Mother's Day and a Raw Chicken

Today is not Mother's Day, but Sunday is.  Seeing as I work from now until forever, I thought I'd go ahead and share a story about my mom.  If y'all have any fun momecdotes, leave 'em in the comments!  I love knowing there are other odd families out there.  Okay, story time.

As I've shared before, my dad has an interesting approach to life.  Though different, my mom's approach to problems can be similarly...unique.

When I was eleven, my mom and grandma conspired to give me a miniature longhaired dachshund puppy.  His name was Ogden Nash Rambler, because Ogden Nash was an awesome poet and a Nash Rambler was a car.  We called him Oggy Doggy, after the Hanna Barbara cartoon dachshund.  When we first brought him home, he was eight weeks old and the size of my mom's 7 1/2 shoe.  He grew (minimally) and topped out at 16 lbs.  Do you know what a dog that size is called in Alaska?

Eagle bait.

This is because every once in a while, eagles do make off with house pets, usually small dogs and cats.  Unfortunately for us, eagles are also fairly common in Anchorage.

So it came to pass that one day, an eagle saw the tree in the fenced part of our yard, and thought "Oh hey, that'll be a cool place to hang out for a few hours."

My mom saw the eagle, and immediately called Oggy and our collie, Beulah, inside.  The collie was in no danger, but my mom figured she'd be better off inside with Oggy anyway.

I should probably mention at this point that my mom has, off and on, been affiliated with various wild bird rehabilitation centers around Anchorage and the Mat-Su Valley, and kind of has a soft spot for anything with feathers, razor-sharp beak and talons notwithstanding.  Therefore, it should come as no surprise that my mom's second reaction to the eagle, after ensuring the safety of our pets, was, "I wonder if it's hungry."

She had been thawing a chicken for dinner that night, and figured that would be the best thing to feed the eagle.  So she tossed it outside and waited.

The eagle couldn't have cared less.

It sat in the tree for a while longer, preening and doing eagle things, then took off.  My mom kept the dogs inside for a while after that, leaving the chicken where it was on the offchance the eagle came back.

Well, it never did.  But a cloud of magpies descended on that chicken like teen girls on a pop star, and had it torn to shreds within minutes.

Maybe an hour after that, I came home from school and saw the mutilated fowl remains (see what I did there?), and had the following conversation:

"Mom, why is there chicken all over the backyard?"
"Oh, the magpies did that."
"...You were feeding magpies?"
"No, there was an eagle."
"Oh...okay.  Shouldn't we clean up the chicken?"
"Naw, the magpies will finish what they started."

I think my dad ended up cleaning up the yard so we could let the dogs back out.