|Note Pete, outside the window.|
First, an update. It continues to be February, and wintry February at that. The car repair we thought would be $$$$ turned out only to be $$, so that is a big relief. I am still sewing and listening to podcasts and trying to stay patient with the snow but also really really wanting to plant three more cold frames, rake the yard, finish painting the porch, and drink a beer on the lawn.
I've been waking up at 3:30 am for about three hours each night, almost every night, for no particular reason, for about a week straight. My mind starts going ten miles a minute, I stare at the ceiling, I glare bitterly at the snoring Patrick beside me. I try to imagine I am a buoy on the ocean, rocking up.... and down... with the surf. Sleeplessness has never been my problem before; I'm not sure what's up.
On Sunday night, we went to close up the chickens for the night, and found only Genevieve and Loretta inside. That is about par for the course-- lacking a rooster, they sometimes have a hard time getting themselves in the coop autonomously at night. We started looking around.
Dolly was dead in the snow not too far from the coop, and Patsy a little further away, still alive but injured. The dog tracks went all around.
It's completely nauseating.
Patsy has moved into a cardboard box in my office. Last night, we set her broken leg, and today she's eating. I have no idea how hopeful I should allow myself to be.
I have talked to the town supervisor, the mayor, the dog warden, the sheriff, the department of environmental conservation. And when I'm awake at 3:30 in the morning, it's something I try really hard not to think about beyond that. This tide of bum luck needs to turn itself around and be gone. Go haunt someone else's house.