I just wanted to play Xbox with my kid.
I’ve been anticipating the day when she’d be old enough to play games with me. It’s also an excuse to to buy the new hotness in game systems because it’s for the children…
It was a special occasion to me. I’d finally get to share something with her that gave me so much joy as a child. I cleared the room and put the puppy on the porch and fired up the system. Just Dance was in full swing and we were sweating and jumping and bumping each other having a great time.
And then I heard the scream.
Or I thought I heard a scream. I wasn’t real sure at the time. Or maybe I didn’t want to be.
Later, after Gabby was bored of the game, I decided to collect eggs for the day. I grabbed my basket and walked outside to don my muck boots. I saw the dog in the front yard intently chewing on a piece of wood. But I was distracted by a strange lump under my foot. I yanked my foot out to reveal…
A lizard, sans tail, hiding in my right boot seeking shelter from the cats. No matter how hard I shook that boot, he hung on for dear life. I finally just grabbed and tossed him in the yard. Good luck buddy.
I stepped off the porch and looked at the dog an stopped dead. It took me a long time to understand what I was looking at. It was not wood that she was chewing.
It was a tiny carcass. When I picked her up, her neck just lolled about. It was broken. A perfect and swift death.
I have some bantam sized game fowl in my flock. They are tiny,cute, and quite beautiful. I also have a dog bred for hunting.
All of this is my fault I know. I thought I had the issue under control. Now for the second time in a month, Rarity has successfully hunted and killed a hen. One of the methods to break this behavior is to tie the dead bird in a mesh bag around the dogs neck and let it rot for a week. Apparently it’s effective.
I didn’t rage at her because the deed was done. But she was gonna have a horrible week. I turned to grab her and that’s when I noticed that her left eye was streaming fluid into her fur. She kept pawing at her face. She did not get away unscathed.
Roosters will stop at nothing to protect their hens, no matter the size of the threat. A 40lb puppy? ‘Ain’t no thang! Come get these hands!’ They go for the eyes. The spurs had hit their mark.
So instead of instituting perverse consequences, I dragged a 4 year old and an overactive 40lb, six month old puppy to the vet at 7pm on a school night. It was a superficial corneal scratch that required daily ointment and the cone of shame.
It was 9 pm when I got home with a cranky Gabby and a hyper puppy. I was just ready for the night to be done and everything in the house under the age of forty to go the hell to sleep.
And then I opened the transport kennel.
Rarity, she of the delicate stomach tribe had let loose during the ride. The entire floor of the thing was pool of vomit. The dog was covered in it. And she won’t jump out of the car.
So I lifted forty pounds of vomit covered dog out of the car and into the house for a bath. Alcohol was consumed soon thereafter.
And in other news, I have a professional dog trainer coming to my home at great expense to work miracles.
An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.