Confession

CONFESSION

When I saw the haunches of the fox hung up in the picket fence, and his stiff body still locked in agonizing struggle, I knew it was my fault.  

I had hidden.  Hidden inside in the air conditioned house instead of going out into the 100 degree day.  If I’d only walked, 15 steps, out of my door, and had looked. I could have saved him.  But comfort cloaked my summer soul in hibernation.

That was 15 years ago and, still, on hot days, scorchers, I wonder who is meeting their demise because I have succumbed to comfort.  It riddles me.  There is probably a diagnosis for this and maybe a pill or two for this overdeveloped sense of guilt I sling around.  I was baptized Catholic, and raised Mid Western Lutheran, so that alone could be its’ own diagnosis, but seriously it is a burden in the heavy heat.  

Today, there are 5 new chicks in the above ground pen we call the duck-ma-hall.  It cost almost as much as a shed to build because my Scandanavian husband builds things to outlive us and our children.  We lovingly tell him that we are all sheltering there during tornado warnings. 

The chicks were a surprise.  The day after we arrived home from vacation, I went to the barns and surveyed.  All was well in stalls 2, 3, 4, and 5, but stall 1 had a black mass in the tube feeder I'd made.  Got the idea off of Pinterest and it worked great with no fatal flaws... for chickens. 

I approached the mass blocking the tube and thought I saw chicken feet, like one had just plunged itself into the tube on a suicide mission.  The room was thick and poorly lit and I had to get too close to the mass to really understand it.  The stench hit my nose and a skeletonized terrorized rodent face emerged as I finally focused. 

Defying visual logic, a squirrel had become trapped inside of the tube.  He must have dove in from the top, swam through the scratch and lodged himself in the bend.  His one tiny paw reached out and his face pointed toward freedom, but I was on vacation.  Comfortably swimming across the lake, sauntering around the lake community, dreaming of which house I'd live in should we win the lottery.  

Grabbing hold of his outstretched paw, I prayed that he would come out in one piece.  He did, but I only knew he was a squirrel by educated guess.  Fluffy gray fur had turned to a disgusting leather and the tail only a trail clinging to maggots.  Mantras helped a bit, "You will not throw up. You will not throw up."  I held my breath and dropped him with some remorse down a ground hog hole.  At least the dogs wouldn't roll in it now.  

Early the next morning my husband and I were both at the barn letting our creatures out.  Stalls 5,4,3,and 2 were clear, but in stall 1 near the tube of death was a black mass on the ground looking complicated. "Not again!" I thought.  I walked in and there lay the hen that had "gone missing" these last 21 days.  She lay awkwardly.  As I stared and sorted out her shape a puff ball moved like a tiny alien through her feathers.  I wondered what was eating her until I came to my senses and registered “chick” and not humongous parasite.  In a reflex defying physics, I scooped it up and then scooped her up.  Several chicks fell from her feathers like giant lice.  My husband and I chased down 5 little ones, then brought mama and littles all to the duck ma-hal.  She clucked excitedly at them showing them how to rummage through straw, then gathered them all to the the shallow water dish for drinks.  

My youngest son woke soon after and I let him know about the return of our mama hen.  He smiled-before 1:00 in the afternoon, and went out to see for himself.  Moments later he's yelling angrily, "Get the incubator!" and "You guys need to check the barn better!" 

In his hands was a gray chick fluffed and peeping, curled tightly into itself unable to bend its stiffened leg or straighten its neck.  My son insisted that warmth woulds fix it.  I cup it in my hand wanting to hope too, but knew that my warm hands hadn't ever performed miracles.  

"Sweetie, this one is not going to make it." 

"Why didn't you check the barn!  Is its' neck broken? Did something hurt it?" 

"There is no blood, and I don't think anything got it.  I really think it just hatched this way and mama probably left it in the nest."  

"We need to get rid of all of the chickens!"

"Because this is too hard?"

"Yes...  Are you going to kill it?"

"Yes, it's best.  I'm sorry." 

He slams the door.

I hold the small soul gently, apologize for its short time in the sun and pray that I would just become teflon.  Let this life slide out Home and not stick to my soul.  In what seems like forever, the small soul goes limp in my warm hands as I hold it under water and pray for its peace.  I bury the small creature and go in to hug my boy.  He jerks away angrily, "You have dead chick on you." 


It's true.

I have this dead chick on me, and a dead fox, and some cows, and my sweet dog Hannah, and a squirrel, and countless chickens and a goat.  



It's no wonder I've gained weight with all of these souls I carry around.

Hannah a day before she went Home

This Mama hen and all of her chicks lost to a fox

only 2 goats now, Willow is gone