All of this meant that when the nice man came to deliver our wood, A.'s hands were covered in blood and he had a bucket of bloody squirrel bits next to him as he whacked off tails and feet with the cleaver; I was in my slippers running around with a barefoot child to take down the Deterrent, direct the man where to dump the load of wood from his truck, and write him a check; the dogs were hanging around because they wanted those squirrel bits or the peanut butter and bread that Cubby was eating; and the sheep were milling around maaing and waiting for their chance to eat the nice flowering plants the MiL has in pots near the house. Plus, the chickens were out near the patio scratching around.
Welcome to life at Blackrock. It's never dull, at least.