A Death in the Family

The Stribling family recently suffered the loss of a beloved family pet.  As most families can attest, this is a sad occasion.  It is often associated with a large production of some sort of burial, mingled with copious amounts of children’s tears.  I remember when one of my dog’s died when I was a child.  We dug a hole in the ground about 4 feet deep and laid poor Captain to rest in his favorite blanket.  It was a sad day for all.

That is reason number 19 why the Stribling Clan of the new millennium does not have a dog.  I will let you know the other reasons on a need to know basis only.  I like dogs more than just about anyone you know, but for the time being, four kids are enough for me, thank you very much.  The last thing I need is another member of the family to worry about or feed.  I know there are great benefits to owning a dog at our stage of life.  It can scare off varmints, get the paper and my slippers, and clean up under the table after dinner.  Our kids spill enough food to feed an entire Vietnamese village, so I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of money on dog food.  But I digress.  That is a discussion for another day.

The pet, in this circumstance, was a chicken named Spotty.  This is yet another reason why a chicken is a superior pet to most animals on the pet market.  They are low commitment, require little maintenance, give back (unlike most pets), provide compost for a rocking garden, you can eat them if times get tough and not feel guilty, AND, if they die- big deal.  It’s a chicken.  So please, don’t cry for my loss.  I have already moved on.

But, let me tell you how the day unfolded.  I got home from work one day to find Strib and Win running around the backyard playing soccer.  Very fun.  We had a brief interchange before I walked into the house to talk to the LW.

Strib- “Hey Dad.”

Me- “Hey buddy.  How’s it going?”

Strib- “Pretty good.  Spotty died.”

Win- (In a very excited and loud voice) “Ya Dad!  Spotty died!”   (Win did not seem the least bit sad.)

Me- “Huh?”

Strib- “Ya, she died.  Go look at her.  She is laying right inside the door of the coop there.”

Win- (Still in his outdoor voice) “Ya Dad!  Let me show you!”

Win then excitedly runs me to the coop, throws open the door, and points to the dead chicken on the floor.  Sure enough, Spotty is dead as a hammer. 

I then, under the cloak of darkness, scooped up her lifeless body and gave her a rather unceremonious burial before the kids could ask for a big to-do.  I know it sounds terrible, but we had miles to go before we slept, it a chicken burial just did not fit into the plan.

Despite the picture of a cold and heartless family that I have painted, don’t you go calling all your left wing democrat friends and send PETA over to investigate the death of our chicken.  We loved Spotty as much as one can love a chicken that is not fried.  She was the last of the four original chickens we got more than 5 years ago.  I have no idea if she was still producing eggs or not, but she had been around for a long time, and frankly had earned her keep.  She had survived more than one raccoon attack (The raccoons did not.  Hehehe), survived a hawk attack right in front of me (awesome, by the way), and survived an attack by the neighbor’s labrador.  She was a tough old bird, and seemingly had 9 lives. 

And, she was also a fun pet to have around.  I took her to school more than once to teach nature studies to my kid’s classes.  It generally worked out great until I couldn’t get her back into the cage one time and she started walking around the classroom like she owned it.  Then, much to the children’s delight, and my chagrin, she hopped up on their desks and started walking around.  That’s when it went south real quick.   She took a huge poop on Liam’s notebook.  Poor kid.  I would have felt bad if the whole class hadn’t been laughing so hard, including Liam.   

Yes, poor Spotty will be missed, and I am confident that she is in a huge pearl encased coop in a far better place right now.  I can see her already, hopping around with Fire, Stripey, and Cloudy (the other original chickens, and yes, all named by my children) as she digs up the juiciest worms she has ever enjoyed.  Good-bye old girl.  You will be missed.