The Four Seasons of Snow

When my wife and I got married, I was an accountant.  But I soon went through the “I might want to be a farmer” stage that all young men go through.  (If you have not gone through this stage, you are missing an important part of your life, and you may have some deep issues to work through.)  Well, farming was all around me growing up.  My grandfather, uncles, aunts, etc., etc.  So, I bought some chickens.  And two ducks.  The ducks were named Earl and Pearl, and Pearl used to jump up on the double-seated lawn chair with me after Gloria went to bed.  Her uncle came along one day and suggested that the honeymoon must be over.   This was the same uncle that helped me lasso a pig with an extension cord one day.  But that is another story.

Back to the chickens.  We bought the chicks, the incubator, the little feeders, and the whole nine yards.  I built a chicken coop out of green oak rough cut lumber.  It was farm carpentry at its best.  I then commenced to harvesting eggs.   We had a rooster and 24 hens. 

We also had two Great Danes.  Yes, two.  One wasn’t good enough, not for a real farmer.  I was not allowed to keep the Great Danes inside, as no “critters” were allowed to be inside – per my new bride.  Being an accountant, I wanted to be as efficient as possible with my money, so if I had to keep them outside, I would do so in a money-saving configuration.  I built their pen utilizing a common fence for one side of the chicken run and one side of the dog run.  I also figured that the Great Danes would keep any unwanted critters away from the chickens and my precious eggs.  Apparently, Great Danes are not that smart – or ferocious – and soon my chickens started to disappear one by one. 

It was quite troubling.  All that money, all that time, all that care, all those eggs.  There was no blood, no critter tracks, no patches of feathers, no half-eaten carcasses, no injured chickens, and no evidence of struggle.  They were just being beamed up to some other planet.  It was really quite spooky. 

What was worse was that my one Great Dane had become quite ill.  These were really quite beautiful and loving dogs, and we certainly did not want to lose one.  The dogs names were Buddy and Lady, both black as night.  Buddy was the sick one.  So I took him to the vet.  The vet, of course, required a stool sample, which I collected.  When I collected it, it was quite obvious that this dog was infested with worms.   I was half sick. 

The vet conducted an initial physical of Buddy, and then he went to check the sample.  When he walked back in, he had a very worried look on his face.  He said that he was quite puzzled, and that he had never seen anything like it.  The parasites were unlike any he had ever seen.  They were long and hollow, with long strands of attachments.  He would have to send them away for analysis.  The only thing he could compare them to were ……………………. chicken feathers.  Yeesh. 

There were no critters….Buddy was the culprit.  He wasn’t protecting the chickens, he was eating them…..whole.   There was a place towards the back of the pen that was raised up a bit, and the chickens would poke their heads under it.  Buddy would lay there, wait for the chicken’s head to appear, grab it, and swallow it…feathers, feet, lips, and whatever else.  No struggle, no injured chickens, no fox tracks. 

I was losing chickens, but I guess I was saving on dog food. When you are an accountant, there is always a debit to go with every credit.

Have a great week.