Angry doesn’t even come close to what I am feeling today. In fact anger could be seen as a mild, almost calm type of emotional response compared to how I feel.
I have had enough, absolutely had a gutsful and the cauldron of rage churning inside of me is enough to make me explode.
2 days ago the duck that has been nesting in the Whiskey’s old kennel suddenly emerged with 9 adorable, yellow fuzzballs with bright orange feet. She is the last of our fowl to have gone broody and we so desperately want her babies to survive.
“It’s not going to happen” I said with a pessimistic sigh.
“We’ll put up a temporary fence around the kennel right now” Aaron wasn’t going to be defeated
And so we herded the duck and her babies into the kennel and quickly erected chainlink fence and filled 3 water troughs of varying sizes. It’s a decent sized area right outside our bedroom window. I was so glad she’d nested in the kennel as it would be the safest area for her in the duck paddock.
Yesterday all 9 ducklings happily played outside.
“Isn’t wonderful to actually see the same amount of babies the next day” I said happily
This morning I was up at 4am to feed out. At about 5am I returned to the house and mother duck and ducklings were outside the kennel. I counted.
No. No. No!
“Where are they? Where are your babies darling?!” I scanned the small area, peered inside the house “Oh my god. What took them???”
Four. Four gone. Somewhere in a burrow close by 4 small, furry stomachs have been satiated and I cannot do anything. I stand and stare at the mother duck and her 5 remaining babies and I am useless. I cannot stop this slaughter because I don’t know what or where my enemy is. Of all the ducks she is such a good mother, while the others seem not to notice if their babies are not around this one keeps them close, keeps them safe and now this.
Have you ever been this angry? Have you ever felt so much frustration and rage that you want to attack? To kill? I want blood on my hands. I want something to pay!
I’m not interested in suffering, instant kill suits me just fine, but kill is what I want. I am sick of the pests. Sick of the cats, the stoats, the rats, the possums. All of them hunters, destroyers, wreakers of havoc. They constantly take and give nothing in return.
I want them dead. It is not their fault that they live but damnit, I want it to be my fault they are dead!
I want a stinking rotten pile of pests in my back yard. I want war. I want revenge. I want control and victory over all things feral on my property!
I can understand now why the victors of war would impale the severed heads of their enemies on pikes. There is part of me that wants to nail the bodies of these creatures to my fences. I want the flesh to rot off so that all I am left with is the sun-parched skeletal remains of my enemies.
I want the God of feral creatures to look down on my victims and understand that this is personal, that this is war, that I’ve had enough!
Damnit! Damnit!! Damnit!!! Stop taking my babies you bastards!
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