That path through the oats, the getaway route, was the only evidence. No feathers, blood, or other carnage were left as evidence.
12 hours after burying our family dog, we discovered that 80 chickens had been carried away. If it weren’t for this obvious path, I might have thought the boogeyman did it. Gobs of time and energy wasted. What a bummer. I wrote a column about this for the paper, Death came a-knockin’, which you can read here.
Animal husbandry has always been an interest. For years I had over 100 animals in my childhood bedroom, after all. It seems natural to direct this passion into vocational channels. Next year we might try again after tweaking the fortifications. The stakes are just really high, so it’s difficult to comprehend getting back onto the horse. For now, 11 survivors are in a small chicken tractor back at home.
We made room for them by finding a great home for the ducklings. If we hadn’t separated the ducks from the chickens when things got crazy, these offspring could have wound up being a chicken-duck cross. While shuttling birds around, I got a chuckle while hearing potential names: Chucks and Dickens. Of course Chuck is a nickname for Charles, as in Mr. Dickens. That guy wrote a lot about hard times, even penning a book called Hard Times.
These are hard times. It feels like all this recent adversity is here by design, however, and not a result of injustice. For a purpose. To learn, develop perseverance, etc…
I’m grateful to not be alone. Please pray for our family and the difficult path ahead. Perhaps for courage to fail….again. Along the way, however, we have to figure out a sustainable income, and I’m feeling weary.