Grit Blogs > The View From Canyon Road

They Come in Threes

Sara KrugI have often heard that things come in threes.  It was certainly true for us one cool March day. 

The day started with our sheltie/collie mix (we think) dogs running off.  They came back covered in greenbrier, duckweed, pond scum and “proud of ourselves” attitudes.  That evening after a 45 minute per dog clean-up we started a fire in the woodstove.  It was one of the first in quite some time.  We were enjoying its heat when our black cat, Mater, comes flying out of the bedroom not far in front of the dogs’ snouts.  He jumped to safety on the woodstove.  He had not expected it to be on.  One of the pads of his feet got burned.  After the shock of the moment, we raced after him.  We found him downstairs tending to his wound.  We covered it in ointment and wrapped it well.  Yeah, not cool for a cat.  He seemed more disturbed over the bandage than the burn, but it had to be done.

My husband and I got the kids to bed and sat down to relax.  We realized the chickens had not been put in yet.  We let them roam during the day and lock the coop at night when they return.  That night I presumed it would be an easy lockup.  What was I thinking?  I looked in before closing the door and what do you know, a raccoon looked back.  Are you kidding me?  I ran to the back door of our house and banged on the sliding glass door while yelling “there’s a coon in the coop!”  My husband jumped up and came out after only a few minutes.  He had his .22.  I said hey, “I can get him out.”  Apparently the day had taken a toll because getting a coon out of a coop without it scratching my eyes out is a joke.  Reluctantly I held the flashlight as my husband opened the coop window and sniped the masked mammal.  I could tell the chickens were relieved because they started moving again.  All except Snowball, the Polish top-hat male, who strutted around through the entire ordeal.  Once you see him it all makes sense.  His feathers stand up on his head as if he stuck a toe in a light socket. He is a far cry from the smooth, fluffy-feathered female.  Apparently his naiveté nature kept him safe.

Snowball our Polish top-hat male
Snowball, our Polish top-hat male, this is his typical look. 

We headed inside, locked the doors, and turned the lights out all without a word.  At that point there was nothing left to say.