Murphy Dome Diaries

A journalist observes life in the far north.

The case of the dead hens

When Alec told me something had killed the hens, decapitated them, the image that came to my mind was a massacre. Blood splattered on the walls. Bits of flesh scattered about. A pink tint in the water bowl.

“It’s nothing like that,” laughed my friend, Jennifer, today.

She stood in the doorway of the bathroom. I was sitting on a stool with my back leaning against the washing machine. Jade sat on the toilet, pretending to pee so I’d give her a piece of candy.

Jennifer had peeked in the hen house after going outside to start her minivan. She brought her youngest daughter to Murphy Dome for a play date, and it was time for them to leave.

My friend started to describe the scene in the hen house but I stopped her, covering my ears.

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want the image in my mind.”

Relief was what I felt after Alec told me last night the hens were dead. Relief because I wasn’t the one who found them. It’s December with subzero temperatures, I am eight months pregnant, short on sleep and bent on avoiding drama.

Actually, I thought Alec was kidding at first and then I felt relief.

He said an animal was apparently stuck under the hen house, grabbed his rifle and returned outside. I heard four shots.

It’s not clear what kind of animal killed our hens. Probably a marten. I’m told they have beautiful fur.

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One comment on “The case of the dead hens

  1. Bottle Washing Fairy
    December 3, 2010

    Sweet story, love the final words, knowing you.

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This entry was posted on December 3, 2010 by .
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