There Arose Such a Clatter...

I wish today started like any other, about 5 snooze punches, coffee in a quiet setting, Good Morning America bringing the days news...nope, not today.....

Its 4:05 am, and Robin Roberts and Diane Sawyer are not awake, or broadcasting.  Bruce rang the alarm, "J', "J" you hear that....  My mind instantly wakes and tunes at turle speed to the expected sound of a chainsaw and breaking glass.  Nope, nothing, until the high pitched squeals of something being slaughtered come piercing through the windows.  Has Gacy gone for gaggles, has Lucas changed to livestock?

So we lept from the bed to see what was the matter.  Bruce, get flashlights, the order is barked while I'm hopping with my house shoes in one hand and putting jammie pants on with the other.

A regular possum has been courting the acorn spoils in the yard, so I picture in the same foggy mine the chicken slaughter to witness, and as I run to the coop feathers everywhere.   It appeared like a band camp pillow fight slaughter flick..... Looking, searching, but nothing in the outer fully encaged pen, just desperate refugees who lept out of the hatch who are now hovering in corners.

I count 3 of 5, and now I know I am going to have to peek into the coop to see if the perp is in there, with a blood bath form America Horror Story I imagine.  It's hanging from the rafter, with a mouth full of bloody goods, and perhaps one single foot.  The head lays on the ground with eyes still moving, perhaps gurgling too.... and then I tune back into reality.

I peek through the porthole window, and see eyes, another chicken.  Number 4.....  Either she is fine, or sitting really still next to the aggressor, "you see nothing here folks"....  Slowly light the nest box lid, nothing, and make my way to the hatch itself, beam the light in, waiting for some evacuating creature to fly out at my like the scene from Christmas Vacation.....  nothing.

Number 5 appears, so what the F?  Why am I up now in my jammies, sweating, in house shoes, in the rain with a flashlight like a burglar?  Why is Ma in her kerchief......and Pa in no cap......?

So the chickens are tucked back into the coop, the porthole hatch locked, and my adrenaline fueled heart is pumping like it is minute 19 of 20 on the Zumba tape......

I now imagine poor brown bunny, who has lived with us all year, from a baby, munching yard greens, and leftovers.  It has even learned to come to us when you make a clicking noise.  I slowly realize that brown bunny has taken the hit, or as best as I can guess. 

I'm in the house now, blogging about this mess in a feeble attempt to bridal this energy.  Coffee is ready now, so I'm checking out.  I realize too that the neighborhood children may have overheard the calamity, and like me, images of horrific monsters are in their head.  And once they have mustered enough energy to get to the bedroom window to peer out, see images of darkness, crossed by fast moving flashlight beams, and then ultimately someone holding a chicken dramatically under an arm....some cult-like murder sacrifice.......

Sweet Dreams Folks......