Snooki is MIA. Our little wild child hen who refused to stay in her coop, and then refused to stay in her run, and then refused the entire yard after she decimated the majority of our plants, instead preferring to visit the neighboring yards, has not come home. She took her typical jaunt around the neighboring yards on Monday and we haven't seen her since. Our neighbor swears he saw her hop the fence and come home Monday afternoon, but we cannot find her anywhere in the yard. There is no evidence of a predator in our yard or the neighboring front yards. Her counterpart Chica, now our sole hen, remains visibly upset. So much so that she refuses to enter the coop, preferring instead the antique metal scale on the back porch, modified - begrudgingly by The Husband after being henpecked by The Wife to accommodate the perched bird. I just thought pieces of hen and feathers and blood might not be such a good way for a 5 year old girl to start her morning. The large cat is thrilled with this new development. So much so that he is forgetting to eat, instead parking himself at the back door and alternately intently watching the unsuspecting hen and stretching up on the back door in a feeble attempt to reach her.
We've resolved ourselves to the fact that our wild child is probably dead, though we prefer to think that someone has a new hen in their yard. At least I do, though logically she was probably already someone or something's dinner. I sleep better thinking the former.
As for the last hen standing, I have become the alpha hen, being followed everywhere I go in the yard. When she hears the click of the door lock she comes running to the back porch. She clucks almost sadly when I leave the yard for the car. She has always been our broody hen, so I think a few fertilized eggs might do the trick. Unless a miracle brings Snooki back. For now though, she is going to have to tough it out as the last hen perched.
I live with a Maine Coon. A large, male Maine Coon. A big baby. Who had to go to the vet for his checkup today. Those with "normal" cats, or no cats may not understand what this entailed. He doesn't fit in a cat carrier. I've tried. His 20 pounds of bones, muscle and fur just does not fit. Because of his size, he has a handsome blue harness and leash. Which he is not a big fan of, though he is becoming more tolerant. After all, he is only 15 months old, so he's still learning some things. But for now, all 20 pounds of him gets carried to the car. It looks more like a black and white fur stole is hanging from my side, but I've got a good hold of him. Or so I tell myself.
He's gone for car rides before, but usually with the dogs, who he curls up next to and sleeps. But today he was riding solo. Shotgun did not make him happy. Even with the A/C gently blowing on him, he cried. Actually it was more like a howl, which was worse. He stood up at the closed window, and I heard a whizzing noise. When I glanced over, he was standing at the window with his paw on the button. Howling. I thought the child lock was on, but apparently not. I need the lock less for my 4 year old than I apparently do for my cat. I quickly got the window back up while I pulled him down and sort of flattened him into the passenger seat. We haven't left the driveway yet.
I get the car in gear and we're on the freeway for the 35-40 minute drive to the vet. He attempted to crawl into my lap, twice, which I deflected, twice, by pushing him back into the passenger seat. He then moved onto the console, with his back to me. Essentially giving me the kitty middle finger. And he stayed that way for a good 20 minutes. Angrily riding backwards. Until we got near the freeway exit. Then he started into my lap again. Having had enough of the kitty middle finger, I gave in. Which seemed to work until he figured out he couldn't see anything. At which point he sat up, and I could no longer see my steering wheel or most of my gauges. I'm now frustrated and stressed. I'm cursing my husband for having the dog set belts in his car. Not that it was his fault, mind you. I left them there the last trip we took with the whole family zoo and have forgotten to put them back in my car. But I digress. So now I have a massive furry head blocking my gauges and my steering wheel. I pushed him into a flat position on my lap. Which seemed to work until we pulled off the freeway. Once I was off the freeway and had to make some turns, I was greatly inhibited in turning the steering wheel by a mass of fur and belly. Not mine. His. Somewhat exasperated, I pulled over, put the car in park and hoisted him into the back seat, where I told him he needed to stay so I didn't crash into something before we got to the vet. He must have understood me because he didn't move from the backseat and didn't howl. And the last five minutes of the ride were quiet.
I was ready for a nap. Or a kitty nanny.
After his (very good) vet visit, we made the drive home with zero issues. We even stopped at the pet store for food.
I did take a nap when I got home though.
By the title you can probably guess that 2014 was not the best of years, especially at the start. Rocky, tumultuous and toxic. Somehow I made lemonade out of lemons though, and fought with everything I have to create a more positive and healthy environment for me and my daughter. I'm now ending the year feeling stronger, healthier and so much more empowered. I've realized that I've allowed toxic and abusive relationships that I married into to plague me for over a decade - and I am beyond elated to kick those suckers to the curb without a shred of guilt or remorse. Those people have no place in my life nor in my daughter's.
I suppose in some ways then, 2014 was a pretty good year. A year of insight and deep soul searching. A year of coming out of a fog that I didn't even realize I was in. And it's given me feelings about the future that I haven't felt in nearly 2 decades. It confirmed to me that I and my daughter deserve respect and consideration and kindness, that I am not the monster the toxic people in my life made me out to be, and that my daughter does not have to be subjected to their toxicity simply because she is related to them. That I was simply their scapegoat so they don't have to face their true selves. Those people will never be happy, or healthy, or whole and will continue to swim in their river of denial until their raft goes overboard. And I'm really good with that. Let-me-help-push-the-raft good.
So good bye 2014 and hello 2015. Nice to see you, where've you been? We're going to experience some incredible things.
After over a year of being "Momma Hen" I am officially crazy. The Husband might also be. Especially once The Fox began visiting.
The first time, The Fox was seen by The Husband and dismissed by me in my usual, "oh there he goes again, overreacting about what is probably just a large cat". The second time The Fox was seen by me and chaos ensued. (Apparently The Husband wasn't overreacting the first time.) The Husband and I were in the house, and had just finished a late dinner, when I looked out the window and saw The Fox, rudely standing on the edge of our bocce court. I yelled to The Husband "The Fox is on the bocce court!", which led to The Husband bolting out of the house in his jammies and socks, down the porch steps, across the patio and down the backyard steps where his socks failed him and he landed on his arse at the bottom of the steps with an explosion of expletives. All the while, The Wife was behind him, eyeballing The Fox who was still rudely- and calmly -standing on the edge of the court, looking at us like we are a bit off. Three of our hens were off to our right, and we formed a cozy little triangle, with the fox obviously analyzing if he could grab a hen before the crazy people got to him. He decided against the chicken. This time.
The third time The Fox came back it led to yet more chaos and a bit of destruction. At least to my yard. We noticed him in the yard by the chicken run and The Husband ran outside (in solid shoes this time), and carting The Toddler's red bouncy ball seat with him. The Husband yelled at The Fox and then hurled the red bouncy ball seat...which knocked out a patio light and a canvas overhang, and made quite a racket. But didn't come near The Fox. The racket of things banging and crashing down were apparently enough for The Fox to run in the opposite direction of the crazy people chaos. And we still had four safe chickens. Scared, but safe.
The last time The Fox was seen I was on my way out to pick up The Toddler from school, and the crows (the two who sit on the edge of the fence by the coop and squawk until they drive me and the dogs crazy) were squawking on the fence - loudly and more continuously than usual. I went out to quiet the crows, and saw The Fox walking across the top of the fence along the chicken run, eyeing the fat little hens hovering in a corner. I started to run toward the coop as The Fox jumped down into the run where the chickens were locked in (our attempt at keeping our yard looking more like a yard than a feeding ground) - like sitting ducks for a hungry fox. I ran across the yard, yelling at the fox to get away from my chickens (like The Fox understands English?), hoping that I wasn't going to find a chicken beheaded. When I got to the gate to unlock the hens, the crows flew off and I could hear The Fox scrambling through the fence and into the ivy in the neighbor's yard. And I saw four safe but terrified hens, who were promptly calmed, corralled and locked in their coop - their safe locked home on a raised platform - and with their water and food until I got home from picking up The Toddler.
So, now I am in hyper vigilant mode, and the hens have music - or news- as well as lights. And Momma Hen has a nice little BB gun. Just in case. :-) Like I said, I may be officially crazy, all thanks to four chickens.
P.S. I am having fun firing BBs into potatoes though. :-)
The Husband's Happy Hens have taken over the yard. They have completely trashed the lawn and are happily uprooting all of the plants. And let's not talk about the poop. Which I have to clean off the walkways EVERY DAY! And The Husband said chickens were easy. Of course they are, if you have them in their coop and a nice little chicken run from Day 1. And this is now The Husband's New Plan. But, really, you can't give four hens the run of the yard for a a year, let them trash it, and then out of frustration decide to enclose their run so the yard can recuperate. The hens are not going to be happy. On the occasions when they faced a closed run door, two of them flew out, and one cut her legs trying to get through the wire fence. I don't think they are going to take well to being stuck in their run. Even if The Husband turns it into a luxury run, he's not going to have Happy Hens. He's going to have to clip the wings of Snooki and Raven, Easter is going to need some sort of chicken anti-depressant if she'll ever lay another egg and Chica will probably turn into psycho chicken. So, I give it a week, tops, before he gives up and gives them the run of the yard again. We're probably facing a drought anyway, so who cares if the lawn is trashed? My money is on the hens.