It’s been a while since the last installment of Life on the Farm, but I’ve got a double whammy for you today!
I wore tennis shoes yesterday. That in itself is a huge deal. I wear tennis shoes for running and running only. If I’m not running, I wear boots, flip flops, cleats, or stilettos. I despise tennis shoes. My work boots had chicken poop all over them yesterday, so I grabbed my tennis shoes which were sitting next to them. Yes, I have other boots, but I didn’t want to go back in and get them.
Fashionistas and city folk- I can hear you giggling. I can almost guarantee you that the pair of boots covered in chicken poop retail for more than every shoe in your closet cost.
It just had the makings of a bad day- I mean, how motivated can you feel in pink running shoes? It had rained overnight, so by the time I got to my destination, my pant legs were soaked halfway to my rear. That meant my socks were wet, too. Apparently tennis shoe wearing folk have bad foot sweat, because these are full of holes. Boots don’t have air pockets. My feet stay dry. Even in 100+ degree heat.
I tried to stomp out a fire, forgetting I was wearing tennis shoes. I tried to brace a piece of metal on my toe- again, not a problem when wearing boots. My shoes got dirty- very dirty.
When I got home, I decided I’d work in the garden. I’ve been driving fence posts for next spring’s crops to vine up on. Because of the rain, I’ve been able to simply
do a fat girl stripper dance jump on each post and drive it into the ground (there is a spade looking apparatus near the bottom). I hopped on the first one, looked down and realized I still had on those stupid shoes. Nah- I shrugged it off. They were $100 tennis shoes, surely they could handle some bouncing. I jumped on the next one- and ran the point straight through my shoe and into my foot. Somehow, I didn’t bleed out. It just left a huge black and blue lump in the bottom of my foot. I’m alive- my tennis shoes are in pieces. Thank goodness. I’ll run in my cleats.
After the whole post in the foot issue, I gave up working outside (it was 9:00 anyways) and came in to fix dinner. I had to pick E up at the school at 11:15. We’ve had a LOT of wildlife out here lately, including some massive wild cats that could eat me alive (and now I don’t have any tennis shoes to throw as a distraction), so I always look very carefully before heading out into the unknown darkness. I looked to my left and saw nothing. Then I heard this horrible slapping noise coming towards me. It sounded like one of the turkeys, but my turkeys are locked up and sound asleep by 9:00.
I stepped to the side just in time to see a HUGE owl take off flying with my favorite rooster. It took about 3 seconds for it to register what was happening. I took off screaming and running through the hay field in pure darkness trying to rescue my rooster. The owl was unfazed. My sleeping family and neighbors were fazed. Lights came on everywhere. Brad comes running out, half asleep. All I could yell was ‘an owl took my rooster’. Unfazed. I swear, I can’t shock the man. He knew to look for a feather and blood trail- which we couldn’t find. He gave me a big hug and went back to sleep.
Just three days ago, I was so excited that we had four owls around the house. I
love hate them. I never once thought about one running off with my chicken. I know, I’m a farm girl, but we never had chickens when I was growing up. I’ve been keeping them safe from coons, coyotes, opossums, bobcats, neighbor dogs, and everything else. I never thought about an OWL.
And to answer the obvious question- this rooster thought he was a dog. He crowed when guests showed up, he sat outside my office door when I was at work. The other chickens put themselves up at night. He slept on the rabbit cage. He didn’t like to be put up- and if you’ve ever been around chickens, you’ll know that you don’t want to try to make a rooster do something he doesn’t want to do.
I miss him terribly- and I feel awful about the whole thing. I’m even going to give away all of the owl jewelry I bought from the Amazon sale this week. Maybe I should sell it to buy a dog. You can’t shoot an owl, but a good guard dog out to help. Or a cat. I hate cats, but they eat birds, right?