There is an idyllic side to life with chickens, including compost for the garden, fresh eggs, and entertainment watching them in the yard. However, like any animal, there is a tremendous responsibility in caring for them. When things go wrong, it makes us feel bad because they count on us.
There are stresses associated with keeping hens safe, maintaining a clean coop, providing food and fresh water, ensuring warmth in winter, and protecting them from predators, especially at night.
Last Monday, it was a balmy and hot evening, and I awoke to the worst sound: blood-curdling screams, indicating the makings of a perilous night. My first instinct was that something was wrong with our two hens, Rosa and Ruby. Although I knew they had to be safe in their coop, with its automatic door keeping them secure. We ran to check the run and didn’t see anything; yes, the coop door had shut. There were no other sounds or disturbances that we could tell. At two-thirty, I heard it again and thought maybe a hawk or owl must be attacking its prey.
The next morning, in the light of day, there were chicken feathers everywhere, and Ruby was huddled in the corner of the run in a state of shock. She returned to the run in time but had been locked out of the coop. Ruby was safe inside. The space between the wires is large enough that a raccoon could have reached its arm in, grabbed, and pulled her feathers, leaving raw skin. Hence, the sounds I heard. We cleaned the coop, removed the feathers, and then I bathed her and sprayed the bare area with antiseptic.
In the early evening, we put Ruby in the coop. Rosa had not returned yet, so we left the run gate open and would check later. I had fallen asleep. The coop door is scheduled to close at nine o’clock (still dusk in Wisconsin). Michael peeked in the window to make sure the hens were on the roost and discovered they were not; instead, a raccoon was trapped inside.
He wakes me up with, “I can’t find the girls, and there is a raccoon in the coop!”
Groggy from sleep, I said, “What? A raccoon is in the coop?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “The door locked it in, but the girls are missing.” The hens must have covertly crossed paths with their predator, so the raccoon became trapped, and they escaped.
We ran out to the coop in our pajamas, and sure enough, the raccoon was trapped inside, and the girls had vanished; there was no sign of feathers.
Michael said, “Grab the pitchfork, it’s in the garden shed. I’ll hold the light.” Then I opened the coop door with my weapon in hand, and when the raccoon came out, I chased it around the garden.
“Stab him!” Michael yelled, and I did. The raccoon hissed when the tongs lunged into its blubber body. Then it managed to get away from me, climbed the fence, and crawled over the run’s roof, and back into the woods. The night air was sultry, and mosquitoes were attacking; we called for Rosa and Ruby, who we hoped were somewhere safe.
“They will never survive the night,” Michael said.
I was thinking they aren’t going to trust us that their coop is safe. Why would they want to come back?
“No, they won’t,” I said, “but there’s nothing else we can do.”
We failed our girls and felt bad about it. As we climbed back into bed, I said, I have a question.
“What?”
“How come I had to stab the raccoon with a pitchfork? Why didn’t you have your shotgun?”
The next morning, Rosa and Ruby paraded past our window unscathed!
Have you had a perilous adventure in your backyard? Do you have tips to share? Please feel free to leave comments below.
