Two nights back, around 10:30 or so, me and the wife were watching a movie.
She crocheting, and i stretched out in my chair.
I kept waiting to see birds in the film... There was plenty of avian background noise in it as if the cast were about to enter an old fashion slaughter house, where presumably all the birds had caught on to the notion that many of their number were leaving, but solidly failing to return.
No birds immediately showed up in our movie, and when no birds continued to show up..
Slaughter house....
Flashlight in one hand, a strong argument in the other. we burst from the house making good time for the chicken coop.
Most of our flock was huddled outside their coop in a corner of the run closest to the house,
Light fell on our foe who was, for the moment, too intent on his villainy to notice our approach.
And by villainy I mean the using one of our chickens as a hammer with which to beat upon the ground... I'm not sure what the ground did to this particular coon, but I didn't appreciate it getting back at it via use of my chicken..
At this point, I willed the otherwise quiet night air be split with loud arguments against the murder of one of our chickens!
Such arguments could not have been herd at night on this hill for many years.
Coons can move like squirrels in a pinch. Arguments exhausted and our foe driven off, my light fell on our fallen bird.
Pity filled my heart and a sense of failure gnawed at my bones.. I left it for the time being as my wife corralled the rest of the flock back in the coop, they were understandably unwilling. This finished, she returned her attention to our loss.. however nothing but feathers remained. She couldn't believe it! Another coon had came for it without her knowing and with her right there!
The remainder of my night was spent in grim silence.. I religiously lock up the chicken coop every night before bed but apparently this routine was spotted by at least one of the numerous raccoons dwelling in the wooded acreage around us. It had bid its time as to strike just after sun down instead of the dead of night as has been usual up until this point.
I couldn't believe it, at least one bird murdered and maybe more. It was too hard to count them accurately given their fevered activity from the ordeal.
We rely on our eggs and make sure to put every one to good use with little to no waist in the process. Between chicken to human belly, any loss would be sourly missed and our table lacking for some time to come.
the next morning arrived as bright as any could wish, the song birds were playing there tunes but neither this or the gentle breeze could find a foothold in my ill mood.
we have eight chickens!!
'I did not need this,' I thought. 'I know a dead chicken when I see one.. she had no doubt miscounted .. '
I was in no condition to allow my ill mood to rise, only to be dashed and sink to depths still lower.
She called again after a quick recount..
Disbelieving I stomped over to count for myself, attempting to brace my current mood with what reserves was still available to me as a hedge against the inevitable.
I counted once.. twice.. eight beautiful, happy chickens!
One a little worse for wear but appearing to all the world as unharmed.. save a rather shocking quantity of missing feathers..
The coon had not returned while my wife was herding the others in the coop...
This bird was among them uncounted! The shock of the attack, coupled with the thunder of my arguments was enough to kill any lesser bird even without being bit and bludgeoned and left dead face down in a pitiful heap... Inspected for life by not only myself but my wife as well..
My mood rose up just as our chicken did and found new life as if we were Lazarus risen forth!
'Call the catholic church,' I said. 'Here is one for there books!'
I appreciate the forgiveness I was given for my slow foot-ed-ness. Maybe it was playing a heroic game of possum..
But I know death and choose to count myself blessed. After all, who would choose being right over being happy?
-digger
