Speaking of silent death descending from the sky, Chris had to admit yesterday that I was completely right. Not about being suffocated by volcanic ash. About something I didn't tell you of, which is hard to imagine since it's been busying out all my brain cells.
About a week ago, I got a call from the upstairs neighbor telling me that a hawk had its eye on my chickens. Just think, a few short years ago, this would have been a euphemism for getting checked out in a bar. "Don't look now, but there's a hawk at 2 o'clock whose got his eye on your chickens...."
We ran outside and I herded the girls back into their hawk-proof coop. Chris helped by taking pictures.
He did not take pictures of me wringing my hands and shooing chickens.
On Monday the hawk was back, so I left the girls in the coop for the day. On Tuesday, despite gale force winds and a snowstorm, I went out and tied fishnet over the garden. Real fishnet, from the real fisherman who lives down the street - not rows and rows of fishnet stockings (although that would probably help, too). Given the weather, it was not unlike a scene from that show about crab fishermen. I gave up all thoughts of being a fisherman, as well as all thoughts of being an actual farmer. Dang, being responsible for little live things is cold.
The net looks like the airport in Denver. It points up in the middle where it's draped over abandoned tomato cages and is pulled into points that tie to the fence on the sides. I did a terrible job. And then I gave up, promising to come back and do a better job when the weather cleared.
Lucky for the chickens, Denver International Airport is (at least for now) hawk-proof. Chris reported seeing a hawk flying THROUGH OUR VEGETABLE GARDEN yesterday. And then it buzzed the house. It did not look amused. The chickens were paralytic with fear and huddled in a corner. Poor little things.
We are beefing up our air defense system.