Monday 2 September 2013

Massacre in the Hen House

    This morning when I went out to feed the chickens, I made a heartbreaking discovery.  Three of the five, beautiful new birds, I had gotten last week, were laying dead on the ground.  At first I couldn’t see that they had any wounds on them, but then as I rolled them over, I noticed that they had all been bitten in the neck just below the skull.  
    I am beginning to learn that this is probably the work of a weasel.  I heard that they bite and then suck the blood.  Nothing bigger than a weasel could have gotten through the small squares in the wire fencing.
    Now that I think about it, a weasel seems to explain the deaths of the other chickens that were killed this summer.  When I inspected their corpses I was looking for big open wounds and I didn’t look close enough under the feathers on the neck.  A weasel probably also explains why our original chicken started sleeping in the spruce tree instead of the chicken house.
    I believe this puts an end to our having chickens.  It doesn’t make sense to watch our 3 remaining chickens die to quench the thirst of a weasel, so I called Monica, from whom we got our chickens, and she said she would take our remaining three.  Their lives should last a lot longer over at her place.  
    It’s too bad; both Joan and I enjoyed seeing the chickens wandering around and scratching in the yard, and it was nice to have the eggs, before all the drama this summer stopped their production.

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