If you are a regular reader of this literary masterpiece,
you are familiar with my hatred and deep down anxiety over rock chucks. I hate
them. I had dreams about them in my bed, chasing me around, biting my toes. My
son even says, “Oooh, those dirty rock chucks,” with conviction while eating
lunch and watching their heads poke from under the shed. So what was about to go down was inevitable.
Keith and our brother-in-law found themselves discussing the disgusting nature
of the rock chuck at a wine birthday party a few months ago. Thank you to technology and ease of ordering
fire arms over the internet using your cellular phone, we had one ordered in
less than 3 minutes and delivered to our doorstep a few days later. I didn’t
really want to kill the furry beasts, but I did want them gone, so I told Keith
that he could assassinate them, but I didn’t really want to hear about it. Then I came home from a baby shower, dressed
in my finest jeans and shirt that did not have a WSU logo on it (aka: fancy),
and caught Keith target practicing.
Something started to tingle in my right index finger. I instinctively started to close my left eye
and focus with my right. After I watched
him take a few shots I yanked that air rifle from his hands and started taking
my shots. The feeling was amazing and I
made it well known that the rock chucks better pack their bags! Momma’s gotta
new gun!
During the time when Taylor takes a nap, my time is filled
working on articles for GalTime or doing household chores. As I was folding laundry watching an episode
of House Crashers on HGTV, I saw that furry yellow head poke up from the bushes
by my chicken coop. I watched as the
little varmint wandered into my coop and started eating feed like I had set it
out for him. I said a few 4-letter words
and slowly set down the dish towel I was wringing in my hands. I walked out to the garage and loaded the air
rifle with a pellet and took aim out our back garage door. An old, well-taught technique came back to me
in my moment of glory, a skill my Grandpa Bud had taught me summer after
summer: aim high, follow it down and when the target is in the crosshairs, pull
the trigger. (Back Story: I had taken a
few awful shots and hit some chucks a few days before, but it just pounced off
their fatty pelts and they hobbled back into their holes, shaking their fists
as me. I thought that was what was going
to happen at this point. Just a shot, like a “Hey, get your furry butt back
where it belongs-DOWN BY THE ROCKS BY THE RIVER!) So I aimed high, followed down and when the
chuck had a fist full of feed in its mouth I pulled the trigger. What I saw in my scope haunted me for hours
after. It fell back like a cartoon, let
out an awful scream and lay (almost) dead in my coop! I screamed, covered my mouth, and ran back
into the house crying my stupid sissy eyes out!
I called Keith sobbing, “I KILLED IT!!! I killed it!” Now, no one likes a phone call like that coming
from your wife at 2pm, especially when she’s in charge of raising your
son. “What?! What?!” Keith says back to
me and I tell him what awful crime I had committed. And what does he say, “NICE SHOT!” (I also frantically text my dad, who also
congratulated me on an awesome shot, saying my Grandma and Grandpa would have been
proud.) This made me laugh, which helped me calm down, but since the varmint
was taking a while to go to rock chuck heaven (even if it’s nasty, I still
believe they have a place in heaven), I packed up my kid and left for the pool. Later that night Keith was working late and
my birds had to go in their coop, which was obstructed by a dead chuck. I put my big girl panties on and while
chanting “It’s just a rodent, it’s just a rodent” dealt with the dirty rock
chuck armed with a shovel and wheelbarrow.
The next day I nailed another one.
I caught the fever, but new rules: it has to be compromising my coop to
get shot. Rock Chucks have been warned.
CHICKEN UPDATE
If I knew how much shat these birds produced, I would have
thought this through a bit more. Having
said that, they do give us so much joy every single day. Yes, joy. Feel free to mock me, oh friends of mine, but
they really are wonderful. I have been
asked if I’ve named them yet, but since they all look the same, it has been a
challenge. I have named one: Floppy
Sitter. This chicken is hilarious. Taylor loves to play with “the girls.” He
chases them, they chase him, they follow him up on the playtoy and all over the
yard. One night that was still hovering
around the 90s, Taylor was playing with the chickens when he approached one. Instead of hopping to the side or running
away, this chicken opened it’s wings and sat down for him to pick up! I couldn’t believe my eyes. She just sat
down! Taylor saw an opportunity and
picked her up, brought her to Keith and me (as we are laughing so hard) and
proudly says, “Dada, I brought a chicken for you.” Now every day, Taylor can
catch Floppy Sitter and hold her for a while.
We have another girl who I’ll call “The Stalker” because she is always
sitting up on the bench under the kitchen window watching me do dishes, make
meals or just clean. It’s kinda creepy,
but funny. And another girl we have yet
to name, runs her little beak all day.
She makes that weird brrrrrrrrraaaawk sound all day, yelling at you
about something. Like a Diva! Her name is Diva, now.
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| Floppy Sitter |
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| Hanging with Floppy |
But the best update of all is that our chickens have started
to lay eggs! Now, I’m not sure if it’s
one chicken (Floppy Sitter, maybe?), or more than one, but the other day I
decided to peak in the coop just to check it out and there was a brown
egg! I snagged it and took it inside and
yes, because I am my grandmother’s granddaughter, I blew the yolk out and have
displayed it proudly on my kitchen window.
Last night Taylor and I were playing outside and decided to look again
and there was another! Taylor had it for
breakfast this morning (I’m still trying to get over the phobia of eating their
eggs) and it was really exciting. I can’t
wait to go back out after he wakes up from nap and see if there is
another!
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| AN EGG!!! |
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| An Egg! |
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| 2nd Egg, First Egg Breakfast |
And that is what is like on our ranchette. The weather is hot, hot, hot and the birds
just move from one tree to the next trying to stay cool under its
branches. They love being on the deck in
the shade, taking gigantic poops, but it’s a daily battle with the poop. Oh,
well.
Stay tuned for more adventures. I’m sure there will be more!
