I'm afraid FarmWife and I butted heads yesterday—not in the sense that we disagreed, but in the sense that we bonked painfully into one another (more painfully for her, I'm afraid). It was as the result of me spooking, but I bear no blame: the night before, I had been witness to a massacre in the chicken coop (two more chickens and both of our dear ducks are dead, beheaded—and my barn is splattered with blood like a scene from a horror movie. It was awful. No wonder my nerves are a bit shot. FarmWife thinks the predator is a zombie weasel, since it slips through small cracks and only eats brains.)
As far as the head bonk goes, FarmWife came out of the situation with a bloody nose, a cut lip, and a loose tooth, which is slightly funny if you look at it from the perspective of someone having a bad run of dental luck: next Wednesday, Clover goes in for oral surgery (an infected slab fracture of the 4th molar), and my own dental exam has been postponed because of the cost. FarmWife cannot afford a problem in her own mouth right now.
Luckily, FarmWife's tooth is firming up already, just 24 hours later, and she hopes rather a lot that it will give her no further trouble. She's going to avoid apples and other crunchy things for a while, to which I say this: give them hither, FarmWife. I will chew them for you.
P.S. The chickens and rabbits are on a serious after-dark lockdown, now—no more trusting their regular "secure" enclosures, of chicken wire and 2x2 inch woven wire, to keep predators at bay. The chickens are now sleeping in the bunker, which is like a metal-sided coop-within-a-coop, while the rabbits now get their stall's exit-hole plugged with a cinder block each night at dinner time.