Goodbye, Amigurumi
I had a much happier post planned for the emergence of spring. Pictures were already lined up of my sweet hens' wonderful eggs, dust-bathing, and putting marigold crowns on their heads. But this morning I woke to heartbreak. My little Ami is gone.
My dog, Nala, started acting funny probably around 5 am this morning. I thought she just wanted to go outside and that was way too early for me, so I went back to sleep and didn't wake again until 6:30. Grumpily, I marched my dog outside to her potty place, when I saw Pastel and Cal roosting on the back porch. Oh, they got out. But my heart was already pounding. Ami wasn't with them. When the turkeys make a jailbreak out of their enclosure, those three always stick together.
I brought Nala back inside and put on my jacket, and ran out to the enclosure. The grate I fixed in front of the shed so I could keep the doors open at night so they can get fresh air had been pried back. But there were no feathers, no mess, no sign of a struggle. It wasn't a coyote or a raccoon. I optimistically hoped that somehow they'd pushed their way through, though the grate clearly looked bent from the outside. I hoped Ami was out hidden in a nest somewhere, all broody, and that's why she wasn't answering me. In my heart I knew that wasn't the case.
We searched the yard. We alerted the neighbors. We prayed. Mom felt that she wasn't in the yard, and she wasn't safe, but that we would find her. I felt she wasn't safe either, but I prayed and begged that we would find her. Further than that, we received no answers.
Three hours into the search, everyone decided to take a break. It was clear that Ami wasn't in the yard. We hoped she'd hopped the fence and gone into a neighbor's field, even though she'd never done that before. Broodiness does weird things to hens, after all. Finally, I prayed that I'd just know what happened to her--if we couldn't find her, please just let me know what happened to her.
I was filled with the most gut wrenching sorrow I'd ever felt since I lost my kitty, Kelu. I sobbed and I sobbed, not knowing why. My sister hugged me tight. Then another sister said Mom wanted to see me. She'd gone out to the front to garden. Hoping she'd found Ami, I hurried up the stairs and outside. Mom pointed at a small brown clod near the end of the driveway towards the street. It was a fresh turkey dropping. Gross, but the only lead I had. We back tracked and found bootprints in the mud.
Someone has stolen my precious Ami.
My feelings are all over the place, indescribable. Painful. Excruciating. I put out reward fliers all over town and near the school (the boots were kind of small, so maybe some kid did this as a prank?). I called the police and filed a report. I had to do something--anything--because when I stayed still all I could think of was the worst. I even dared hope it would amount to something.
But who steals a turkey?
There's only one motive, and it breaks my heart into a billion pieces. Stealing is wrong, but whoever did this probably wasn't even thinking the devastation it would cause. How many people keep turkeys as beloved pets and therapy animals? *raises hand* Well, if I'm not the only one, I'll be darned.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was a kid, doing a prank, or a dare, or maybe some kid saw me playing with Ami out in the yard and wanted her as a pet. But most likely, some idiot decided to take her and eat her.
I keep reeling between not believing this has really happened, to realizing it and finding it utterly unbearable. My sweet little Ami, my little snuggle bug. I just can't believe it. I swoop from agony to anger to denial and back again so fast it makes my stomach churn. Every time I see someone pass the house, I'm simultaneously filled with suspicion ("Were you the one who took her from me?") to hope ("Do you know what happened? Can you help me find her?"). The FedEx guy delivered a package and hearing the bell ring I ran to the door hoping it was someone with my little turkey. No dice.
I keep watching this clip I filmed with my phone a few days ago, wishing I could go back to that very moment. I don't know what hurts more; accepting the fact that she is gone, or continuing to hope that someone will find her and bring her back.
My dog, Nala, started acting funny probably around 5 am this morning. I thought she just wanted to go outside and that was way too early for me, so I went back to sleep and didn't wake again until 6:30. Grumpily, I marched my dog outside to her potty place, when I saw Pastel and Cal roosting on the back porch. Oh, they got out. But my heart was already pounding. Ami wasn't with them. When the turkeys make a jailbreak out of their enclosure, those three always stick together.
I brought Nala back inside and put on my jacket, and ran out to the enclosure. The grate I fixed in front of the shed so I could keep the doors open at night so they can get fresh air had been pried back. But there were no feathers, no mess, no sign of a struggle. It wasn't a coyote or a raccoon. I optimistically hoped that somehow they'd pushed their way through, though the grate clearly looked bent from the outside. I hoped Ami was out hidden in a nest somewhere, all broody, and that's why she wasn't answering me. In my heart I knew that wasn't the case.
We searched the yard. We alerted the neighbors. We prayed. Mom felt that she wasn't in the yard, and she wasn't safe, but that we would find her. I felt she wasn't safe either, but I prayed and begged that we would find her. Further than that, we received no answers.
Three hours into the search, everyone decided to take a break. It was clear that Ami wasn't in the yard. We hoped she'd hopped the fence and gone into a neighbor's field, even though she'd never done that before. Broodiness does weird things to hens, after all. Finally, I prayed that I'd just know what happened to her--if we couldn't find her, please just let me know what happened to her.
I was filled with the most gut wrenching sorrow I'd ever felt since I lost my kitty, Kelu. I sobbed and I sobbed, not knowing why. My sister hugged me tight. Then another sister said Mom wanted to see me. She'd gone out to the front to garden. Hoping she'd found Ami, I hurried up the stairs and outside. Mom pointed at a small brown clod near the end of the driveway towards the street. It was a fresh turkey dropping. Gross, but the only lead I had. We back tracked and found bootprints in the mud.
Someone has stolen my precious Ami.
My feelings are all over the place, indescribable. Painful. Excruciating. I put out reward fliers all over town and near the school (the boots were kind of small, so maybe some kid did this as a prank?). I called the police and filed a report. I had to do something--anything--because when I stayed still all I could think of was the worst. I even dared hope it would amount to something.
But who steals a turkey?
There's only one motive, and it breaks my heart into a billion pieces. Stealing is wrong, but whoever did this probably wasn't even thinking the devastation it would cause. How many people keep turkeys as beloved pets and therapy animals? *raises hand* Well, if I'm not the only one, I'll be darned.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was a kid, doing a prank, or a dare, or maybe some kid saw me playing with Ami out in the yard and wanted her as a pet. But most likely, some idiot decided to take her and eat her.
I keep reeling between not believing this has really happened, to realizing it and finding it utterly unbearable. My sweet little Ami, my little snuggle bug. I just can't believe it. I swoop from agony to anger to denial and back again so fast it makes my stomach churn. Every time I see someone pass the house, I'm simultaneously filled with suspicion ("Were you the one who took her from me?") to hope ("Do you know what happened? Can you help me find her?"). The FedEx guy delivered a package and hearing the bell ring I ran to the door hoping it was someone with my little turkey. No dice.
I keep watching this clip I filmed with my phone a few days ago, wishing I could go back to that very moment. I don't know what hurts more; accepting the fact that she is gone, or continuing to hope that someone will find her and bring her back.
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