What ifs and if onlys

 

I've always had a hard time with regret-I carry it around for far too long even though I know how damaging it is.  Blame is different than accepting responsibility for mistakes, and it can be so damaging. For ourselves and others of course. But maybe that's another topic for another day.

The what ifs and if onlys of my life could fill a book--maybe I should write them all down and then burn the pages in ceremony. 

You know the type of thing I'm referring to, I'm sure. From the mundane face-palm or forehead slap "If only I'd taken that other route to work I wouldn't be stuck in traffic and late for work" to "if only I'd stayed away from that guy" to "if only I'd studied harder" "What if a car wasn't speeding that day when my dog slipped his collar and ran out into the road" and it goes around and around....The statistical probability games in your head...The "how many things have to go wrong before there is mishap or tragedy".  Of course some of the variables could be in our control, and some are not.

My what ifs and if onlys surrounding Wedge's death yesterday are as follows:

If only I hadn't let Mr. Flan into the extended run, he wouldn't have see Wedge and broken through the two fences.

If only it hadn't been so hot out Mr. Flan wouldn't have been seeking shade under the trees right near Wedge.

If only we'd noticed that the patch job on the fence had deteriorated over the winter.

If only we hadn't moved the paddock fencing so close to Mr. Flan's run.

What if the electronetting had actually been charged, would that have stopped Mr. Flan from breaking through? (he pushed between the fiberglass pole and the chook shed) then the problem of the shoddy fence would be nullified.

What if we hadn't gone out grocery shopping, would we have heard the fight happening?

I'll probably think of a few more in the coming weeks.

When roosters fight there is typically no noise, so unless the hens were vocal or running and we happened to be out there or noticed Oak or the ducks focusing on something if might not have even mattered if we'd been at home. Can you believe that sick saddistic people make roosters fight for sport???

Wedge was a big robust heavy bodied rooster, and he didn't have the stamina or heat tolerance of Mr. Flan, who is more of a light breed, a Dutch Welsummer. I found Wedge under the nestboxes, hiding behind the door.  He was bloodied and battered around his head, comb and wattles.  It wasn't Mr. Flan's spurs that did that--that is all sharp pecks on the head.  It was very hot and humid late yesterday evening, and if you've ever had a fight or flight experience you know how your lungs burn and your heart races even if your mind is telling you to calm yourself.  I can't help but wonder if his heart finally gave out on him in the heat, or whether it was trauma to his brain. But whatever it was, he didn't deserve it.  He was a gentle boy who took care of his ladies and would follow us around like a dog.

I went out after midnight last night to recheck Flan since he'd be calm then-he's got superficial wounds to his face and some feathers missing on his legs, but magically the skin is intact. The clouds rolled over the moon and I heard loons in the distance. So melancholy, that sound, but I was glad to hear it. I hung on to Oak's big neck for comfort while he sniffed me to see what was wrong-then he chewed contentedly for a while. Something about that sound is comforting.

The hens don't want to range much today, and Wookie is quiet. They were inseparable. The ironic thing is that Mr. Flan's daughter is broody, and is sitting on some eggs that carry Wedge's progeny.

I'll try to post some photos of our mighty Mr. Wedge in the next few days, but right now we need to decide where to bury him today-maybe under the bleeding hearts or under the forsythias I bought for G. 

Lorpie ranged free in the backyard yesterday before it got too hot, so I think I'll let her do that again for a while. It lifts my spirits, and I sure do need that. G is busy distracting himself with pasture work, which is his way I guess. Wedge was his favourite.

Well I must get on with the day then. Just sort of empty. If only I didn't care so much.