Another Turkey Tale (NOT gross)

So all of the sudden yesterday morning Moose starts barking his fool head off. Which isn't terribly uncommon, I suppose, but this bark had an intensity to it. I look out the window and ses what I assume to be a teenage boy (baggie jeans, t-shirt, straight, thin, chin length hair..who can tell?) "shooing" my turkeys out of the road. I peeked through the window as I still had my p.j.'s on, and didn't really feel like dealing with this.

The turkeys were less than cooperative, and the "helper" wasn't going anywhere, so I begrudgingly got dressed and went outside. By this time, the turkeys were back on our side of the road, and the young LADY told me they were laying in the middle of the road, and she didn't want to hit them. I was thanking her, being polite yet kind of backing slowly towards going back in my house. And then.....

Out of the corner of my eye, I see this gray furball wriggling out of about 4 inches of open window. Since I never got the Good Samaritan's name, I just pointed and said, "your dog." She didn't seem to hear, or comprehend, anyway, so I increased the urgency in my tone just a bit... "um, your DOG!" In a SPLIT SECOND, said furball had flung itself to the ground and had crossed the 50 yards or so between it and the turkey at about Mach 9. (I didn't realize furry grey mops could fly).

The next image will stay with me forever....here is this little dog, (imagine a grey extra large shitzu) teeth firmly embedded into the backside of one turkey. The turkey is much larger than the dog, but obviously not nearly as tenacious. The turkey is squawking and running, flapping its clipped wings, pulling this grey bundle of ferocity all across our yard. The chickens are scattering and clucking and bawking, and I'm just laughing. The poor girl felt horrible...she finally contained the little grey beast, and he came away with about half a dozen huge white feathers hanging out of his mouth like a giant moustache. I have never seen anything so hilarious. My yard looked like a feather pillow exploded.

Meanwhile, another, much bigger dog joined the fray. As it ran by, the girl dove for the dragging leash, and missed. Literally dove. I give her LOTS of credit for effort! This one didn't attack anything, he just thought it was great fun to chase all the birdies running for their lives. I have no idea how this one escaped the car, because I didn't see any other windows open. I clapped and called the bigger dog over, and he came right to me...beautiful dog. Golden Retriever/German Sheperd mix. The young lady was still apologizing profusely (with a rather stunned and horrified look on her face, I might add) and I was assuring her it was no big deal...I certainly didn't want to deter her from "helping" future road-bound creatures!

I called Doug and told him we had issues. He's like, now what? I relayed the incident, and told him we need to cage the turkeys or just eat them now. This has been a lot of work for a couple of meals!

At least having me in your life, you KNOW there's NEVER a dull moment!

Nine Words I Never Dreamed I'd Utter

Me: {walking calmly into the living room whilst my hubby was trying to relax for a moment}

"I just shot a woodchuck through the mudroom screen!"

Doug: Coming fully alert as soon as he saw the loaded rifle in my hand....." YOU WHAT???"

Actually I think the FIRST thing I said was, "How do you get the bullets out of this thing??" I couldn't get the cartridge out. Poor Doug was like... huh? Last thing he knew I was giving Jacob a bath, insisting he rest for a few minutes, and there I am with a crazed look in my eye, adrenaline running through my veins, asking him how to unload the usually-UNloaded gun!

So here's the story:

I was giving Jacob a bath. He likes to play for a while, so I was just gazing out the window. I happened to notice a woodchuck coming out of its hole by the barn. I was temporarily devoid of my senses as I thought, I wonder if I could shoot that thing? You see, they dig up my yard {which is a health hazard for me because I'm already off balance!}, they eat my flowers {don't we ALL want the world to be a more beautiful palce?} and they destroy my fruit trees {not only taking food from out of the mouth of my child but also undermining our efforts to save the planet!}. Therefore, Doug usually ends up with a tally sheet of woodchuck kills on the fridge every year.

So, I'm looking at the woodchuck, conjuring up the devastation it causes, and something quite primal rises to the surface (probably the steroids...OH MY GOSH!!!! ROID RAGE!) I go to the closet, grab the gun, grab the ammo (from a separate area of course), rip the slide back to put a round in the chamber, and sneak into the mudroom.

Now I know from past experience that if you open the front door the little buggers hear it and scamper back into their hole. SO...I did just what Doug would have...HAS done....in the past: I put the end of the barrel right up to the screen, lined the little furbeast up in my crosshairs, and squeezed.

Nothing. Oops. Safety still on.

Take the safety off, barrel to screen, lined the little furbeast up in my crosshairs, and "Phht." (Well, it IS only a .22)!! It disappeared, but I didn't know if I got it or not, because it was in long grass, and still right by it's hole.

So back to Doug on the couch.
Me: Go see if I got it!
Doug: You go see.
Me: Eeewwww, are you kidding?
Doug: {rolling eyes a bit} Fine.

So I finish getting Jacob's bath, get him out, and glance out the window again. I see Doug walking up the steps with his gloves on, so I knew right away that I got it.

I knew then, without a shadow of a doubt. I had become what I once had feared....
I was a redneck.

And somehow, oddly proud of it.

{Hey, at least I didn't holler "yeeeeee-haw! when I shot!}

So now The Mighty Hunter must share his tally space on the frig...Doug 1, Me 1, and Moose, 2. Well he IS a hunting dog, and he IS outside way more than either of us!

Dead Roosters and Other Happenings

I TOLD him it would happen.

As soon as we knew that Henrietta was actually Henry, I said he had to go.

We got chickens this year around Easter. I love them. I love the eggs. We SPECIFICALLY picked out all girls. Or so we thought!

Growing up in the city, animals were pets. Period. So I'm learning about this country life, and the fact that you can actually HAVE an animal, NOT have it be a pet, and EAT it if you want. Whoa. We have thus started small, with chickens. They are so funny to watch...they run around the yard and chase birds.

I only named 2 of them, so I wouldn't get attached. We had 20 all together, but one died about 2 days after we got it. Yes, I bawled like a baby. I made Doug bury it.

Anywho...I digress. Henrietta, one beautiful bird that I named, started crowing one day. Well, crap. That meant Henrietta was really Henry, and we had to decide what to do. I wanted to find a home for Henry right away, although if you've never seen a rooster crow up close and personal it's quite entertaining. It appears as if, at the end of the cock-a-doodle-doo, that Henry's eyeballs were about to pop out from the strain. I didn't realize roosters could have expressive faces. HYSTERICAL. I laughed so hard I almost peed.

Then, when Doug's back was at it's worst, I was going out in the morning to let the chickens out. Day One: uneventful. Day Two: the attack. I opened the chicken door on the near side first. Mistake. By the time I opened the far door, and walked back to the gate, Henry attacked. I had shorts on. He charged and pecked my leg. I turned and punted. Even though his wings were clipped, Henry flew.

I told Doug, if he ONCE goes after Jacob, I will kill him myself.

Well, Saturday It Happened. Doug had the gate open, and the chickens were milling about, and I felt very proud of my fowl ownership and newly acquired egg-collecting skills. Then, I saw that Henry was out. I placed myslef in between Jacob and Henry, ready to go on the offense. Somehow, Henry skirted me while Jacob took off running, and Henry flew right into him, pecked his nose, and knocked him down.

Now, I am NOT a proponent of cruelty to animals. It was purely the Mama Bear in me. I kicked that rooster harder than I thought I could. He was pretty tough though...he went down and immediately got up for more.

So Doug came out and I said, "Get your gun."

He didn't listen, so I said, "I'm serious."

He said, "Um, why?"

I said, "Because I'm going to shoot Henry."

Something about my choice or words, the half crazed glare in my eyes, or maybe the gravel in my voice and the screaming child in my arms had something to do with it. But the man said nothing, turned back to the house, and got the gun. I wanted to do it, but apparently something about my lunatic state prevented my husband from giving me a loaded firearm. So, he did the deed.

We started plucking, but he didn't even have enough meat on him to bother. He was all beak and feathers. I asked Doug if he wanted another feather pillow, but he passed. So we buried Henry too.

The other major event Saturday was that I actually got my trach in all by myself. I couldn't beleive it. Last year at this time I wouldn't let anyone but the doctor TOUCH it, and swore I'd pass out if I ever had to do it. It's amazing what you CAN do if you have to. This was a MAJOR event for me, but reading this back, it really pales in comparison to the rooster. {Sigh.}

Have a good one!