A Fowl Mood

Having just returned from putting a very cantankerous Liam on the school bus, I collapse emotionally exhausted (it is 8:49 am) into a kitchen chair to commiserate with Ian about how Liam's current bout of disagreeable behaviour is putting us both in a foul mood.  Ian, staring woefully at the white abyss that is our backyard, turns to me with an alarmed look, "I think Emily has got a hold of a chicken!"

It is common knowledge around the farm that Emily has a poultry murdering alter ego, though it has been years since her last foul fowl rampage.  Knowing that every second counts when Emily goes over to the dark side, I bolt from my chair and race through the snow in my bare feet in full hen rescue mode. When I arrive at the coop, Emily has the hen pinned to the ground and is in the process of ripping out her butt feathers.  I pull Emily off (she is a tiny miniature schnauzer) and the little monster does not even pause before launching herself again at the cowering hen.

I am very aggravated by this point.  I pick up Emily but the scruff of the neck, herd the traumatized hen back into the coop, and carry Emily back to the house (yes, still in my bare feet, in the snow) to be put in bad dog time out.  The hen was not seriously hurt aside from missing some butt fluff.  This is a better outcome than our last Emily attack, perhaps because she has many fewer teeth after her adventure in Ogdensburg.  However, I am sure the poor chicken will be psychologically scarred for life.

Upon release from time out in the powder room, Emily promptly asks to be let back outside.  When denied, she throws up a pound of chicken feathers onto the kitchen floor.  This is all before 9 am.  The day does not improve.