It was like a bad dream

I have two hens, Corona and Spook.  I only turn them loose around 4:30 and shut the chicken house at dusk as soon as they go in for the night.  Even so, after losing one of my house-raised chicks to some animal a while back, it scares me.  You'd think I'd quit letting them free if I'm worried for their safety, but it makes them so HAPPY!  Any time I go in the henhouse, whether to get the two eggs or give them some garbage, they attempt to sneak around me and escape; when I block the door so they won't leave, Corona still squats down in front of me so I can pet her or pick her up.  

Last night I waited a little longer than I should have to shut the door, so it was almost dark.  I intended to a take the flashlight with me but forgot it.  I always peek through the door before I shut them up and say, "Are you girls in there?  Good night, ladies."

They usually have a quiet answer for me, as though they are singing in a whisper.  Last night one chicken answered, but her voice sounded like there was something wrong with her.  I peered in more closely and saw only one hen, and my heart stopped; I even felt around for the other one.  So, one more dead hen, and the other one perhaps injured?  I didn't have the heart to go take a look with flashlight in hand, afraid I might witness a bloody scene.  I came to the house so sad and disappointed that the tamest, sweetest chickens I've had since I was a kid had been brutally killed.  I told Cliff, "I think we are out of the chicken business."  He said, "That's awful, and they just started laying."

I actually had to fight back tears when I thought about my poor hens having to die a miserable, bloody death, but I managed to squelch the feeling because I seldom cry, and didn't intend to start bawling over a couple of stupid chickens.  I woke up at 2 AM, early even for me, but I was thinking about my hens and couldn't settle down to sleep again.  When Cliff got out of bed later, I told him I was going to go survey the damage in the hen house, since it was finally light enough to see.  

Imagine my surprise when I opened the door to look in, and both hens greeted me; they had been there all the time and were fine.  All that misery happened entirely in my imagination.  I was so ready to accept their loss that I didn't even go back out last night with the flashlight to see if perhaps I had been wrong.  I would probably have gotten the two hours sleep I missed, knowing they were fine.  This, my friends, is what negative thinking will do to you.

A couple days ago, my friend Paula mentioned her beloved cat dying, and now I'm wondering if I had been feeling her sorrow and thus imagined my hens had been slaughtered; stranger things have happened.  The mind is a funny place sometimes.  

You see, I can relate to the grief of losing a beloved pet.  Picture me sitting on the ground in a pasture, cradling Old Jersey's head in my lap (she was my first Jersey cow) and crying while she died from milk fever, which can normally be corrected by putting something-or-other in a vein... but the vet came three times, and it didn't work; we suspected hardware disease, but never knew.  Picture me worrying about my Sadie-dog, mutt that she was.  She couldn't eat and had a choking cough that I found out later was a piece of bone in her throat; calling my son-in-law to take me to the vet because Cliff worked nights and needed his sleep.  We didn't have the kind of money they would charge me to operate and get the bone that was firmly stuck in her throat... they tried and tried, but couldn't get to it without surgery.  I had to tell them, sobbing, to put her down.  One of the saddest times in my life, and yet?  Life without a pet to laugh at and care for and love doesn't seem like living to me.  I will have a pet as long as I am able to care for one, and I'll cry when each one dies.  Nowhere else on this earth can you find that non-judgmental kind of love... although animal experts tell us animals are incapable of love as we know it... and you can even love a goldfish, as I learned from Paula.  Yes, their goldfish had lived with them for many years.  It did tricks!  At my house, a goldfish might last a week if it's lucky.  Theirs died just a few days before their cat did, bringing a double grief for the family.

  This morning Paula wrote a letter to her dear departed Freddie and shared it on Facebook.  I asked her if it would be OK to share it here because I have some kitty-loving people who read my blog.  I warn you though, you may want to keep a tissue nearby as you read it.

Freddie

My dear Freddie Cat, I really miss you, and I just want you back. I’m not sure why God chose to take you in a year full of messes, and a month full of even more, but I trust His judgment way more than my own, my precious kitty. Your mama brought kitty love to our family from that moment we found her scrounging for a meal in our trash can. Shortly after, you and your siblings arrived in her chosen special place, the lower bunk of the boys’ beds- and Timothy’s nightly residence. Who would have ever guessed what you would give us over the next 16 ½ years of life. I never would have guessed what a huge hole you would leave in my heart when you died. You were a holder of secrets I told only you; a comforter when nobody even knew I needed it. You listened to me when nobody else would. You loved me unconditionally when nobody even knew I felt like no one cared at all. Oh, Freddie, I wish you did not have to leave. I can’t believe how many times Psalm 139 has come to my mind in the last few days. I know it is for people, but I think it applies to you too. God did knit you together in your mother’s womb, and He saw and knew you in there before your parts were even formed. He also knew all of your days and that your end would be Friday, October 16, 2020, around 1 in the afternoon. He even knew that your last breath would just barely be taken in my arms. I only hope you knew you were there at that point. He knew all that even before I laid my eyes on your cute little fluffy body (well, technically, your wet, slimy body right then) when your mama birthed you on my little guy's bed. All the other pussies pretty quickly gained their little kid names, but you were still nameless until Freddie just stuck. You and your siblings were so much fun. You guys grew to race and romp all over the house. You had fun whether it was playing on the bed with David and me after the kids went to bed, snuggling with all of us, or racing down the hallway as little balls of terror. The day came too soon when we had to find homes for you all. One of you would get to stay. Every child pretty much wanted to keep a different piece of your fun family. I tripped over you one day as you were playing, and I wasn’t quite sure you were ok. In the end, that was why you got to stay. Of course, you were already very special to me at that very young age anyway. You grew into quite the teen, always bothering your mom. You weren’t perfect. One day you were just having fun playing the xylophone when you slipped and got really stuck. Before I could stop her Rachel tried to help and you attached yourself to her head. I know you didn’t mean to hurt her, but boy did you. Michael did a great job making sure you were afraid of nothing, but this made you a gentleman too. As you got older, you became the top cat of the neighborhood. Nobody could beat your scrappy self. I, on the other hand, got to clean you up after some ferocious messes. They rarely required the vet, but boy, we got good with the peroxide. You were only a few years old when you started having kidney issues. Then came kitty allergies. I think trying to give you pills was the worst thing I could ever do, and about the only time I ever questioned your love for me! You gained weight and were a fat old cat but still king of the neighborhood. I’m not sure there was a more loyal friend to be had. It wasn’t just me you were loyal to. I clearly remember, not that long ago, when a big ferocious and menacing dog stood at our fence ready to eat Max and you slipped through the gate and chased that howling, and by then whimpering, dog off out of sight down the hill. What a funny sight! Of course, turnabout is fair play, and a cat must remain loyal to his somewhat pesky little relatives. There came a day when little still blue-eyed Violet was rescued from the bush that tried to eat her by the clothesline and she joined our crew. How she was a bother to you. You didn’t care to play, and that was all she wanted. She bothered and hounded you, rode down the hallway attached to your side, and you just sighed. Eventually, you gave up, and along with Max, decided you were stuck with her. You almost always chose her side to stick up for and were the referee between the two of them. If you heard a hiss, you would come running and glare at both. If that wasn’t enough, you would go after Max, because, you know, he is a dog after all. Sarah adored you and helped you lose the extra weight you had. That really helped as you dealt with a heart murmur, Cushing’s disease and the stuff it entailed, and the ever-constant kidney stuff. You must have known she was trying to help, as you started a running campaign up and down the hallway every morning before everyone but you and I were awake for a few weeks about that time. I miss you in the mornings incredibly. My quiet times with God aren’t the same without you cuddled up against my side or laying on my legs. Going to bed and waking up are no longer favorites. I miss you most then. You will never know how much I wish I had put you on my bed your last night with us, when you couldn’t get there yourself. I knew you were uncomfortable and didn’t want to hurt you. My heart hurts so, my dear kitty. When I roll over, I no longer bump into you at my side or run into your face on my pillow, or your body trying to wrap around my head. You were such a good cat, and I miss you. The biggest problems you gave us were meowing and scratching the doorframe to go out as soon as we sat down. I guess I can replace the frame now. Nothing ever could convince you not to scratch it. I know that time helps to heal, but I cried when I hung the laundry, knowing you lay lifeless nearby. I cried when you didn’t come down the driveway to greet me after church yesterday. I cried when you couldn’t come to join me last night and this morning. You will no longer follow me down to the garden or try to follow us on our walks around the neighborhood. I miss all the meows that sounded like you were saying hello, and all those other words you learned to say. I know you were just a cat, but I loved you, and you loved me back-always. Thank you Freddie for being an extraordinary cat, and thanks to my God, who always knows best, for giving Freddie to my family. I miss you, Freddie.

Rest in peace, Freddy. If you run into a Jersey cow named "Jerz" or a dog named Sadie or Cookie or Brandy, or my horse Blue and so many others, tell them I wish I would have done better by them... and thank them for their service.