At 6:30, I went out to feed the broilers. Their pen is only about ten feet from the house, and I realized, with absolute horror, that there was a dead and mangled chicken caught in the fencing. Some predator had tried to pull it out of the fencing!
And another, dead, just outside the netting! And another, and another.
By this time I was sobbing, great wracking sobs. I had tried so hard, and I had forgotten to turn on the electric fence after we planted yesterday. It had slipped my mind after feeding the birds. And I was so tired, and the night so chilly, that I had shut all the windows and slept a deep sleep for six hours, that I heard nothing.
What kind of farmer doesn't hear birds in distress, mere feet from her head? What kind of farmer doesn't protect the animals in her care?
Twenty-six dead birds was an awful way to start the day.
What predator? There was almost no blood, so we weren't dealing with a weasel or a raccoon. The senseless killing of tasty meat suggested no fox. I don't know much about opossums, but there seemed to be no claw marks. Solely based on the widely scattered carcasses, my gut said DOG.
I told Butch about the deaths and he said, "Dog."
Phil got home, and he said, "Dog." So we're on the alert.
When my sister got up, I was sitting inside, stony, searching the classified ads for puppies. I have resisted getting a new dog because, loved though Chloe was, she had some bad habits: stealing food, strewing trash, spraying pee. Puppies require so much effort, and I don't have much effort to spare right now.
And puppies are expensive! A good labrador puppy, I noticed, goes for four figures. That's a lot of money.
But I was freaked out enough to want to never be alone on the farm without a dog again. (Even if I had woken up, would I have been able to chase away the predator? A haunting question, and one I aim to correct. Pun intended.)
Jonelle noticed something was wrong, and, after hearing the sob story, said, "We know that Satan comes only to steal, kill, and destroy. I think this is meant to ruin the memory of this fun week." And I think she was right.
So I chose to put away grief. We looked at the bee debris trays, and saw caps! Caps are the bits of wax that the newly emerged baby bees push off their little cells when they emerge. We have baby bees at Spring Forth Farm!
When my family drove away, I sang a blessing over them. And thus concluded their pleasant visit.
But what to do about a dog?
Incredibly, miraculously, there was a listing on Craigslist for a 7-year-old female yellow lab. Sweet temperament, doesn't jump, good with kids, trained.
So, not waiting for Phil to land (which was good, because his flight was delayed), we went and saw Bitsy.
She right away went to Isaiah, and let him throw her special Bumper toy. Isaiah was in heaven. Abraham started to laugh belly laughs. I realize now that Chloe was so old the last two years, she didn't really retrieve, at least, not so Abraham would remember. So he was laughing with the joy of her joy. She was doing what she was born to do. Jadon called her and she came to him. They were all so happy.
And so we brought Bitsy home.
She is smaller than Chloe, and softer than Chloe. She hasn't barked yet. She is more obedient, actually walking on leash. She doesn't lick with a great wet tongue (much more genteel).
I hadn't been looking for a dog. I only checked Craigslist today in desperation, and, seeing how many listings their are, I would have given up in despair.
But the dog for our farm was there, ready for us when we were ready for her. God is good. Only He can redeem 26 dead chickens and give, instead, a much-loved dog.
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