Remember Murphy? He’s my parents’ dog. He’s here again for 3 weeks while Mum and Dad are in Bali.
Yesterday Evan4 was home from school with a bad neck. He let the chooks out to free range at lunch time and brought the dogs in with him. Tom1 came home 3 hours later, helpfully opened the back door for them to go outside, then went and played his electric guitar very loudly for the next hour. Thus ignoring what I’d told them about supervision.
You guessed it. By the time I arrived home at 5.30 in the pouring rain, it was all over.
Our two white hens are dead. I went out in the twilight and the rain to put the gerls back in their coop. Buffy and Willow came running up to me, so I popped them in and started calling for the others. What I had taken to be a shirt that had blown off the line turned out to be a pile of sodden feathers with its head missing. The other one was by the coop. In the dark and pelting rain I hadn’t seen her. She was lying there, still alive, with the back of her neck and half her back gone. I think she must have tried to make it to the coop where she felt safe.
David2 did the deed for me. Unfortunately our little axe is very blunt so I don’t know how much of a mercy killing it could be classed as.
Mum takes Murphy for walks along Inverloch beach, where he chases brilliant white seagulls up and down the sand. He goes for walks in the park near her house where he chases ducks who fly away over to the island in the middle of the lake. I guess being near two plump white “seagulls” who wouldn’t fly away was too tempting.