Saturday, November 8, 2008

Loss, Escape and Oblivion

Okay, okay. So, it's been a busy week. Shoot me.
Errrr.. really it wasn't that busy. It was just normal and I didn't think much of the blog all week. I'm not supposed to admit that to you, but it's true.

We had a few losses on the farm this week and no gains. Firstly, B.Rube took all 14 of the baby bunnies to the auction last weekend, so they're gone. And are happily hopping around living rooms throughout the Lower Mainland as someone's sweet little pets. ;o)

Yesterday morning, when I did my morning chores, I noticed that Little Richard, our new beautiful Golden Pheasant that we just got a week ago, was gone. There were two small piles of lovely colourful feathers, but no bird. There is only a tiny tiny little slit under the fence that this killer could have gotten through. And it managed to pull the bird out of that same little hole. fucker.
That same morning, one of our older chicks was found dead just inside their pen. I couldn't really see any major signs of trauma, but it was stiff as a board and flat as a pancake. Definitely dead. I'm not sure when it happened that I am able to just lean over and pick up the dead bird by the scaly, gnarly feet, but I am. I just picked the deadweight up and tossed it on the top of the burn pile. I was wearing gloves, for what it's worth.
Not sure if it is coincidental or whether the same predator got them both.

C.C.'s week has been all about ESCAPE. She has managed to get through every little hole in every little fence we have. The only ones looking for an out more than the cute fluffy white dog are the huge stinky muddy pigs. I swear they must know when they're getting closer to the freezer, because they start running away. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that they are swimming in a mud pond right now and would do just about anything to feel cold hard ground under their feet and to touch a blade of glass with their disgusting snouts. And chasing around, capturing and returning slippery 150-lb pigs to their pen is not easy. In fact, it is downright difficult; bordering on impossible.
Quite a simple rule for me...when the pigs (or anyone, for that matter!!) begin to create havoc for me, the countdown clock begins. They are with us for 2 more weeks before magically turning into yummy smoked pork chops, delicious maple bacon and to-die-for breakfast sausage.
It is magic, right?


Anonymous said...


OK --- sounds like you're farm is on the border of death city and the big monster's are living on the other side of the fence "by the slits".

Lets get those holes


Anonymous said...

OK I can't get the sound of Wilburs voice out of my head..."But I don't want to die".

I'm thinking that those pigs are smarter than we what you say J.Rube...that they always try to escape the sooner the "end" is near. Oh Shit....there goes my nice relaxing Sunday --- thinking of the poor little guys.

Free the pigs....
Free the pigs....
Free the pigs....

Granted....I just enjoyed a very lovely breakfast of pancakes and ....bacon. Oh My God...I'm such a hipocrate (sp) !!!!!

J.Rube said...

I can't hear you.

Anonymous said...

Ha Ha Ha
back to my window cleaning.

skinny bitches don't eat pig said...

that'll do, pig...that'll do.

fuck the sentiment!

they are disease ridden-toxic-dirty-filthy-yuckky-slimy-gristly beasties

"A Rural Rube"and all of its contents are protected by copyright. In order to copy or use any of the entries or photos seen in the blog, please contact me at
Copyright 2008 A Rural Rube