Recently in pets Category

I went to put away the snowblower and lock up the chickens last night (basically, taking the opportunity to widen the path while combining two chores into one ... you know to make room for the next storm, which is coming tomorrow), and I noticed that all of the chickens were lined up out side the door to the coop in a big semi-circle, with our two runner ducks in the front. Now, this is strange, as chickens will typically go to roost at night, rather than hang around outside in sub-freezing weather. The coop is lit on the inside, and the snowblower has a headlight, so there was this bizarre semi-silhouetted arc of chickendom spreading out from the open coop door.

Smelling trouble, I park the snowblower and run over to the coop. The inside is empty, except for a (relatively) small owl, and one headless chicken, upon which said owl was perched. It was headless because the owl, apparently, thinks the head is the tastiest part and had eaten it clean off, leaving nothing but a bit of sinew and part (but not all ) of the skull.

First thought: yuck.

Second thought: how am I going to catch the owl and get it out of there? owls have beaks that look nasty-sharp (and can crack through chicken skulls, it would seem).

Third thought: how ironic that I am in a coop with a headless chicken. I half expected it to get up and start looking for its braiiiiins.

TO make a long story a little less long, Brave Wife arrived on the scene with a wool blanket, which we used to catch the owl. The thing was terrified, somewhat terrifying, and also completely beautiful. I had never seen an owl that close before, and I can now honestly say that they are absolutely stunning. I wished it hadn't eaten one of my chickens, but hey - this winter sucks for owls, too. Of course, we can't let it keep eating all of our chickens, so it went into a dog crate for the night, and will hopefully be re-located to a safe (for the chickens) distance away. Not being owl experts, we're leaving the "what to do" details up to Fish & Game.

So, the wife is a veterinary technician, and after many long years of dutiful service in that particular occupation, the inevitable has finally happened: one kitten, 9 weeks of age and paralyzed due to a spinal injury, has been brought into our home for (at the least) love, and (at the most) recovery.

His name is "Kermit the Reeves", because when he sits up, his little stick out funny and he looks like Kermit the Frog. At the same time, he is a bundle of joy, full of life and happiness; he doesn't even seem aware of his loss, yet at the same time he is making slow and steady progress. He's a fighter, worthy of the Christopher Reeves reference.

We fostered him exactly one week ago today, just for the weekend, but when the owners decided that they couldn't take him, we decided to adopt him for good rather than put him to sleep. It's not like he's suffering - he scoots around faster than our oldest boy cat (who is a bit fat) and is quite agile considering he's dragging half of his body around behind him.

There's hope. Not much hope, but some. One week ago, he had no feeling in his legs or tail at all. Now, one week later, he can actually kick a little on his own, and will pull his foot clumsily away if you pinch his toes. At the moment he is getting constant care: frequent physical therapy to try and keep his legs strong, and regular bladder expressions (think: decorating a cake, but with a cat). He likes the former, and hates the later. But we do what we can, 'cuz the little tyke deserves it.