Uncle.

Okay... the entire state of Texas is now going to say "Uncle!" to the weather gods. All together now..... UNCLE!!!!

We have had it.... and the worst is yet to come. My husband says it feels like we're back up north. And I say that this feels worse than anything I can remember. Was it this cold when I lived in NY? How did I go to work every day in this cold? Did the car start? And my hands didn't freeze to the steering wheel? It surely must be true-- when you live in a warmer climate, your blood thins and your body can't deal with cold temperatures anymore. I swear, if I put any more layers of clothing on me, I won't be able to walk.

As I type, the winds are howling. Sounds like we're in the middle of a horror movie here. I was out in the chicken coop this morning for nearly two hours, attaching huge sheets of plastic to the second side of the coop. I had already covered most of the west side with a thick shower curtain that kept the west winds from blowing on the chickens when they were on the roosting bar. This morning, I found the plastic sheeting that the movers used to cover some of our furniture-- I had saved it all because the sheets were so thick and heavy and I thought we could use them as drop-cloths. Well, to heck with painting. The chickens were in a wind tunnel this morning out in the coop.

Out came the plastic sheeting and step-stool. Out came those little plastic tie-down things... and up went the sheets of plastic. Two of the coop walls are wood, the ones backed up to the garage and the storage closet. The other two fenced-in and chicken-wired walls are now covered with plastic. Even the gate is enclosed in the plastic now. The hens must feel the difference because the whole time I was working, they sat on the roosting bar and watched me.... and the more plastic that went up, the farther apart from one another they moved on the roosting bar. When I came back in, I told my husband that the hens are now out of the wind, but I will soon have pneumonia.

Our across-the-road neighbor came over to tell us that the barn door was blowing in the wind, but he had wire to tie them down, so he did that for us while my husband wrapped the outside faucets in old towels and duct tape. While the neighbor was here, I asked him if he wanted our two Guinea hens. I told him the honeymoon was over with those two birds, and from now on, all I will put in that coop will be chickens. I reminded D that his own coop was empty now...... but he's not ready for Guinea hens yet. "It's too cold," he said.... "I'd have to be running out there to take care of them in this cold." (As if I didn't know?) But he did say he would ask a friend of his about the Guinea hens. I'm hoping those two hens will soon be gone. I'm tired of listening to their squawking, I don't like cleaning up after them and not getting eggs in return, and I don't like the way they pick on Audrey, our one remaining chicken. And most of all-- I just don't want them because they're not chickens!

I was supposed to get my hair trimmed today, but I cancelled the appointment. I told the girl that after the time I spent in the coop, in the cold, I just didn't want to go out anymore today. I re-scheduled for another day, but if it's freezing cold on that day also, then I told her I'd see her in the Spring. She laughed. I was serious.

Our so-called "outside" cat Gatsby is in the house, and has been since yesterday afternoon. He wanted to go out, but I kept telling him how cold it was out there. I just ignored his meows, and he soon used the litter box and took a nap. He protested his confinement by taking his nap on the table in the breakfast room. Fine. I ignored that too. It's easy to wash a tablecloth-- not so easy to find a cat who is hiding under the house trying to keep warm. And I don't want to be standing out on the porch in the wind, calling for Gatsby and hoping the wind isn't carrying my voice into the next county.

I am so, so, so, so, so glad that we didn't get those two miniature horses. I know I'd be out there trying to cover them with blankets, trying to get them into the barn, and putting up plastic sheeting inside the stalls to keep the wind off of them.

In the eight months that we've lived up in these hills, I've learned that scorpions are just spiders with an attitude, that chickens can easily become pets, that looking out at your land is better than looking out at your fence. I have not learned that livestock and fowl are just that-- livestock and fowl. If it's eating and breathing and being taken care of by me, then I don't want it to be wet, cold, uncomfortable... I don't want it to feel unsafe or threatened.

So that's why my hens are now in a wind-protected coop and I'm sitting here in five layers of clothing plus a heating pad across my knees. Will this blasted weather never end?