Kitten!

I suppose it's a little bit soon to get a new cat, but briefly, let's recount terrible events of the last week:

1. Bodkay becomes terribly ill.

2. Huge storm comes through, blowing two of our outbuildings over- and moving them each 20 feet or so- and a bee hive is knocked over.

3. All of our ducks are killed or fly away in terror.

4. Goose is comepletely eaten by a predator- only his heart and one wing are left.

5. After suffering for five days and spending considerable time with our wonderful vet, after getting worse and better again twice, Bodkay dies at five and a half years old.

So, we were down in the dumps. And then who did we see, but Stripe, the long lost bunny we had to give away a while ago. We knew it was a possibility that he would be a part of a traveling petting zoo, but we were quite shocked and delighted to find him at a company picnic, with hundreds of children lining up to pet him!

It was thrilling to see him- in show business! Our old bunny. To think, he was born in Big Z's bedroom. 

We went back to pet him twice. Both times, we could hardly believe what a hit he was. So soft. So cute. So friendly. Just and all around great bunny, doing a great job with the petting zoo kids. Z was especially delighted. 

Then we went to the annual Jacobs Sheep Breeders Association Meeting, hanging out in a hot, humid barn with a bunch of stinky old sheep. (Okay, they were mostly sweet, sweet little lambs. Just a few stinky old sheep. And a few stinky old people, too, I suppose- myself included in the last lot. Remember: it was hot.) This one was my favorite stinky old sheep:

And then there were the seminars, the discussions of what to breed for, the marvelous rug making seminar, the discussion of the best age to butcher, how to market meat, and then there were the pasties, the raffle- where Z drew her own name, and the whole time the raffle was going on- item after item, talked about, kids (our kid) drawing numbers, and BAH whispering to me,

"Ten more minutes. That's all I can stand. I'm dying over here!"

I was downing plastic cup after plastic cup full of red wine, with the theory that it helped me radiate heat. 

"Let's stay for dessert," I kept saying. "There's a sheep cake! And we can't leave, anyway- Z is drawing the numbers for the raffle!"

"I'm melting... I'm going to die. You don't want me to die, do you?"

The heat was unbearable. All that time, we were waiting for dessert, and then the organizers said,

"Thanks for coming everyone!"

They forgot dessert! Oh, for the love of God! We were dying! 

And then the Master Weaver saved us, reminding everyone there was a cake shaped like two sheep to be eaten. Phew. 

And all was okay.

We went home. We slept. In air conditioning. 

So, yesterday, we were just going to look. Just go out to the humane society and take a little peak- at the cats. Don't take anyone home or anything, mind you. Just a look-see. Window shopping. We would never take one home. Too soon.

Oh, but he was sweet. So sweet. 

Honestly, they didn't have to twist my arm about it. 

And now we have Grenix. (It's a Klingon name.)

Uncle Dennis says that cats reincarnate quicker than most people. Somehow, I found that comforting.

P.S. We put the beehive back up. The bees are okay. 

This is a bad week to be a pet at our house!

Bodkay is now with the Doctor Jean, who said yesterday that it was time to put him down, because he was having seizures constantly. But then she couldn't do it! She asked if she could take him home with her and try some experimental procedures. She said she could very well overdose him on valium-- but I said that was okay, anyway, because the alternative is death. Either way, if there is some chance of him living, of course she can take him home. So she took him home last night, and I haven't heard from her since. This is for free, by the way. I don't know why she is not charging, but that's fine. I love her. Doctor Jean is forever on my Christmas list.

This is the second night Bodkay has spent with Doctor Jean. The first night, when he was initially terribly ill, we were actually in Iowa, and our friends watching the cat found him, almost dead. There was an actual trail of blood across our floor, to the front door, from where they carried Bodkay away and took him to the vet's. We don't know what happened! He is an indoor cat, of five or six years. What did he get into? And the other cat, Tigery, is fine. The night they brought Bodkay to Dr. Jean, there was what the newspaper called, "a monster storm running through." We saw evidence of it: every tree in town seems to have a limb fallen, and some of the trees are snapped in half entirely. Big, old trees. At our house, two buildings blew over and away, and a bee hive is tipped. Luckily, the sheep are fine.

So, in the midst of this crazy storm, our friends (who have a deathly ill grandmother at home) took Bodkay to the vet. Dr. Jean's clinic has no basement, so she then took Bodkay home with her and had him sleep on the bed next to her. The next day, we picked him up, and it looked like we nursed him back to health- he was jumping on the sink again! And then he started having these seizures, and they just kept getting worse and worse, until it was a constant seizure. Which brings us to yesterday, when I took Bodkay in to have him put down (at Dr. Jean's recommendation) and she couldn't do it. She stepped out into the hall for a moment, and I heard her say,

"I'm taking that kitty I can't give up on home with me."

"The little black one?" asked the person in the hall.

"No, the little orange one," said Dr. Jean. Apparently, this is a thing with her!

Still haven't heard back today, though. I called and she was on a house call.

Meanwhile...

We think the two Mallards survived, but we haven't seen them.

We woke up this morning the find three of the ducks, dead in the yard, and pieces of Goose (his heart and one wing). The two Mallards (who had just learned to fly) must have escaped, but I don't imagine they'll come back home, after witnessing the massacre. So yes, Goose, my favorite, is dead. And the three white ducks. We loved them so. Really. My daughter is absolutely devastated. I think the idiots just didn't go inside last night. They have an automatic door  and everything. I built them a perfectly secure building, that didn't blow away in the storm. And they didn't use it last night. The mistake was fatal. It was either raccoons or coyotes, most likely. I buried them by the coop.

Goose is dead. Long live Goose.

Update: Bodkay died today at around 2 PM. He seemed much better, and the vet left me a message on the answering machine that he was really improving. Then I called her and she said he just stopped breathing.

So. Damn. Seven pets gone in one day. Bodkay counts as ten geese, at least, in the emotional scale. And now who will Tigery cuddle with? Big Z says, "This is the worst day ever." While I'm complaining: It's hot as hell outside. Too hot to dig a hole and bury your favorite orange cat.

Bodkay is dead. Long live Bodkay. 

Goose: Leader and Protector of Ducks

We have a pet goose. His name is "Goose." He is the only goose, so there is no need for any distinctions in nomenclature. And the name suits him, I think.

Goose is not a pet in that we do not "pet" or ever touch him in any way. However, Goose is a pleasant companion. Goose is quite the conversationalist. He lends a sympathetic ear to my troubles, saying "honk" at the appropriate intervals in the story, and, at times, he has an endearing way of tilting his head sideways to listen.

Goose is our only goose, but Goose lives with the five ducks. Unlike the famous "ugly duckling," Goose knows he is not a duck, and it doesn't bother him at all. He considers himself the Leader and Protector of Ducks. In addition to showing outstanding leadership capabilities throughout the day, (heading the line, checking for predators in the bush, and so forth,) sometimes Goose refuses to go into the duck coop at night, and instead, he stands guard. And marches. He marches back and forth in front of the duck coop, like an overzealous security guard. To me, this seems not to be especially safe for Goose himself, as it puts him (a tasty morsel, I'm sure) outside all night, and vulnerable, but what can one do? Goose is his own man. He will do as he pleases.

There's a Goose on my Roof

Goose, Goose, Goose

Gina inspired me to post these pictures. These three geese have been living at our farm recently. They like to sit on our rooftops and honk, especially early in the morning. They seem to be calling for friends. They were here last year, too, doing the same thing. What da?