If You’re an Animal Lover, Look Away Now

As a child I loved the cartoon version of Wind in the Willows. I was always awed when Pan (I only knew who it was when I read the book to the boys earlier this year) put everyone in a trance and the fireflies were in the branches of the willow trees. My boys watch a plastic/claymation version, which I don’t mind, but I don’t know if they are picking up on the magic. Maybe they are too young or maybe it’s because they are stinky boys. I was just contemplating officially naming our chicken house Toad Hall, because I think there are weasels about. Eek!
It has been pretty warm and we were getting one or two eggs a day, and that was enough for a scramble every few days or cookies with real eggs, rather than a substitute. But then there were no eggs. And now for at least 2 weeks there has been no eggs. I noticed some soft dirt mounds around the place and took them to be moles or gophers. I got out some old coffee grinds and shoved them into the holes because I saw that online and it seemed to work when I used them before. But this time, the coffee was pushed back outside. Egad. And not dirt mounds but apparently tunnels. Bloody hell! And now I wonder if those in the tunnels have actually been stealing my eggs, because a golf ball in one of the nesting boxes is gone! (Golf balls or faux eggs in a nest encourage the ladies to put out, because they think someone else has already done it.)
Husband is oot and aboot this afternoon and will be picking up a large bag of concrete, the type that sets before I can get the hose out of the way. I will be pouring it into every tunnel and hole like a woman possessed. If someone crawls their creepy ass out before it sets then fine, Husband can chase them into the blackberry with the business end of something sharp. If, on the other hand, they drift into an oxygen-starved sleep as the concrete hardens, SO BE IT F**KERS.
Sure, I live in the country and there are *things* around, but I am not a lady for *things*. Besides the adorable little field mice in my garage and occasionally my gumboots – which I don’t hesitate to send through all bloody hell with a gauntlet of mice traps every few weeks – I don’t want *things* around, including around my birds. I have worked my lady ring out for fresh eggs for ages, and no wildlife f**ker will get them without a fight. At least, not now that I know about it. To be continued…


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