Vacation Bible School
That first summer at Leeburn we had a serious crime wave. A masked bandit was killing our chickens. In spite of our diligent detective work, we just couldn't catch him in the act. He usually struck under cover of darkness, and after gorging on the tenderest parts of his chicken catchatori, he would move on over to the carport where the dog's dish had a few tasty tidbits. We came up with a plan....borrowing a 22 gauge gun from one of our Sunday School children, we sat in wait at the window facing the carport. He came that night, as usual... we took careful aim....and missed!
Quickly opting for "plan B", we let loose our dog Pete, who gladly took chase. Pete was a shepherd/collie mix making him a very determined prey dog. Knowing we probably wouldn't be seeing Pete again for a day or two, we went back to bed .
The next day was the beginning day of Vacation Bible School. Our VBS's in Leeburn were quite well attended, with local children coming from far and wide. Halfway through the morning there were excited shouts coming from out behind the chicken coop..... where Pete had treed the biggest, fattest raccoon ever. This time we gave the gun to its rightful ten-year-old owner who deftly shot and killed the raccoon. After disposing of the corpse, we went back to our Vacation Bible School. It was definitely the most interesting activity that day.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Big Daddy
As the pastor of Bible Fellowship Church, my husband Werner had decided he would pursue the hobby of raising chickens. Being in a rural setting, surrounded by forest, we had the ideal location. Roosters crowing during Sunday morning worship service didn't seem to be a huge problem. There was a problem developing however, with having several roosters in the same coop. "Big Daddy" was becoming quite ornery, attacking Werner as he tried to feed the chickens and gather eggs.This rooster was definitely Lord of his domain, jealously guarding his hens from all intruders! So Werner decided to do away with him....or whatever chicken ranchers call it when they thin out their rooster population. (Warning...the story now describes several scenes of violence...reader discretion is advised) Taking him out behind the coop, he quickly and efficiently wrung the bird's neck, disposing of the body in a shallow grave far out in the woods. . Coming into the house my Pastor-cum-Farmer husband told me the problem was now solved. Peace now reigned in the hen-house.
The next morning we arose to the crowing of the newly appointed chief rooster, and Werner went out to tend the flock....feathered, that is. When he entered the enclosure, there, to his horrified surprise, stood Big Daddy....his once proud head hanging limply to one side, trying feebly to crow and reclaim his territory. With sheer determination he had clawed his way out of his grave, and found his way back to his hens. Needless to say, we put him out of his misery properly this time with a sharp axe.....and buried him deep. There must be a great sermon illustration here, but I have yet to hear it.
The next morning we arose to the crowing of the newly appointed chief rooster, and Werner went out to tend the flock....feathered, that is. When he entered the enclosure, there, to his horrified surprise, stood Big Daddy....his once proud head hanging limply to one side, trying feebly to crow and reclaim his territory. With sheer determination he had clawed his way out of his grave, and found his way back to his hens. Needless to say, we put him out of his misery properly this time with a sharp axe.....and buried him deep. There must be a great sermon illustration here, but I have yet to hear it.
CAT
This is a true story about a cat.
Bible Fellowship Church in Leeburn is in a very picturesque location. Surrounded by forest on every side, living there was an daily adventure. We often crossed paths with the many four-legged inhabitants of our wilderness locale. A black bear crossing the road in front of our house, a moose and her calf holding up traffic as we drove home from town, timber wolves, a cougar's scream in the night...even an ermine weasel popping up though the heating vents ....these were a part of our daily lives. But when the field mice made themselves at home in our house we decided to get a cat. One of our neighbors had several feral cats with kittens in her barn, so we brought one home. The very first night that tiny kitten caught and devoured a mouse, so we kept her. She never had a name...she was just "the cat". She came and went at will, occasionally bringing home her daily catch from the woods, dropping a mole into a boot as a gift to her benefactors. One day she was dozing in the carport and accidentally had her long fluffy tail run over by a car, causing it to become permanently paralyzed. A short time later that tail became entangled in a clump of burs and dropped off, making her look like a mini-bobcat.
One Sunday morning during the summer we were congregated as usual in the church with both front and back doors open to catch the breeze, when the people in the back row began to chuckle.
Our cat had wandered in the front door and was leisurely strolling down the isle, in no hurry at all, totally at peace with her world. The sermon halted, all eyes on the cat, as she went out the back door. These folks do adore all things "cute"...babies, animals, etc., so there's no use trying to compete with a mini bobcat.
I was amazed at the loyalty of that small cat, because we were not very attentive, even giving her away to a family with children at one point. She cried so much that they asked us to take her back. Then there was the week we went away and accidentally locked her in the house with nothing to eat but a few beef bullion cubes she found in the kitchen cupboard.When we came home she smothered us with love and affection. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps? A year later we moved and we did find her a good home, but I often wonder if she still cries to come home to her wilderness paradise.
Bible Fellowship Church in Leeburn is in a very picturesque location. Surrounded by forest on every side, living there was an daily adventure. We often crossed paths with the many four-legged inhabitants of our wilderness locale. A black bear crossing the road in front of our house, a moose and her calf holding up traffic as we drove home from town, timber wolves, a cougar's scream in the night...even an ermine weasel popping up though the heating vents ....these were a part of our daily lives. But when the field mice made themselves at home in our house we decided to get a cat. One of our neighbors had several feral cats with kittens in her barn, so we brought one home. The very first night that tiny kitten caught and devoured a mouse, so we kept her. She never had a name...she was just "the cat". She came and went at will, occasionally bringing home her daily catch from the woods, dropping a mole into a boot as a gift to her benefactors. One day she was dozing in the carport and accidentally had her long fluffy tail run over by a car, causing it to become permanently paralyzed. A short time later that tail became entangled in a clump of burs and dropped off, making her look like a mini-bobcat.
One Sunday morning during the summer we were congregated as usual in the church with both front and back doors open to catch the breeze, when the people in the back row began to chuckle.
Our cat had wandered in the front door and was leisurely strolling down the isle, in no hurry at all, totally at peace with her world. The sermon halted, all eyes on the cat, as she went out the back door. These folks do adore all things "cute"...babies, animals, etc., so there's no use trying to compete with a mini bobcat.
I was amazed at the loyalty of that small cat, because we were not very attentive, even giving her away to a family with children at one point. She cried so much that they asked us to take her back. Then there was the week we went away and accidentally locked her in the house with nothing to eat but a few beef bullion cubes she found in the kitchen cupboard.When we came home she smothered us with love and affection. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps? A year later we moved and we did find her a good home, but I often wonder if she still cries to come home to her wilderness paradise.
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