A Terrible Day On The (Suburban) Farm

It was just yesterday that I was looking out the kitchen window at my small flock of chickens rooting about under the blueberry bushes - they were exploring their extended territory now that I had pulled the last of the tomatillos and covered the crops that I wanted to protect. The world - and offerings of parsley, chard, kale, strawberry plants and fresh dirt to dig - was open before them. I was smiling at how lucky I was to have my own little illicit farm in a residential backyard, and taking note that Jodie the troublemaker seemed to be eying the height of the back fence.  This morning I went out as the sun rose, to let the girls out for the day, and as I went around the corner calling out to them, I came upon a terrible scene of destruction. It took a moment for my brain to register what I was seeing. Something had managed to unlatch the door to the nesting box in the night.  Pilgrim was dead, all that was left of Jodie was a mess of feathers and bones, and Nugget was terribly gored, struggling to breathe.  Celine was huddled at the front door, spattered with someone else's blood.

I yelled for Adrian, and he quickly ended Nugget's suffering, and I scooped up a dazed Celine to check her for signs of fatal damage.  We both stopped for a moment and stood there, stunned.

These are not the first chickens we have lost.  Patty died unexpectedly in the night, Strip took to hiding in the bushes, determined for days to keep her eggs to hatch, and we were unable to find her on a day we were heading out of town.  She fell prey to a predator, unprotected overnight.  Breakfast, one of our original 3 hens, was dragged from the coop in the night - our first loss and the reason we set up an additional wire barrier underground in the winter.

We maintain a habit of doing a head count and locking everyone in at night to make sure that no one has decided to lay eggs in the bushes, or roosted on the stairs to the back deck.  The days are short now though, and the nights are cold.  The chickens had instinctively taken to returning to the relative warmth of the coop long before I went out to check them for the night, and as I patted 4 chickens in the growing dark last night, I know that I secured that latch. 

I put out a notice to rehome Celine to a small local flock.  I have her nested in the dark foyer in a carrier with straw, water and food, but she is obviously out of sorts and in shock. 

Update: A nice lady in Langley called, and I will be taking Celine to her new home this afternoon.  She will be joining a small flock of mixed bantams that have outside access when people are about and a protected run to discourage predators.  After a bit of quiet time, she will roost with her new flock mates this evening, and by morning she will begin the process of finding her place in a new social structure.