In Mourning

Tim woke me up this morning with the kind of look on his face that told me EXACTLY what was going on. I knew immediately, maybe because it's one of those things I sort of low-grade worry about every night. Remember Fluffer, the lost black hen we lost and found a couple weeks ago? Well, this morning she was killed by a hawk, right there in our backyard. We could hear the other hens squawking and keening and basically making a fuss, even though they never treated her right anyway, and when Tim went out the perpetrator was just flying away, leaving a limp, black feather body in one of the garden beds. It's kind of surprising that this has never happened before, since there's been a hawk in the neighborhood for over a year now, but I guess (s)he just got tired of waiting for mice and rabbits and saw a stray black something scurrying around on her own and decided to swoop in to get our morning started off on a note of grief and misery for all. I think I shed just as many tears as my wee folk.

She's buried in the garden bed, now, and the kids have decided to mark her grave with a memorial stone this afternoon. Sigh. This is why we would never make it as farm family.

OK, now on a totally silly note, if I could just lighten the mood a bit (since I won't be receiving a sympathy card in the mail this time from the Animal Hospital) ... I was just reading an article in Time Magazine about the chemistry of love (they had several articles on The Science of Romance in last week's issue). OK, did you that the length of your ring finger reflects your testosterone level? Try this with me: compare the length of your ring finger to that of your index finger. The longer your ring finger is compared to your index finger, the more testosterone you have bubbling around in your brain (or wherever it bubbles ... but let's not get into that). That in turn correlates with math, musical, and mechanical ability. Well, I was able to form a quick hypothesis and instantly prove myself correct. My ring finger is ... noticeably SHORTER than my index finger. So there you go. Deficiencies explained. I wonder whether this also explains my difficulty with being assertive and, basically, with navigating any kind of conflict situation without crumbling or apologizing for, you know, the fact that the sky is blue. Isn't that all tied into testosterone? Huh.

I should go check out my dear son's fingers. And I think Eliza's look just like mine. Finger stretchers, anyone?