A Night on the Farm

The other day, Rebecca informed us that something had killed and half-eaten one of our hens. Rebecca is the one whose duty it is to feed and take care of the Chickens, and thus she discovered this fallen comrade when she went to feed them. Both Rebecca and Rob had heard the chickens making all sorts of noise the night prior, but they never saw fit to tell my Dad about it until it was too late. Well, Dad wasn't very happy about that.

So, last night, as I was watching Much Ado About Nothing for the umpteenth time since I got it for Christmas, I thought I heard the chickens making some racket. So, I went down to my room (which is closer to the chicken pen and very much quieter than the living room) to listen. Sure enough, I could hear them and from the panicked noises, I deduced that some pest was in there bothering them. So, I hunted around the house for a flashlight, found one, grabbed my shoes and a coat and my keys (in case some idiot younger brother should decide to purposely lock me out of the house again) and quietly slipped outside.

I have never been afraid to venture outside after dark - not in my own yard. But it hit me before I took my third step - I'd never been afraid because I'd always had one of man's best friends to protect me. Indeed, the last time an animal was feeding off of our chickens, Scrappy was the one to charge in and kill it herself, no help needed. But, I pushed that thought aside and sloshed (the ground is very soggy) to the chicken pen. When I got there, I shined the light on the pen and found all of the chickens huddled to one side of the yard, and none in the house on the roost. This was very unusual, so I shined the light in the house and what met me but two glowing orbs of some mammalian predator. It was a possum. I didn't think he was that big (the one Scrappy killed was twice his size!), but he had killed before and might kill again, so I went back into the house and woke my Dad up.

He grabbed a small rifle and we went out to kill ourselves a possum. When we reached the chicken house, the possum was no where inside of it. My Dad and I circled the pen, but there was no sign of the rascally varmit. But we could hear him, and eventually we did find him, scaling the chicken wire at our eye-level. As soon as we shone the light on him, he froze, and it didn't take long for Dad to send him to his maker. After that, we went back into the house. I learned that Dad thought it was a very big possum, (though he couldn't have been more than eighteen inches long minus the tail). Go figure. So, anyway, that was my somewhat exciting night, but it's made me realize again that Scrappy is gone.

I know I keep saying that, but it hasn't sunk in yet. Every time someone goes outside on the porch, I expect to hear the thump-thump greeting of her tail. When I come home, it always takes me a minute to understand why she's not barking to greet me and why she doesn't come running and quivering with excitement when she realizes that it's me. And now I'm getting teary-eyed again. Oh well. I hope everyone had a very Happy New Year, I certainly did.