In Your Absence I Have Done The Best I Can
In your absence, my love, I did the best I could
The chickens are safe
Mostly safe
The fox got into the hen coop one night. It ate two chicks, one hen and one rooster, but then the goat started bleating, and I ran out in my dressing gown with the poker from the fire place. The fox ran away, but then the baby came down the stairs head first.
Fortunately, she fell down on the carpet and only scraped her head.
Mostly scraped her head.
There was a bit of blood. Did you know that a cut behind the ear can bleed something awful?
I picked her up, and used the sleeve of my dressing gown to staunch the blood, and stuffed the rest of the sleeve into her mouth to quiet her wails. Then I ran to the hen coop. The fox was far away, with the carcass of the rooster in its mouth, but two of the hens were in the farm. I threw down the poker with one hand, and used it to catch the hens –
one by one –
and put them back into the hen coop. Then I used the poker to attach the bits of wires in the corner which had come apart, creating the gap through which the fox had come in.
The baby had stopped crying, but was gasping in a gurgling sort of way, so I unplugged her mouth, took out the dressing gown sleeve, and washed her ear in the stream. And I set her down by the side of the stream and took off my gown to wash the blood stains before they set.
Then I heard the dog barking. I knew Fanny only barks like that when she is raising holy hell to say get out of there. So I scooped up the baby, just in time for a snake was next to her, and she had reached out a hand to pet it.
Good snake, she cooed at me, as I hurried her home, stopping to pet the dog, and hiss at the snake.
Then I realized I left my dressing gown in the stream. I turned back for it, and saw the water carrying it away, down to the waterfall where you and I used to picnic, there just above the rapids. There, where you told me you would buy me a farm, and I asked for a dressing gown the colour of blue wisteria, and you promised me, and you did.
And so I left the baby with the dog, telling him to protect her from poisonous snakes and cunning foxes, and dived straight in, swimming towards my dressing gown, which you always said was the exact shade of my eyes.
I found it and brought it back, tying it around my waist and rushing to the kennel. But when I returned, the baby had unlatched the gate, crawled in, uncoiled the dog chain from the hook, and they were nowhere to be seen!
(did you know how clever our daughter can be?)
Then I heard the goat bleating again. She looked at me and unmistakably jerked her beard in the direction of the piggery.
(That goat is darn clever too. I know you promised your brother a haunch of mutton come Christmas, but you’re just going to have to disappoint him).
I ran to the piggery, dripping river water all across the pebbled pathway that you designed for me on my birthday, mixed with a trace of blood. The baby was outside, sitting on the back of the dog, holding him by the ears, and chatting with the piglets.
(I have a feeling she’s not going to let you take the piglets either).
We came back home safe. But now we’re sharing the bottom floor with two hens, two chicks, one dog, one bearded billy goat, and three piglets.
No rooster. He’s in the fox’s belly. Along with one hen and two chickens.
The dressing gown is fine. You can barely see the flecks of blood.
And our baby is talking. She can say ‘mama’, ‘goat’, ‘dog’, ‘chicken’, ‘mama chicken’, ‘piglet’, and ‘bad fox’.
If you come back soon, she can learn to say ‘papa’ too.
In your absence, my love, I have done the best I can.
Origin Story: My husband is traveling, and I started writing this for him, but then the tale took on a life of its own!
p.s. No animals, or babies, were harmed in the writing of this story. I’m a city girl, and have never owned a pig, goat, or hens, nor been visited by a fox.
pps. Also, I’m from India. Of course my eyes aren’t the shade of blue wisteria.
