A Stroke of Very Sad Luck

James and Helen are gone. GONE. 

And as if that isn't bad enough, their baby goose (who was now every bit as large the parents) is gone as well! 

We can make no sense of it. They are, in short, enormous. We've seen them terrify dogs. They've lived for over a year on the farm without ever falling prey to raccoon, marmot or any other critter that our lesser chickens have occasionally been lost to.

So all three gone? At once?

It's boggling. 

We might have even suspected them to be stolen ... only we did find one rather large pile of feathers (surely suggestive of an attack). But dogs, well, when dogs kill ... they do not make tidy work of the remains. There would have been far more goosely evidence than feathers. 

As we wandered around the farm Friday evening looking for any sign of them, I looked across a field and saw Jesse, Summer and Hans kneeling in a little circle praying. It was so touching to me. But also so sad. I knew, in this instance, the prayer would most likely not be answered as they were hoping. 

Our best guess was coyotes (?) or a dog getting in and going on a rampage ... and the dog's owner nervously cleaning up afterwards (and not telling us) (?) 

But it's still a mystery.

And it's true James could be quite the stinker. But he was our honking, hissing stinker. And there was some character lent to the farm by the presence of those three intrepid rulers. (Also, side note: Large Dewlap Touloose geese can cost over $200! So ... had we wanted to get rid of them, it would have been on our terms, and with a little money in our pockets!)

Alas. 

(I don't even have any good pictures of them.)

With the dismal business of lost geese still fresh in our hearts, it seemed extra sad luck (what's the opposite of fortuitous? is unfortuitous a word?) for Summer and Mette to discover, later that very same night, that Skittles the hamster had passed away. 

They were, at first, inconsolable. And their inconsolableness spread to Hans. (Only Starling seemed to quietly take it in. Petting his small furry back and saying, "I'm sad Skittles died.") It took some time before we could shift the weeping and "why"s to happy memories of Skittles.

Eventually some peace prevailed. The next day Mike helped Summer pick out a little box to serve as a casket. She set to painting it. They placed Skittles and a good deal of fluff in the box. Mike nailed the lid on. And we had a little funeral at the farm. (A favorite Skittles memory from each of us, a prayer, and then a shovel of dirt from everyone.