A few days after the threat of Hurricane Nicholas had passed, a little home maintenance work was done.

First there was the never ending road maintenance. Rain plus tires equals potholes. Potholes in the truck is not an issue, just drive slowly. Potholes in the car causes the airflow shield to drag. Shield replacement is expensive especially when the gravel has already been paid for. Potholes are a never ending chore, one shovelful at a time. Or one bucketful at a time.

Next it was the encasement of the water valve by the outdoor bathroom. A two foot 1/2″ PVC sticking out of the ground is NOT safe. Tractors, travel trailers, and tires from brush mowers can all easily break the pipe. Encased in a two inch PVC pipe and then filled with blast sand, the 1/2″ water spigot is not secured against most causalities.

Then it was attack on the aphids on the Aggie hibiscus. Aphids are easy to conquer, they are just time consuming. Spray each and every leaf, stem, and flower with soapy water. Let rest and rinse gently with fresh water.

Next was an attack on the hens in an off season molting. Squawky McSquawkerson is molting. I swear she looks like something attacked her but she freshly exposed chicken skin shows no signs of wear and tear. That much cannot be said for me and my arms after tackling her to the corner to inspect her body. Having said this before, I will say it again, these are not pets. They are pest control. Needing to hold chickens is an act of congress and it takes all three of us to achieve. This time I was the lucky wrangler to pen her to the corner of the run. And of course, the rooster not wanting to be left out of the wrangling festivities stood by and bawka bawka the whole time. He too is experiencing molting. Sympathy molting, maybe? It was a true rodeo event.

Two days later, the chickens were safe and sound but causing a ruckus of extreme decibels. Since this has become a new thing around here, we were thinking it was the cat tormenting the chickens. Tired of chickens crying wolf, I ignored the calls only to hear the Kid howling. SNAKE! This Kid, like hes never seen a snake or anything, is running around like the chickens hands in the air yelling “snake, snake, snake” at the top of his lungs. Well this non toxic snake was not eating chickens or children but it was eating his way through the collection of eggs in the nesting boxes. Six or seven of them and one ceramic egg. Crap. Now the Planner had to kill the snake because he ate a ceramic egg that will never be digested and will eventually cause the snake to starve to death as the egg cannot be passed out. Crap. Crap. Boxes in Fields does not kill snakes, we relocate snakes. This killing of this beautiful five foot snake saddened me for a few hours. What a waste. A waste of eggs, a waste of life.

If the snake killing saddened me, it was only preparation for the slaughtering of chickens a few weeks later. Okay, it was not a preparation at all and in comparison, the snake was walk in the park.

We knew we had a feral dog problem and had been working with the local authorities at collecting them since the middle of September. A cage was bought at the local feed store but as these are feral dogs they broke out. Twice. The third time they broke the cage.

It wasn’t the traps fault per se as it did catch the neighbors gentle giant of a black lab, the cat, a baby opossum, and a chicken. It just wasn’t made for these feral mix bread females. Females with puppies who are hungry. And who can blame them, everybody (man and animal alike) LOVES chicken.

First I was sad and in standing at their door crying big fat tears. Then I was angry. Angry, angry.

A!N!G!R!Y!

So angry a hostile phone call was made to local sheriff’s office to make a complaint against the neighbor who allows these dogs to be in this condition. Looking at these three slaughtered chickens laying in their coop I saw RED. I envisioned all kinda of terrible things to inflict upon said neighbor. Luckily for said neighbor I am not an visible angry person and I do not yell nor throw things nor burn their house down. By the time the sheriff arrived I had returned to the uncontrollable crying stage and the Planner (gosh I love him so) handled the questioning as I stood there and cried big fat tears.

For the rest of the day, the Planner and I repaired the coop. Again. Mostly it was at the door but there was damage on all sides including the windows that are five feet off the ground. What a waste.