Saturday was the usual whirlwind of activity - all my errands, a haircut, lunch with the folks, my labor-for-vege time with Marianne, etc. It had been grey and damp in the morning but - thank you, Universe - it cleared up briefly in the afternoon with blue sky and sun. Just in time for my farm work! It then went downhill quickly and, by the time I got home, it was raining. It rained constantly, making any outdoor activity unattractive. A neighbor had graciously agreed to pick up some books on CD from the library for me, so I squelched over to pick them up and had a glass of wine and some adult person conversation. It was very nice. By the time I got home it was pouring, so I had to force the dogs outside (large umbrella held aloft), feed them, feed the sheep/llama, collect eggs, then feed me. As soon as it is starting to get dark, the chickens are snug in their coop and I close them up. The ducks, however, are loathe to go in until it's dark. I decided to wait until the rain eased up to go out and close them in and then promptly fell asleep in my chair. I did not think about it again until just after I slipped under the covers. I decided I was too tired, it was still raining and I had left it open before with no ill effects. After all, the poultry yard is surrounded by a six-foot wood fence with chicken wire around the bottom. You can see where this is going.
At 2:15A, I heard the ducks - shot out of bed, threw on my robe, got Lovey, slipped into boots and turned the lights on. Lovey levitated off the deck, snarling with hair raised down her back, towards the fence. I went out with the headlamp on and my .22 loaded. A cursory inspection of the duck house showed only one occupant and no sign of the others. I was too late. I closed the door, called Lovey off and went inside. Needless to say, there was no going back to bed.
When it was finally light, I went out to survey the damage. Only Dolly was left and she was frozen in terror, crammed in the back corner of the nesting box. I went out of the front gate to survey the outside perimeter of the fence and, lo and behold!, there was Dimples, looking terrorized and missing a lot of pin feathers. I herded her back into the yard and Dolly ventured out only after hearing Dimples. There was no sign of Cordelia or Gertie. Not a feather. There were only a few tiny drops of blood, so I figured it was a pair of foxes. This was supported by the method of their entry into the yard.
|Joe with the fat eel that is Linden.|
I no longer refer to him as the 'sweet sheep'.
He's a pain.
|Norman, a Cormo/Pony X, who IS|
a pain, is a total bean bag for the shearer.
|Dirty but lovely Cormo fleece.|