I know I've mentioned in earlier posts that my friend Liz Lemon (not really her, nor is it my friend's real name) often need chaperones when we go out. We always end up bringing home crazy things.
On the fifth of November, Liz Lemon and I were driving to the Fiber Arts Festival (I love saying that). Twenty minutes from the festival grounds, Lover called. He was upset. Hs words were, "Something happened...a hawk..."
My heart stilled. Chickens are prey animals. Hawks are amazing predators.
"Little Beansidhe is dead. Wrex is missing. I can't find her. I'm standing here holding a dead chicken."
Devastation. LB was Lover's favorite chicken. Wrex was my favorite chicken.
What.the.fuck.
When I got off the phone, Lover was on a neighborhood wide search for Wrex. The rest of the chickens were safely locked up in the coop. I was sitting in the car next to Liz Lemon, silently regarding the situation.
Liz offered to turn around. I was no longer interested in any Fiber Festival, but I knew Liz was excited about going. She had been talking about it for months beforehand.
"No, we'll go. I might want to leave earlier than we usually do, though."
"That's fine."
We went the rest of the way in silence. I felt bad, but I was in no mood for chitchat.
When we arrived, I brightened slightly at the sight of alpacas. How could you not? They are so friggin' cute, like teddy bears crossed with llamas.
Then, in the third booth, an even more precious sight. A littler of six week old angora bunnies.
It was like someone had slipped me uppers. I asked to hold one and as I cuddled the little fuzzball against my chest, I had decided.
"Liz Lemon," I said to my friend (though I used her real name), "I am buying this rabbit, and taking him home with me."
Liz and I had talked before about raising angoras for their fiber. Our plans suddenly jumped up. Then we decided to bring home two rabbits.
Meet Blackula and Wicket. In this first picture, they are six weeks.
Now, they are three months old and almost ready for their first shearing!
In the words of my craftista friend Nikita, "They exploded!"
The end of the chicken story was bittersweet. I brought home the rabbits, incurred a small amount of wrath from Lover (who was completely taken off guard), and mourned for LB and the missing Wrex.
The next morning, I couldn't help myself but to begin a search in the neighborhood for my pretty little girl. When I didn't find her, I went back inside and told Lover. I cried. He hugged me.
Later, he and I were heading out to the yard to check for eggs. As he walked through the gate, he exclaimed, "Hey! Why are the chickens out?!"
"I closed their door!" Then I thought maybe in my haze of grief I hadn't latched it properly.
"Oh my god!" His whole tone changed. "Oh my god!"
"What is it?"
"What do you think?" He was grinning.
I ran into the yard after him, and there, standing in the morning sunlight, was my precious Wrex, golden feathers and all.
It was like a movie. We ran to her, she dodged Lover's first grab (probably completely freaked out by our descent upon her), but not his second.
"Give her to me! Give her to me!" I yelled.
There were tears and chicken hugs all around.
Yeah, the neighbors probably think we are truly freaky people.
We placed Wrex back with her flock in the coop. We buried Little Beansidhe beneath the forsythia bush.
We've since made them a run covered by bird netting to keep them all safe.
(Wrex is the golden chicken in this photo.)
The rabbits made it through their first shearing, though they were not super happy about the whole process. Once it was over, Blackula and Wicket were kicking up their heels and running in circles around the living room. I imagine they were enjoying their newfound freedom after all the fur we trimmed off.
The suburban homestead is coming along nicely!
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