As The Wild Reclaims

I realized once we returned to the relative safety of the shelter that we had to go back out and remove the blood-soaked body.

Another problem was, we didn’t have the coop keys because our pet sitter had accidentkally taken them home with her.

So, with gloves, garbage bags, a wrench, bolt cutters, and hammers, we set about attempting to pop open the lock.

I finally secured the lock in one hammer’s hook and beat on it with the other until the lock’s outer casing popped off, and I could wail on where the latch nestled.

It soon yielded and I could slip the chain off that had merely smirked at our earlier efforts to snip it.

Meanwhile, things were going bump in the dark that normally didn’t, and we could smell the skunk returning. Then, we heard the shrill cry of a not-so-far off cougar.

I wasn’t happy that we were out there so late at night – basically luring any predator by the smell of fresh blood – and hastily cleaned up the mess.

To cover any remaining scent,I smeared stagnating wet hay over the blood spatters on the cage bars and cleaned up the bulk of what had poured onto the ground.

The neighbors across the road had an outside fire going and were probably wondering at our commotion and occasional vexed cussing as we troubleshot the entire situation and tramped all over the property, looking for tools and implements.

Then, I had to climb on top of the already packed large garbage can’s contents to tamp it down further and make an indent for the bagged remains so the lid would close properly.

The varied materials within it shifted dangerously and I yelled out something like, “Stop – No, not this time!” as I felt anarchy’s chaos taking note of my vulnerable position.

I swear, sometimes it’s only beligerant attitude that makes the forces of destruction grant latitude!