Furry Bastards and Buckets of Contemplation

Last night I spent a good hour walking our property looking for chickens remaining after the latest massacre. I was only able to find six total - three of each gender. After I got them carried to the roost, I bribed one of the goats (Water Buffalo) into the coop, locking the door behind him. I then carried the empty grain bucket to a satisfactory vantage point and waited for the coons while I contemplated life.

That may sound pretty deep for someone sitting on an upside down bucket, but lately I've had a lot on my mind.

I'm quite fond of our birds. Many of them have had several birthdays, and these days eggs are few and far between.

However, they're still great for insect control, plus I appreciate watching (most of) their antics. Simply put, I genuinely like them. And quite frankly, I'm tired of losing them. .

Around the time I was coming to a heavy-hearted conclusion regarding a future with chickens, Water Buffalo was drawing conclusions of his own . Guard goat was not on his evening agenda and he wasn't about to spend the night in the coop, even if it meant he had to disassemble it to make sure that didn't happen. Sighing, I got up and let him out. He wandered off, proudly embracing his continued career of being a pain in my ass.

I'd had enough and was ready to put the day away when my husband came out and joined me. Together we sat in silent conversation as we watched the light fade from the sky. Growing too dark to see much of anything, we had decided to pack it in, when I heard the faint, but distinct sound of claws on bark. Looking up toward the oldest of the cottonwood trees, there sat several furry bastards, watching us from above.

Their bodies hit the ground with the most satisfying of thuds; another met his demise tonight.

While I hate that we can't all just get along, having lost nearly two dozen birds in just the past few days alone (as well as all of this spring's kittens), I can comfortably say that's on them.