Thursday, December 18, 2008


As integral a part of farm life
as birth is, so is death. The dark spectre.
So, death is expected, but never welcomed.
Last Friday evening we lost 7 birds to
a Boston Terrier that got into the barn.
I will save my wailing and gnashing of teeth as it pertains to free roaming dogs
for another day.
But much is involved from the farmer's perspective when
such attacks occur.
There is the grieving. Not for romance and sappy love, but for the loss of vital life..
life with meaning and purpose.
There is the stress on the other birds in the barn.
An attack that viscious takes a toll on my layers.
There is the cleaning.
I will save the delicate readers the details,
but just know it is not a pleasant task.
There is anger, rage, frustration and more rage. The economical price
is substantial and the profit loss is there too.
These particualr birds were my 'meat bird' experiments.
I have been carefully selecting and breeding for the traits
I look for in a good homegrown meat bird:
Fast growing, good breast and leg development
and sheer size.
I will never know how I did and must start over from scratch..err.. eggs.
That dog took the food from our table.

And last night Streak was struck by a car and killed.
It was not unexpected and we had told him for a good long while now
that he was going to die and we were prepared for it as well.
He just could not leave the field across the road be.
Could not, could not, could not.
It is not the 'grass is greener' syndrome,
but the 'mice are bigger'.

I do not know what he expected to find over there that we did not have here,
but the lure was too strong.
Total bummer.
He was a good cat and a good mouser.
From a scrawny, bony stray to a fat and saucy cat.
Happy Journey, Streak.
On a a totally different subject..
I am over the rain!
It is still wet, foggy, misty and yucky out.
It has been almost a week since we have seen the sun.
Everything is waterlogged and damp.
The barn is a sight indeed.
But there is no point in trying to lay down new straw
in the pens or anything else until the sun
dries us out some.
Hopefully soon.
The birds are as unhappy about it all as I am.
Their pens are damp and soggy, their feathers are damp and soggy
and no one can lay and bask in the sun
and dustbathe.
Come on, Sun!!

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