Downward Spiral

It started Sunday morning with noticing that two big breasts of chicken (see, I told you I'd get that in future posts) prevented the door of the freezer in the garage to fully shut. Everything was thawed and blood and purple berry juice was dripping on the floor. We were on our way to a family gathering in another city, so I just shut the door, and we left.

Later in the evening, a line of thunderstorms and possible tornadoes lined the interstate we were supposed to take home. I knew we weren't going to get home before dark, so I called my friend to go lock up the chickens. By the time she had gotten there, a chicken was dead. The raccoon had struck again and it wasn't even dark yet. Likely, the raccoon wanted to go through the drive-through before the storm hit, but the friend and her children had interrupted her order, for the body was still there. When I got home, I confirmed my worst fear - it was Chicken Licken.

I lay in bed that night with the lyrics of "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover" replaced with "Fifty Ways to Kill a Raccoon". I fantasized with rat poison, pellet guns, minor explosives. I dreaded telling William, yet in the morning, he seemed to take the news better than I. He was very sad, but I guess the poor little guy is getting used to loss now and again as a way of life. I promised that we'd try to get another Silkie again. William brightened at that, but said perhaps it might be better not to name the new one Chicken Licken.

Monday was otherwise uneventful, taking Anna's art to the county fair was the highlight. As we pulled into the fairgrounds, it appeared that someone had spilled brownie mix or chocolate milk. Not so. Eugene now sports chocolate paint on his tires.

William also had an entry in the fair - a painted African mask. After handing it over, he began to tear up, having difficulty with leaving it behind. I assured him we'd get it back, but he was not buying it. He was having more difficulty leaving the mask than with the death of Chicken Licken, or perhaps because of it.

On Monday evening, an odor began overpowering the garage - the dripped blood, I would guess. Upon investigation, I found that some genius in freezer design had the drip pan welded to the compressor so that I had to use a spoon and syringe to get the coagulated mess out of there. To top it all off, it was evident that some mice had taken up residence under the freezer and were using the floor as their potty. Lately, I spend more time with Mr. Clean than dh.

Pleased with my efforts, I took a shower and got ready to make dinner. My brother, who is visiting, had requested grilled hamburgers for dinner. My luck continued as I ran out of propane gas halfway through cooking. I finished cooking them in the frying pan, William began to complain of a stomach ache and fell asleep in a chair. Thankfully, he waited until after I had eaten to begin throwing up.

Honestly, I'm afraid to leave the house. What is next?