Loaded Guns and Flat Souffles

Yesterday was quite a day.  I need either a housekeeper or a sou chef, or both.  (It's also possible I should not have picked up that book.)  The brisket went into the slow oven at six a.m., and I whirled like a dervish the rest of the day. 

In the preceding two days, I'd lost five hens, one of which was my dear little Rover.  On Monday, I'd heard the chickens in panic mode in the afternoon; Bess and I went out but didn't see anything.  She tracked a scent down to the woods, but wisely came back to me.  That night I was three chickens down.  On Tuesday, I was in the barn when I heard the hens, but there was nothing I could do.  Two more chickens gone.  I knew it was a wild thing...dogs lose interest when they break the squeaky toy and leave it. This thing was taking for food.  I plugged the holes under the fence where most of the girls were sneaking out, but there are those who fly over.  Taking the morning's milk out to the refrigerator on the deck, I looked down and saw the culprit, a large coyote standing at the edge of the woods watching me.  It would have been a perfect shot.  I went in the wrong door to get the pistol quickly, and got back just as the coyote was turning away...no shot at all.  I fired anyway, and that .38 made a big enough boom to scare it.  Now I've got the .22 rifle with the scope out on the deck. 

Most of dinner turned out well, and I did warn my guests that I was serving an untried recipe for roasted garlic-mashed potato souffle.  Well, it sounded good, but went flat while still in the oven.  Tasted okay, but not good enough to try to perfect.  I hope that Judy, Joel, and Arden had as good a time as I did last evening.  Having them each as friends is great, and having them all together is wonderful.