This afternoon after we finally got home from church, potluck, and a concert, I let Red out, led the horses to the upper pasture, and loved on some sheep. Then we played a family game of Frisbee "monkey in the middle," with Brian as the monkey on the trampoline. An hour later, when it was time to unplug the hay steamer, I decided to leave Red out because she was enjoying basking in the sun by the barn. After another hour it was time to take the horses back to the barn. As we walked down the driveway, I saw bits of white on the gravel in the distance – and immediately feared the worst. Sure enough, they turned out to be feathers. I put the horses in their stalls and followed the trail of feathers across the driveway, around the manure pile, and through the weeds, hoping against hope I might find Red just frightened or injured. But the sweet and friendly hen that had survived a mink attack at my friend's place would not be so lucky here; my lapse was her demise. I was gutted over letting her down. She's been my shearing buddy, my one pet chicken; this week I've even been hand-feeding her a daily antibiotic tablet mixed with treats in hopes of reversing her painful foot condition.
If I had any doubts about who dined on Red, they were erased when I went back to the barn to give the horses their concentrates.
See the small galvanized pail on the left edge of the photo? That's the cat food bin. It was on its side at the base of the stairs just visible on the
right edge of the photo, although the raccoon that dragged it around hadn't been able to open the lid. That's because I had pulled the bail up to secure it after finding it on its side and open this morning. If only I had secured my chicken....
That's the sad ending to an otherwise good day at . . .
5 comments:
That's sad, especially if you feel that you are somehow culpable. I remember when we had chickens, and two of the three baby chicks were taken. We think one was by a cat and another by a bird of prey. But I suppose raccoons and birds need to eat and feed their young (though I'm not so forgiving of the cat)
Aw, Michelle, there's no way we can protect them all all the time . . . and still let them be their natural selves and enjoy them. I don't have to remind you she had a good home and was well cared for. So sorry.
Poor Chickie. I've only lately learned how personable hens can be. She had a good life with you.
So sorry about Red. Hugs, my friend.
Oh, Michelle, I feel for you. I felt the same way after losing my ducks to the fox. I'm so sorry you lost your Red - sending hugs to you, my friend.
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