after he slipped off his collar. We never said we were good at this stuff.)

Before we found out about Mason, I was stunned and sad, but when we found out it was him I just broke down. He's been such a difficult dog since we adopted him last winter, and now this? I called our rescue, I called other rescues, I called the vet, and I called a trainer. We got conflicting advice, but have decided to Fort Knox the invisible fence, electrify the chicken pen, and hire a trainer for an afternoon for the outside dogs. None of this is ideal, since we know his prey drive is set, it's instinct, but we think it's the best solution. If we didn't keep him, he didn't have much of a future. (And unfortunately, we learned of the old wives' tales about "fixing" the problem with a dead chicken after the fact.)

As for our poultry... we had raised them from chicks, so it was hard to see so much work and time be erased in a few minutes' of "Look at me play, mom and dad!" Our Ameraucanas had just started laying (we had 13 eggs--we still do, I'm planning something special for them), and the Barred Rocks hadn't even started. Turkey's fate was not to be a long-time pet, but he was getting so big and, dare I say meaty? I had to finish off one rooster, but our survivors were the ducks, Buster and Lucille, and Gob the rooster (he's still healing).
We drove to Silex the weekend after it happened, as they were hosting a twice-yearly poultry festival. We came home with three sex-link (Barred Rock and Rhode Island Red cross) hens, three white Cochins (one rooster, he came with the set), and two Buff Orphingtons who are already laying (the others are about five months old). They're living happily in the coop now, as we fix the fencing systems so this doesn't happen again.

We bought most of the new birds from an Amish man. We told him the story, and he said he'd had to shoot a dog who took out about 40 of his birds. He said that these things happen to people who are trying to keep livestock, and they will either quit, or persevere. "If you're going to share something," he said, "you have to be willing to lose it."

We're not going to stop. Even when we should stop, many times we don't. We might be trying to do the impossible again by wanting everyone to live together outside, but we can't not try again.

For now, those 13 little blue eggs will go untouched in the refrigerator, until we can share them and appreciate them fully. Because that's what this is all about.

Louie, Louie

We have a cat.

When I tell people about our pets, most often I start the introduction with "then we accidentally got___"

Avy and Rio were planned (as much as one plans these things--"Look at that precious dog! Let's adopt him/her!"). Then Zippo just showed up and wouldn't leave, then Avy needed Mason, and then... and then, the cat.

My aunt convinced us to adopt two of her neighbor's barn kittens, as we've had mice and we have a barn. Perfect equation. I'd taken Avy and Mason to the vet earlier that week (only Mason had an appointment, but Avy got in the car and wouldn't leave), and they reacted with pure apathy when the vet's cat wandered near. I thought, hey, let's get a couple of kittens. I grew up with barn cats, and if they're anything, they're low-maintenance.

Three days later, I was driving home from St. Louis (where we did the cat pick-up, like a furry stinky drug deal) with two kittens.

One day later, we managed to find one of the kittens in a tree and brought him in (what happens between A and B involved some ugliness on Mason's part, which we just don't need to re-hash. I'll save the gore for the next post). We kept the little guy in the bathroom/laundry room, and decided we'd transition him slowly to be an outside cat, and everything would be fine.

Two months later, he's curled up on the couch with me.

And that's how we accidentally got a cat.

By the way, my cat allergies (which have been significant since a young age) disappeared after a few days of having him inside. Cats are pretty awesome, which I never knew, although litter is one of the worst things ever. I still haven't figured out how to make that not awful (except for the covered box and flushable Swheat).

No more animals now. We're done.

Pregnant Pause

So about a month ago, I was convinced I was pregnant.
We weren't trying by any stretch of the imagination--I had been a bit haphazard at the time of day I took my trusty blue pill, and I just felt weird. So the first two weeks of my semester were spent taking test after test and scouring online message boards to compare symptoms. Now, I normally have a fake scare once a year or so, but this one felt real. And terrifying.
We are not ready, the house has not been painted, we are broke, but we can see a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel--things were falling in place, and I was convinced something very much out of place had happened.
I felt like a scared 16-year-old, not the 28-year-old, married-for-four-years person I am. I had just come to peace with our timeline and actually imagining being parents someday, but not now. I was obsessed, overwhelmed, and scared. I was not the sophisticated lady I imagined myself being when we were trying to conceive.

I finally went to the doctor, and as I was waiting to get my blood taken, I started my period.
And then I started crying.

I called Andy, and we were both utterly confused at my reaction. I suppose I'd just convinced myself, and figured it would work out, and then it wasn't true.

Why do these things have to be so scary?

I look around me, and many of my peers are on their second, even third babies, and everyone seems to have their shit together. I feel so dumbfounded by these people. I know, I know, everything's not as it seems... but seriously, our neighbor just dropped off some pickles his wife had made (I'd given them some pepper jelly and blackberry-peach sauce), and I was *horrified* that he was getting a glimpse into our slovenly home. The items strewn around our house, and the laundry baskets and dirty dishes are nothing short of a David Sedaris essay ("Nuit of the Living Dead," to be exact).

Since the August freak-out, we've talked a great deal and are considering moving up our timeline. Since then, I've had significant opportunities presented to me (which I've taken) for the nonprofits I volunteer with, and school is becoming better and busier every semester.

How do people do this? I'm scared we won't make it back to Europe before it happens, I'm scared our finances won't be in order enough before it happens, I'm scared I won't be a good instructor or volunteer when it happens, I'm scared... I'm scared it won't happen when we want it to happen.

But, for now, I'll just keep trying to be a grown-up as best I can, and hope the rest falls into place.