Dreaming What Ifs...

Getting Rid of the Poop in the Old Chicken Coop

In the heat of fixing this house and getting ready to move in (and selling our house in 10 days and having to move before we were really ready) we stuck our chickens in the chicken coop without cleaning it beforehand.

It was disgusting.  Every day I walked out there and felt guilty for allowing them to roost in a coop with old poop....goat poop.

Yes, goat poop.  Dave's dad had turned the old chicken coop into a place for the goats to shelter. 

It was a dangerous place.  Walking required guessing which spot of the floor was solid and which was rotten.  So, on a Saturday in September, I looked at Dave and said, "It's time to clean out the chicken coop." 

As the coop aged, Dave's dad added new plywood to the floor.  Instead of removing the old rotten lumber, he just kept adding fresh wood.  We removed 4 layers of rotting floor and finally found the floor joists had completely disintegrated away.

At one point I asked, "Do you ever feel angry with your father for not taking care of things properly?  If he had just fixed this floor correctly, the first time, we wouldn't be here having to completely re-do the floor."

Dave sighed.  "I'm not angry with him.  Frustrated, yes.  But I think his age kept him from getting to things that needed to be done.  He just couldn't physically do this stuff anymore."

Well, we live here now and aren't going to put up with rotting floors in the chicken coop.  What I expected to be a Saturday project turned into a Weekend Warrior kind of job.   Dave busted his butt.  He dug out more dirt, exposing the concrete foundation. We laid plastic down as a moisture barrier.  We leveled, we hammered, we fixed.

The new floor looks mighty fine.  The old goat poop is gone.  Fresh straw and new roosts make for some pretty happy chickens.  But best of all?  I don't feel guilty anymore!

A 9th Birthday I'll Never Forget

Buttercup turned 9 years old on October 1st.  We celebrated with a family party the day before complete with witch cake and presents.

On her actual birthday, Buttercup chose Red Robin for dinner and Ruby Jewel for desert.  We arrived home satiated and happy.

At bedtime, I realized our 15-year old dog, Zeus, was missing.  Dave and I gathered flashlights and searched the 5 acre property.  I walked the blueberry field.  I slowly scanned the creek bank.  I walked and sobbed.  I couldn't believe my old dog would leave us.  This wasn't how I wanted to say good-bye to him.

After 90 minutes, my stomach was hurting.  I was exhausted and upset.  I went to bed, knowing I'd search for Zeus once the sun rose.

I never got the chance.

Thirty minutes later, I started puking.  Every fifteen minutes I emptied the remains of my stomach into the toilet and moaned in pain.  My stomach was on fire.  I thought of the dinner I had eaten and the food poisoning I picked up.  I thanked God it was me and none of the children.

Some time in the dead of night, I heard a dog barking.  Dave ran down stairs and back up, rejoicing that Zeus had returned.  "He must have gotten lost."  I vaguely nodded my agreement.

My husband offered me some Pepto Bismol and I cried back, "It's a physical pain."  He brought me water and peppermint tea.

Two hours later I realized I was still on the floor, moaning incoherently.  I knew something was wrong and woke Dave.  "Take me to the hospital."

An hour later I was diagnosed with appendicitis, admitted to the hospital, and calling family to let them know that surgery was imminent.  What a shock.  One minute enjoying my 9 year old's birthday, the next searching for a dog, and then the next laying in a hospital bed waiting for surgery.

This is one birthday, I will never forget.