Skip to main content

Farewell Little Red Hen

Little Red Hen died.

I went out to gather eggs and found a heap of feathers. I knew immediately that Little Red Hen was in trouble. The feathers were attached to Little Red. The other ladies were talking more than usual. I did not panic. I calmly deferred to my husband. It was a Sunday, a day of rest and dinner was in the crock pot, church finished for the day. His eyes were closed. I poked him twice before asking if he was asleep. He jumped on the second poke so I knew he wasn't asleep, anymore. He must have noticed the slight hysteria in my eyes because, although he said he'd get to it in a while, he was up and taking care of Little Red within 5 minutes.

The pecking order has been disrupted. Mama Hen started yelling shortly after dinner. She stood on the porch and yelled for her flock to come to her. Shortly thereafter, Jaxon noticed the Americahna's back. It took me a few more days (a week) but I realized her feather's had been pulled out on her sides and back and she was bleeding. I dug up a few extra juicy worms for her this week.

I need to get a life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Braces!

13 year old got braces today! She also had a little helper on her.

Christmas Gifts

Jill is the slice of home baked pie you long for. Her dad was a farmer. His dad was a farmer. On a hot summer day Jill would call me up to go floating down the canal or ride the slick rocks with the stream into a barely thawed pool of water. She's also the girl I called one day when I was bored and offered to drive two hours and try out this new thing called "Bungee Jumping." We did although I can't remember why . The first year after my college graduation I found myself particularly low on pride.  First of all, I was a college graduate working as a sales clerk.  Too late I discovered that a bachelors degree in sociology is equal to a high school diploma and, in some cases, a G.E.D. and got you hired at JC Penney trying to upsale with a colorful scarf.  On top of it, I'd been dumped.  It wasn't that he was the love of my life.  In fact, it was quite the opposite.  He started planning the wedding aloud and I freaked out, pointing out that we'd only bee...

They Call Me Grace

I was nearly 8 years old when my baby sister was born. This was quite fortunate since I was well adept at reading. I was tired of my name. Nancy. So plain. The Sunday comics included a comic strip called Nancy. She hung out with her stupid little boyfriend named Russell, was very boring and cried all the time. Why would parents who love their child name her such a boring name? I assumed they had run out of originality by this point. I was, after all, their third child. There was Mike, then Suzy, after me they had Joey (short for Joanne) and finally Jene Marie. The "j" a soft French slur. It was fitting. We had a French surname. But clearly Jene Marie was their crowning glory. Do I hate for taking all the love from my parents and hogging it for herself? Of course not. She's my sister. She's my baby sister. But if I happen to feel the need to speak to her when she's at work, I always ask for her by using both names; Jene Marie (with the schwa). I don't want her...