Lifes little problems

On Saturday I had a garden event to host and Steve was left to care for the farm.    On the way home all I was looking forward to was handing him the salad and lasagna I was bringing home from lunch for him to have for dinner and getting into my chair where I could put up my swollen, aching feet.

Instead I walked into a minor disaster.  When Steve went out to do the evening feeding he heard one of our old dogs, Bugsy throwing a fit inside the box that protects our doggie dog from the direct outside air.  It looks like a giant doghouse, the doggie door opens into it from the house, and then the dogs go through the box to the outside.

 Bugsy is having difficulty walking in his old age and Steve realized he had probably fallen in some way where he couldn’t get up inside the box.  That meant that Steve in his wheelchair would have to go around through the yard to get to the outside of the box.   He tried looking from inside the house and couldn’t see why Bugsy seemed caught and couldn’t get him to come close enough to grab and pull him through the door.

 
When he went back out to go around the house and into the yard to save Bugsy he was in a hurry and didn’t check to see who was at his wheels and Ginger got out of the house and ran right for the barn.  So Steve had to hurry there because Ginger is our worse chicken killer. 

 The barn door was closed but as Steve chased Ginger around in his wheel chair trying to catch her she kept circling back and trying to get through the door and she finally squeezed through the bottom and got inside.  Steve heard the noise - she was going after Frizzle and the black hen I had turned loose in the front of the barn because she was being picked on. 

 When he got the door open and started inside Ginger ran by carrying Frizzle by the neck.  He chased after her, she let Frizzle go once but Steve’s wheelchair got stuck in the slush and he couldn’t get there before she grabbed him again.  She had him on the ground pulling out clumps of feathers when Steve managed to grab her.   He thought Frizzle was dead but when he came back around the house after putting Ginger away Frizzle was gone.

 Bugsy was still howling and crying all this time so poor Steve had to hurry around the house, through the yard to get to him.  He had to get out of his chair and lay on the wet ground to reach Bugsy inside the box.  He had caught a toenail on a metal grate on the ground inside the box and had twisted his leg trying to get loose.  He was hurt and scared and bit at Steve several times as he freed him.    Poor Steve. 

 When I got home Steve had just got back inside and could barely talk because he was out of breath.  Bugsy was inside and seemed fine.  Steve was more upset than him.  He told me he had looked in the barn for Frizzle but he wasn’t there and thought he might still be alive outside somewhere.  Steve was in tears from his exertion and the pain it caused and went off to lay down.

 So even though my legs were ready to fall off I got my boots on and went out to look for Frizzle before it got dark.   We had about 3 inches of snow the night before so I was looking for tracks but the yard was a mess from Steve’s wheelchair.  I was about to give up when I saw Frizzles head sticking up out of the snow and weeds way down by the roadside ditch.  

 Frizzle managed to hop away from me until he was up by our front porch where I managed to catch him, screaming his head off.  I saw he had lots of feathers missing, but strangely enough I didn’t see any blood or holes.  He was limping pretty badly though, hopping on one leg. 

 I carried him back to the barn and settled him on his favorite perch -  high on the hay stack.  He settled down right away.  I looked around for the black hen but couldn’t see her anywhere.  Steve had said he didn’t see Ginger get her but didn’t know where she went.

 The next morning I almost expected to see Frizzle dead but there he was still high on the hay.  I helped him off and he ate and drank even though he was hopping around still.  This is the third time he survived a dog attack.  He sleeps with the cats; maybe some of their nine lives have transferred to him. 

 I found the black hen hiding under the steps to the loft later in the day.  She seemed fine when I shooed her out and when Frizzle saw her he felt good enough to jump her so I guess the old bird is going to make it.   He managed to make his own way back up on the hay last night and down off it this morning, although he is limping badly.

 Life is just too exciting around here sometimes