Sunday, 27 April 2014
"What was it?" I asked, standing completely still with my hand over my month. Immediately traumatised. Immediately wondering how we would break the news to Doo Dah. "Where are the others?"
"A massive feral cat. Third generation at least", the Geege responded without the slightest hint of a joke. "It got them all."
We went about cleaning up the backyard. There were feathers and parts of birds everywhere. It made me a little sick and very, very sad. Our poor chickens had met their death. It was brutal.
"Oh God! What are we going to tell the kids?" but before a plan could be generated, we heard a noise. The Geege turned on his heel, a look of pure determination in his eye. "It's still here!" he said. He turned a whiter shade of Bear Grylls before my eyes and set off in the direction of the noise.
But it wasn't the predator, it was its prey. Fluffy. The slightly nutty leghorn. She had somehow survived the jaws of her killer.
She was always skittish. She now has a full-blown mental health condition. She is tetchy. Anxious. We frightened her near to death trying to catch her to protect her from the return of the cat. She spent a few days in our laundry, laying beautiful eggs like clockwork. Each egg brought a tear to my eye.
Our dear neighbours have now kindly taken her into their flock. A crazy chicken can't live alone. So now she has a new gang to peck her and steal her food. She feels right at home.
RIP Shadow and Rainbow. And long live Fluffy.