Veronica the vicious is a chicken who got unlucky once, lucky twice, unlucky once, and then lucky twice again.
Veroncia was caught pecking open an egg, however, she successfully ran to the chicken witness protection program. Melted into the milieu of other chickens, man and boy couldn’t be positive which one she was so they carried on cleaning out the chicken coop. Veronica being bold, the scenario played out a second time without successful capture.
After the third egg she attacked in broad daylight, my husband leapt, gashed his head on the ceiling, but at last cornered her audacious clucking self. Veronica the vicious was then named, segregated and her tail marked with black spray paint in case she got loose.
Since then, Veronica has been in detention because none of us were in the mood for an execution. This is where she got extremely lucky. Veronica’s execution has been stayed and in fact, she is travelling to a new home today. We are providing a cage, food, and some wood shavings. We may also have stated with confidence that she won’t eat her own eggs, (so an egg a day is bound to follow?) I’m not sure on what authority we speak. In any event, we sincerely hope she doesn’t, and liberties of expression can be taken in capital cases.
Squeaky is not a chicken. Squeaky is a wood chuck. Squeaky’s family took up residence last summer in our barn. We cleaned out their temporary residence, put up no trespassing signs and went inside for the winter where we belonged. This spring, Squeaky and company came back. They took down the no trespassing signs, hung curtains, and began working in earnest at family expansion. My husband said he would trap them. I said it wouldn’t work. In for breakfast he came the next day. One less wood chuck, was all he said.
You caught one? Wow, okay. I guess now we have to decide what to do with it.
Not too much to decide.
You mean you killed it?
The rest of the conversation can be summed up as followed.
Me: surprised. horrified. mad.
Him: proud. surprised. disappointed (at the lack of congratulations).
The eventual new procedure was distant resettlement of future captures by me. Two of Squeaky’s family have already been released in a forest a few kilometers away. Patient and quiet, they exited (the long rectangular cube of white plastic with air holes) almost as soon as we opened the trap and quickly disappeared into green.
Unlike his predecessors, Squeaky was not quiet about the unluckiness of getting caught. I have always assumed wood chucks to be mute. Squeaky laid that myth to rest. He squeaked so loudly when we got near the trap that we jumped. More than once. I expected from his noises a kind of rocket to shoot forth from the trap once we got to the forest. We opened the trap door and Squeaky stayed put. We gave up waiting. I upended it and he slid out onto the ground. Squeaky waddle-ran ten feet and then stopped.
I apologized that the barn was no longer available. I had no defense for our lack of hospitality. Then I reminded him he was lucky he wasn’t the first woodchuck caught in the trap. He thought about it, sniffed the air, looked around some more, and disappeared his lucky self into the brush.