The last week...

It's Friday night, and I'm pondering my 2011 so far...
Victoria is doing better. Her wound on her chest herniated, because her chest ballooned again. I was able to wrap her up, and I must admit...I can't believe she is alive. After a week of soft food, more throwing up and daily first aid she is rockin and rolling. Tonight is her first night of solid food and her wound is almost completely healed. A nickle sized amount of whatever herniated has healed outside her body. So she will be the only chicken with a belly button. And it's an outie. I've heard I should have killed her...all week...and there honestly was a point when I thought I would need to. But she had such a fighting spirit. She didn't want to die. So hopefully come next week, Victoria will be back in the coop and we will not be room mates anymore.
Two days after I found Matilda I found another dead chicken down in the coop. I was so angry because I had checked all of them the night before to make sure they were well...they all had bright eyes, nice red combs and wattles...no one else had an impaction. And yet there she was...one of my buff orpingtons. It had to have been Butter or Jelly...I refuse to believe it was Peanut who I am quite fond of, but I honestly can't tell them apart. Anyway she was found under the highest perch in the coop and had no obvious marks on her. Rigamortis had already set in and her legs were straight out and her neck was bent backwards. After doing some research online, it turns out chickens can easily be spooked, causing a heart attack or stroke. And they can fall right off their perches and break their necks. I looked and looked for over an hour, and this happened to several people. And when found, their hens looked just like mine.
I took it really hard. Having just lost Matilda, Victoria barely hanging on to life in my room, and now Butter was dead. I felt like I was doing something wrong... I decided to withhold the chicken's eggs for a week just in case it was something wrong with the entire flock. I hated throwing the eggs away knowing they were perfectly good, but I couldn't take chances. I also made the decision that if I lost another chicken, I would send it to the University for a necropsy. That's what they call a little chicken autopsy. But I knew in my gut the two deaths were unrelated.
Yesterday when I got home, I found my dog Bubba in his kennel, and his entire head and neck were covered with blood. There was so much blood, I couldn't see what was bleeding...where the wound was. Him and Belle have a 20x30 foot kennel made of chain link fence, and it is 6' high. Not just anything could have gotten him. I thought maybe Belle did it while they were wrestling or playing, which they often do. But Belle didn't have a drop of blood on her. I brought them in, and started to clean Bubba up. He had a tear in his ear over an inch long, and the end of his ear was just flopping around. He also had several scratches on his nose, and some kind of flesh wound on his cheek. I cleaned him up, and asked him what happened....he just looked at me. I don't know if it was a raccoon that he cornered or what, but him and I decided to go with the story that he fought off a bear...at least that's what he is telling all of his friends.
I feel as if God, or whatever higher power that is watching over me is trying to prove something to me. Ever since P left for somewhere the grass is greener, it seems as if I have been thrown challenge after challenge. The flood, the sick and dead animals...Is it that someone up there somewhere wants to prove to me that I can handle all of this on my own? If that's the case, "HEY BIG TALL AND STUDLY IN THE SKY!!! I KNEW I COULD HANDLE THIS ON MY OWN!!!" Sigh. I guess if I had any doubts they were covered...him and I are on the same page now.