The One Where My Husband Owes Me. Like WHOA.

So. My husband is away right now. Up in his hometown hunting at his cabin. Eva and I were supposed to go with him, to visit my mother-in-law, sister-in-law and Eva’s cousins, but the cousins have the chicken pox so we decided to steer clear.

Yesterday, it poured rain all.day.long. Like, poured. As in, feet getting soaked because of the deep puddles on the driveway in the potholes.

Around 8:30 p.m., my sweet husband sent me a hey tell saying that he just realized he forgot to lock the chickens up in the coop before he left and could I please go out there and make sure they were inside, and shut the door?

A little background information – we live on a farm and we have chickens. Some for eggs, some for meat. These are the husband’s domain. I will cook and eat the eggs and the meat but I will not take care of the chickens. I do not feed them, I do not go in the coop, I do not collect the eggs. Heck, if I can help them, I don’t even look at them. I am not in with the birds. I dislike birds. A lot. They give me the creeps. So, my relationship with the chickens goes only so far as seeing the evidence of them once they are brought into the house in the form of eggs or roasting chickens.

Needless to say, I wasn’t very happy with his request. I made every excuse in the book why I wouldn’t be able to go out there to check them. It’s dark. It’s raining. I’ll get cold. Hello! I AM WITH CHILD! Finally, he convinced me it had to be done. So, I bundled up in his coat, a pair of my boots and a flashlight and headed back to the chicken coop. He promised me I wouldn’t even need the flashlight because the motion censor light would come on once I got back there. It didn’t.

And I was greeted by flooded grass. As in, 2-3 inches of water sitting on top of the lawn. And my boots were not waterproof. So I went back inside, called him and told him I just couldn’t make my way back to the coop. I’d never survive. He told me to put on my big girl panties, put on rubber boots in the garage and go back out. At this point, I had run out of excuses. So, I donned some boots that were about 32 sizes too big and trudged my way back again. And into the nasty, stinky, chicken poop infested coop.

And what did I find? A LOT OF CHICKENS WERE NOT INSIDE.

We just got new chickens on the weekend, so I guess they don’t know the place well enough to know where they were supposed to go to find shelter and get inside, so instead of walking into the warm, cozy coop and cuddling up with their neighbours, ten or so of them were huddled together on a pile of cinder blocks in the back corner of the outside of the pen. Right against the wall of the coop. But, the opposite wall of where the door is to get inside. They were wet and shivering and squawking. I tried to herd them off the cinder blocks and chase them into the coop so I could shut the door. No way. These guys were not moving.

So, I did what I had to do. And to this moment, I’ll never know how it was possible.

I picked them up, one by one, WITH MY BARE, SOAKING, FREEZING COLD HANDS, and carried the little buggers to safety.

It was disgusting and creepy and scary. But I had no choice. I couldn’t leave them out there in the freezing cold rain to die? Well, they probably wouldn’t have died, that’s a bit over dramatic, but still … it would have been heartless to leave them.

Needless to say, my husband quickly got an angry text, that may or may not have included one or two words I’m not overly proud of, telling him that he is LUCKY I SAVED HIS CHICKENS and that he owes me big time. I believe my exact words were, “My wish is your command for like a YEAR”.

I wish I had photos to give documented proof of this expedition (and trust me, you wish I did, too) but you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Old McLucy is back. In full action.

Interruption

Today is Thursday, so I should be posting a 35 (!!!) week update. But, I hope that you will excuse this small interruption in our regularly scheduled posting because today, there is something else to celebrate.

Today marks four years since I walked down the aisle and became Mrs. Fabulous Dude.

Since many of you haven't been around since the very beginning, and may not have had a chance to see the Fabulous Dude in all of his glory, I decided that in honour of our anniversary, I would recap some of my favourite Fabulous Dude stories that I have blogged about over the past few years.

Perhaps you don't know that we met when we were eight years old but then we parted ways for a while until we were reunited during high school and became good friends. Remember when he confessed his undying love for me as we were graduating? We spent some time apart while I was struggling with a lot of confusion, but of course, we were both falling in love. He proposed to me on horseback and then we were married on the most beautiful day I've ever known.

When my nephew was born, we spent a few weeks away from each other and I was reminded just how much I love that guy. Then one time, we went shopping and he dressed up in full armor in the store.

Luckily, I've been able to use his hobbies to my advantage and have figured out how to get him to clean the house.

I remember the time I felt (kind of) guilty to looking forward to him getting his wisdom teeth out, but quickly made up for it by serving him a cheeseburger and diet coke smoothie.

We've had our hard times due to his snoring, but I've managed to learn how to deal.

He's "given" me all sorts of lovely gifts.

He transformed me into a crazy dog person, has joined me in raising a *not so* law abiding puppy, and has made me into farmer McLucy, sometimes causing me to do things I never thought I'd do like chase chickens around the barn.

Sometimes the dude's habits drive me bonkers, but most of the time I just love him to pieces.

Of course, we can't forget the time he peed the bed on our first date.

Even though he won't admit it, I have proof that he thinks my excessive list writing can sometime be helpful.

Sometimes my Dude gets a bit confused and thinks that there is a place in the world called the Sixteenth Chapel, but we will just let that one slide because he makes up for it by doing funny things like stripping for his grandma on her 80th birthday and jumping out of the freezer to scare my dad.

My favourite thing in our marriage so far has been watching him transform into my baby's daddy. Of course, he says some silly things to me, but that's because we are comfortable enough to joke around with each other. Besides, I post ridiculous pictures of him, he's got to get back at my somehow.

He is the provider for our family and never ceases to work hard for us. Happy Anniversary, my Sweet Fabulous Dude!

you have got to be kidding me...

A few weeks ago, I told you about our little chicken farming expedition. Remember? Well, so far so good. Sort of.

Sometime last week, one of the girls who lives upstairs came down to tell us that she had been mowing the lawn that afternoon and looked down to find a chicken standing in front of the tractor. Luckily, she did not run it over. She picked it up and got it back into the coop and shut the door. Apparently, the little devil was finding a way to sneak under the chicken wire and escape into the great big world.

The fabulous dude spent some time re-securing the wire and placing some reinforcements (those wood planks) on the sides so that there was so escape route.

After that incident, I kept trying to trick him into believing that more chickens had escaped. He never believed me.

Last Saturday, after returning from blueberry picking, I went around back to check on the garden and the chickens. There were five little chickens in the coop. Five? Aren't there supposed to be six? I asked my SIL how many chickens were in there just in case my eyes were playing tricks on me. They weren't. There were five chickens.

We went in the house and I said to my fabulous dude, "I know you're not going to believe me because I know I lied about it before, but seriously, there are only five chickens in the coop."

He told me that he knew, he had realized that one was missing earlier that morning. He also informed me that the lost chicken had been found. Buried in a giant heap in the side flower bed.

You see, our dog is part border collie, and it is in her nature to herd and collect things. This natural tendency manifests itself by her burying anything she can possibly get her hands ...err, paws... on. We have watched her collect and bury a dozen rotten eggs, corn cobs, a bagel with cream cheese, a birthday cake, whoppers (malted milk candies), mice, Big Mac wrappers, socks, cherries, barbies, among many other things. Sometimes we actually see her in the process and sometimes we just find the evidence later. Such as when FD and his friends were playing horseshoes and were greeted by a shower of cherry pits flying out of the sandpit when the first horse shoe landed in it. Apparently, she thought it would be nice to add a chicken to her collection.

When FD and my brother returned from fishing on Saturday, they saw a giant heap of dirt in the flower garden, against the house. He assumed she had buried a mouse or something. He went into the barn to get something to dig with and lo and behold, a chicken foot popped out of the dirt when he started digging around. He then attempted to teach the dog a lesson by making her lay down in the chicken coop and letting the chickens walk around her and on top of her. He was sure she got the hint that she wasn't allowed to eat the chickens. We still aren't quite sure if she somehow got into the coop and got it or if it escaped and she found it roaming loose and took advantage of that opportunity. I assume the latter.

Well, yesterday afternoon, I headed out to take the dog for a walk. I was circling the barn calling her, when I came to the chicken coop. What did I see? Four chickens.

Four. That is one less than was left after the first incident.

I could see that one of the wooden planks was knocked over and the wire was kind of bent up, with a pile of chicken feathers around it. I could not believe that she had gone and done it again!

She came around the chicken coop with hear head down and her tail dragging between her legs. A tell tale sign that she has done something wrong. I gave her a good talkin' to and then we headed out for our walk. When we got back, I decided to look around the gardens and the orchard to see if I could find where she had placed her treasure. I cut through the barn and I was walking across the floor, do you know what I found?

These beady little eyes staring back at me.

(well, not actually these eyes, per say. At the time, I wasn't interested in snapping photos. Plus, this picture is a rooster, not a hen...but you get the point. source)

I would be lying if I said I did not spend the next 20 minutes chasing this chicken around the barn trying to capture it. I was talking out loud to the chicken, begging it to let me catch it. At one point, I even attempted to seduce the thing by grabbing a handful of chicken feed, tossing it on the floor and hoping that the chicken would be dumb enough to trust me to get close to it. It was not dumb enough. The stupid thing outsmarted me over and over again by hiding under the boat, causing me to run straight through a gigantic spider web and hiding in the tiniest little crevices!

Finally, I gave up and headed to the house to get some help. FD wasn't home so I got one of the girls from upstairs (different one than previously spoken to in this story) and her father to come out and help me. Between the three of us, we were able to corner the chicken and chase it in to a smaller, enclosed area of the barn, where I (being the huge chicken lover that I am) grabbed the bird - which is now full grown - with my bare hands and carried it, squaking and squealing, back to the chicken coop.

They don't call me Old McLucy for nothin'.

Old McLucy Had a Farm...

...EEE III EEE III OOO...

...and on that farm there were some...

...CHICKENS...

...EEE III EEE III OOO...

...With a cluck cluck here...

...and a cluck cluck there...

...here a cluck...

...there a cluck...

...everywhere a cluck cluck...


...Old McLucy had a farm...

...EEE III EEE III OOO!

Yes, my friends. We are venturing into the world of chicken farming. This is actually not so new to us, since the fabulous dude worked on a chicken farm for 5 years before we got married. The problem is, I have an intense fear and hatred towards birds. That being the case, the fabulous dude was very proud of me when I braved it up and offered to transfer a chicken from the crate to their little coop. I almost vomited. Oh, the things we do for love.

We're hoping these little guys (err, girls) will start laying eggs within a month or so. I'll keep you updated.