A Hawk, a hen and a $5,000.00 Italian leather sofa

I think everyone knows by now I live in a Forest and walk among the whispering pines to keep my sanity in tack. I’m also a keeper of hens. Only two now because the Federal Park Service in it’s wisdom released coyotes which ate the other fifteen leaving me heart broken and driving the wise ol’ seventeen old Murcrow and her best friend ever Molly into the Cedar tree to live just outside my kitchen window.

 

Two frightened to go back in the hen house where the coyotes found a way in for their night of mayhem somehow they survived. Who could blame them for vacating the only home they had ever known. Sooooooo all winter they roosted in the snow, freezing ice and otherwise not fit for life of any kind and survived.

 

Murcrow and Molly would come down everyday when they felt the coast was clear and eat the food and have a drink of water I would put out for them only to return as fast as possible to their refuge, yea ol’ Cedar tree.

 

Yesterday we went from freezing to 72 degrees. The snow melted and this morning they came down scratching for the first worms and bugs that might happen above ground. I have no idea why they decided to bypass the nice cracked corn and other good grains I put out for them. I guess real food was just to tempting to turn down.

 

I sort of understand their thinking I pigged out on pizza myself last night followed by chocolate ice cream. Sorry I did that but that’s another story for another time.

 

Relaxing in my den sipping a nice cup of coffee  earlier than usual this morning because Nixon felt the need to screw with my sleeping habit twice a year I hear Murcrow screaming bloody damn murder.

 

I jumped up, throwing the den door open then the garage side door Braveheart my trusty Bishon in tow. It was a Hawk and the bastard had my Murcrow pinned to the ground. This protected wildlife crapper was in the process of killing my wise old Murcrow.

 

Somehow during the process the Hawk fled. I would have shot the bastard if I had had a gun but I didn’t and Braveheart did his job causing the dastardly beast to flee. Here’s were it gets interesting.

 

Murcrow takes off running like the wind wings flapping into the garage and yes straight into the den. She took up residence behind my fabulous five thousand dollar Italian leather sofa. Who could blame her but you can’t have a chicken for goodness sakes wanting to live with you in your den.

 

I consoled her, clucking to her a comforting tone. I’m not really sure what happened during the translation but now Murcrow feels the need to roost right there in the den and yes on the leather sofa. Good grief what a life. I love the ol’ bird and she has laid many an egg the family has enjoyed over a long period of time but my den is no home for a hen not even good ol’ Murcrow..

Time is passing and I’m thinking it’s only 10am in my Forest but it’s got to be five o’ clock somewhere. If there ever was a five o’ clock moment this is one. Miss Merlot to the rescue.

 

Graped up and ready I retrieve a towel from the bathroom and go Murcrow hunting. Over the leather sofa, atop the recliners, behind that big ass 52 inch gotta’ have television of my husbands, downed cases filled with hundreds of DVD’s flying in every direction later Murcrow and I came to an understanding.

 

I have no idea how I got my tiny hiny up off the floor with those wintered over skinny ass legs of mine  with Murcrow in tow but I did.

 

Murcrows locked in the hen house where the hawks can’t get to  her. The coyote have moved to better ground in another part of the county so she is safe now. That’s the good news.

 

The bad news is Molly her best friend keeps pecking at the garage door. She wants in and I’m out of Miss Merlot.

 

Soooooooooo how’s your Monday so far?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s