Carnage

Ryan's blog about getting chickens took me back to a week with my three nephews and one niece in the country.

I should have known it was going to be a heck of a week because just being anywhere with these kids was/is an adventure. A very loud adventure.

I was left in charge of the kids, the horses, the dogs and cats for five days. Jon was there most nights, but for the most part, it was just me and seven kids. Seven.

The first night, one of the boys woke me up to tell me that he was sick. He was. Never doubt a pre-teen boy when he tells you he's sick. Just guide his sweaty body to the bathroom and it will save a lot of laundry ~ trust me on this one as I learned the hard way. This poor boy had liquid coming out both ends. Now, it's one thing to clean up after one's own children ~ that's no big deal, but to clean up after someone else's children...

I walked out in the front yard after that first long night. It was early, but I had to feed and water the horses. I had my industrial-sized flashlight and my borrowed barn coat and I felt like a farm girl. I noticed debris all over the ground, but I didn't stop to see what it was as I was on a mission to feed the horses. I was a farmer now and no debris would stop me.

By the time I finished with the horses, the first light of the morning was coming up and I could now see that the front yard was littered with animal carnage. Lots of it. A huge assortment of it and the dogs were enjoying it tremendously. There was a dead, disemboweled rabbit with it's tail across the yard, a horse femur, yes a femur, and the jaw of a deer.

During breakfast we heard the squealing of a rabbit being killed by the dog. The dog tortured it a while and then brought it to us to enjoy. I had one of the boys move it to the side of the barn for burial later that day.

I thought that some fresh air might be good for the sick one, as well as give the house some time to air out. Strangely enough, it smelled. We walked up the road to the farm next-door. You know, the one that Scooby got shot at this past Christmas. I stray...

As we approached the farm's pastures, we noticed Mr. Mike's big ol' cow laying just beside the road, mysteriously still. Was she dead? I kept telling the kids that she was just a sound sleeper, but eventually we found out that this huge cow was indeed dead. We stood by her and had a moment of silence. While we were having this beautiful moment where I was explaining life and death, we again heard a terrible squawk. This time, one of our dogs had gone through the fence and got a chicken by the neck. Immediately, seven children started screaming and chasing the dog. Mr. Mike started shooting his gun in the air, and I just stood apologizing.

By the time we caught up to the dog, he had, of course, broken the chicken's neck. We decided that a funeral was in order for the chicken, as well as the earlier-killed-rabbit, and we would also pay a fitting tribute to the dear old cow as well. The kids all set to work making wooden crosses and painting memorial rocks. I dug a grave and as I dug, the kids kept bringing animal parts to be buried ~ the tail of a rabbit, the foot of a deer, the crusty body of a frog. The grave grew and grew and the funeral preparations grew and grew. By dinner, I announced the time of the funeral was just 30 minutes away and all final preparations needed to be in place promptly. Drama was in the air and the kids even changed clothes in respect.

We met at the gravesite as the sun went down in streaks of red and pink over the barn. Each of the children read or said something about the animals and their life. Then we all decided to sing Amazing Grace. Strangely enough, a lump grew in my throat. I couldn't even sing! I marveled at the tender hearts of children and the raw yet exquisite beauty of nature. But then my nephew started carrying the dead chicken to the grave on the shovel. The head of this chicken hung off the side of the shovel and as Anthony walked, this chicken head bobbed up and down in time to the song. Dominic shifted while he sang and Isabella screamed, "Don't step on the bunny, you're stepping on THE BUNNY!" To which Dominic yelled, "He's DEAD Isabella!", which of course sent Isabella into tears. Anthony, with the dancing chicken on the shovel, attempted to drop him into the grave, missed, dropped him on the rocks, and the dogs took off with him again. Once again, I had seven children screaming and running and I was left apologizing to no one in particular.

Oh, the carnage. Oh, the noise and oh, so much drama.

Yet that, my friends, was one of the best weeks of my life.