Hello, Goodbye.

(Annette and "Bustard", as she called him. See his "hairy" feet?
He is a Silky variety and they have their toes covered in long feathers! )

While we were in Florida, our good friend Ginger chicken-sat for us. She determined that Indiana Jones is definitely a hen after all. Phew. I was glad to find that out! Now we wouldn't have to worry about noisy roosters....

So, Steve took Misha who had a potted plant to give to Miss Ginger to thank her for Chicken-sitting his chicken. I think a couple of other kids tagged along too. And what did they come home with? A baby rooster!! Ha ha!

I was surprised but thought it was funny that Steve had brought home a rooster and figured this was a sort of sign that he was no longer seriously thinking of moving us into a subdivision! (yay!)
The black silky rooster's name was already Buzzard but I quickly started calling him The Black like in the books The Black Stallion. (Vitali, who calls Indiana, "Indian Jones", called the two chickens, "those two Indians". Annette called him Bustard. No reason, she just said it wrong.) "The Black" put up with lots of hugs and handling. Not a single attempt to scratch or peck. Perfect for us.

The bad news is that on his second night with us, I went to lock up the coop and it was already dark. The Black had not been with us long enough to know to head to the coop. Indiana Jones was already sound asleep in there but finding a black chicken on a particularly black night was sure to be impossible so I decided to lock in Indiana and hope for the best. Max, in the morning, opened the front door to go for the Sunday newspaper and found the results of my chicken-ignorance. I wish it had occurred to me that he would head to high ground! The front porch has a light after all. The black was spread all over our front porch, individual feathers tossing about in the breeze among splatters of blood. Steve and I were out there like a couple of CSIs looking for evidence. We found some faint coon prints and passed a death sentence on that coon right there!

Then, the sad part, telling the girls. Annette was devastated. Hannah sat, thinking mental daggers at all raccoon-kind. In fact, no one in this house likes raccoons anymore. Annette had alligator tears all day off and on. Max said he had had to give her a hug in Sunday School (he is such a sweetie) and I was comforting her in church.

We came home that afternoon and Steve and the boys went off to bury the scant remains. I could hear Vitali skipping after them saying, "We will dig and put dirt on him and he will be alive again!" I guess he thought it was like planting seeds. :-)

Annette has not shed another tear after the initial deluge. In fact, she was just here reading over my shoulder and laughed at something and skipped away.

So, now we need a new rooster... There is something I never expected to be saying. Ever.

And, as for the Subdivision thing--we have spent some time looking at acreage lately. Maybe we will get a cow or two...