When we went to let the chickens out this morning, something was wrong. The front coop door was pried open a few inches. The chicks and Little It were mutilated. Sweet Violet had a gaping hole in her side and her little head was torn up. She laid on her back unable to move, but still breathing. It was horrible.
I told my dad I never wanted to be the life taker. I would raise whatever we needed, but he was to be the life taker. As I looked at her, she blinked and opened her mouth and closed it. I started to cry. My father was an hour away at work. My mom was suppose to meet a friend to process some meat birds. It was left to me. I went down to the garage and got an ax. I made my way up to the coop. Told my dear, sweet Violet I was so sorry and swung. Then, like any mature lady, I sat down and cried and cried. My hands were shaking so bad. It was horrible. The sight.
You sit there and go, if only I had the windows open and didn't use the air conditioner last night. If only I had double checked the door to make sure it was as tight as it could be. But, in the end you have to sit back and say it is part of how life goes. You win some, you lose some. You cry, then you get up, dust off your pants and rejoice, because the other half of the flock was safe in their coop. You still have eggs for tomorrow. The day goes on.
|Me with little Oyster and Porcelain|