A Conversation about Chickens.

A baby chicken hawk we found out by the coop one night.
It was smaller than the chickens but eying them with predatory instincts.
The chickens were FREAKING out.

We are living in a tiny ecosystem and even though it’s hard to imagine that nature is still natural in our little suburban bubble…it does exist. I am particularly talking about survival and chickens. We have had several instances of chicken death (besides the hatchet and roast chicken for Sunday dinner): our neighbor’s dogs, chicken hawks, perhaps an owl and now—a mystery predator. We think it’s either a coyote, fox, or even a possum or skunk? Not really sure, all we know is that something found our chickens and they’re reliving a culinary dream every night. We find the fence torn into, feathers EVERYWHERE and a missing chicken or chickens (sometimes with parts left behind). It’s a mystery and we can’t stop it. So here’s the conversation between my husband and I:

Dustin: You know, Ma would’ve figured out how to protect her chickens by now.

Me: Pa would’ve slept outside with his gun and killed whatever was getting his chickens.

Dustin: Pa would’ve been on his 40 mile trek to town with his pelts and his wheat; getting essential supplies to keep his family alive (you know, things like sugar and white flour).

Me: Well, Pa would’ve seen to it that Mr. Edwards was doing the chores and Mr. Edwards would have, FOR SURE, slept by the woodpile to kill the chicken killer. Or he would’ve at least left a gun above the door, loaded, for Ma to use. I’m just sayin’.

Dustin: speechless.