A horrific blood bath happened at our place last Wednesday morning - sorry if it woke you at 3am.
I was the only one who stirred from their slumber in our abode; hearing the hair-raising screams over the sounds of rain on our roof.
Duke Grosser, the handsomest rooster who ever lived, was brutally murdered by a fox last week.
Instantaneously waking on hearing the blood chilling screams I knew we had lost a pet as it was too late to unwrap myself from my cocoon of winter blankets to intervene.
I tossed and turned until dawn realising I would be faced with questions I didn't want to answer.
I planned to complete some pretty fancy footwork to conceal the truth and get my girls off to school in a positive frame of mind.
Kym kindly headed outside in the daylight to covertly confirm the accident.
He came back shaken and claiming a cover-up was going to be impossible with so much blood.
Even though he engaged the broom and the hose, I could see I would need to move the car around to the front of the house to avoid the evidence, loading the girls for school drop off from the front door.
Why such secrecy around the tragic turn of events? Surely they were beyond anyone's control? No.
I needed to keep Duke's death under wraps because I knew the girls would blame me for this ghastly disaster!
Having left the chook yard gate open during the day so Duke and Ebony could freely roam around our property, I had shut it briefly to allow a friend to fit past with her trailer attached.
I failed to open it again as I rushed off to complete chores, and it needed to be open for the big birds' bedtime.
As we reversed out of the car shed racing off to singing lessons at sunset, Tiani begged to be allowed out to re-open the gate, but we were running late, so I said I would open it again after dropping them off.
I didn't get that gate open again, and the girls unsuccessfully searched the garden to find where our chooks were roosting.
The fox had no such trouble, so Duke is toast and my name is mud.