It was a balmy, warm August morning … my sweet niece and nephew were visiting from Alberta for their annual summer vacation … laughter could be heard as the children were all playing happily, riding the golf cart, climbing trees … and just being free to enjoy the lazy hazy day … the sun was gently blowing through the tall maple tree, the feisty toddler tormenting the ducks … a perfect summer day …
Then.
It all changed.
“Umm … I hate to tell you, auntie, but you got a dead chicken over there,” my 14 year old nephew reported.
Oh dear.
{sigh}
Well, I knew this day would come – having animals mean eventually we will have to face animal deaths …. so I sauntered over … acting all farm-like, and surveyed the poor, dead chicken. I was a bit worried perhaps it was a sickness that took the bird’s life, which would mean vet bills (?) or medicine … gosh, I don’t even know yet … but as I bent down and slipped my sunglasses onto the top of head, I squinted to see closer. No, indeed, this chicken was not killed by a sickness.
This chicken was killed by … something.
Something that beheaded it.
Oh yes, ladies and gents — a headless chicken at my feet. No, I did not take a picture of it.
“Is that chicken missing her head?!?!” I asked, coaxing my teenage nephew to inspect the dead bird. Yup. Dead bird. No head. No major sign of struggle. We both cringed and looked at each other.
We weren’t really sure what killed the poor, sweet chicken, but we knew we had to remove the deceased hen. So {ick}, remove and dispose of it – we did.
Hands washed, shovel washed, life returned to normal.
Or so I thought.
A few hours later … shrieking …. screaming … six panicking little girls frantically ran to the house, hollering for me ….. calming them in vain, I tried to understand what the girls were saying …. What?! Something was attacking the chickens?!?!
“A weasel!?!?!?! Mommmyeeeeeeeeeee – a weasel is eating a chicken!
AND LYLA GRABBED IT by tail!!!”
What?! Lyla? Tail? Chicken being attacked?!!?! RUNNNNN, girls, runnnn! (In hindsight, I probably should not have told them to run to the chickens …. in case, you know, this *thing* attacked the girls but I was in a panic. It was our first chicken attack. and I had six girls screaming at the top of their lungs. I didn’t think straight.}
We all ran frantically to the coop – six , now seven (myself included) girls still screaming and yelling, arms flailing and tears flowing …. grappling for something, anything to scare the evil, black weasel away… the little vicious, disgusting creature scrambled quickly from the chickens and ran in into the long weeds along the coop … gone … out of sight ….
Sweating and panting, we all stood there, wondering what to do next.
“Okay, pauuuusee – Lyla, you grabbed the weasel?!?!?! What?!”
I shook my head – seriously – she could have been badly hurt by the blood-thirsty weasel ….
Turns out, Lyla, our brave 8 year old, thought it was her cat attacking the chickens so she ran to the victimized hen and instinctly grabbed the attacker by the tail – only to realize it was definitely not her little precious kitten! Yikes.
I quickly thanked the Good Father Above for protecting our daughter, then patted her head her for her bravery. Well done. She had saved the chicken.
The rest of the day was spent, watching, waiting, wondering if the wicked weasel would strike again.
It was torture. Every time I chicken clucked or a duck quacked, we’d all go running in a panic to protect the flock.
By dinner time, my mother in law stopped by – we quickly told her what was happening. She suggested perhaps it was not weasels, but rats attacking.
No, it was definitely a weasel, we reassured her.
This is what it looked like:
Yuck.
They are known for killing every chicken in the coop – just to drink their blood. They are serious predators to chickens. They can fit through tiny holes and surprise the flock quickly and quietly. They come back again and again to kill every.single.chicken.
Not good.
Suddenly, again, while we were sitting to eat dinner, the hens flew up in a panic and began squawking and running ….
“There it is again!” I yelled! Running, now eight girls with gramma to help, we scrambled to the horrified hens to find not only one but two weasels, boldly attacking our chickens and ducks! Sadly, we did not make it there in time and the awful, awful weasel killed our baby duck, Cinnamon {very sad}…
No time to mourn the loss, we grabbed at whatever we could find and started swinging at the weasels, trying to scare the biggest one from the coop … it scrambled up and down the coop walls, quickly averting our attempts to hit it with a fence post … (yes, that’s all I had and all I could think of t hit it with) ……. the two weasels ran around and around the coop, darting in and out of the long grass, not running away from us at all, but rather just skirting around, still attacking the chickens …
That’s it! I ran to the house and sent a S.O.S. text to my father in law to bring his gun and shoot the varmints!!!!! Two dead birds in a matter of hours … and everyone knows a weasel will continue killing until all the chickens are dead – not for food but just for sport.
Thankfully, my father in law showed up quickly. He shooed us all safely away, pulled up a chair, placed his shotgun on his lap and waited.
Within half an hour …
Bang!
Dead weasel #1.
Minutes later ….
More shots!
Dead weasel #2.
We all sighed, then cheered and applauded!!
I’ve never been more proud to call this man my father in law! He saved the day – and the rest of the chickens! [I was tempted to take a picture of the dead weasel but I will spare you the gory details.]
But we knew two things still had to happen.
#1 – A new {more} secure chicken run needed to be built. And soon.
Enter Awesome Pioneer Friend, who volunteered to help me build a new run – complete with all her {pink} tools, fantastic knowledge and four beautiful little boys to help us out. In a matter of a day, with 12 children, one big pot of chili and the help of a fabulous gramma, we managed to construct the new chicken run.
And #2 – momma’s gotta get a gun.
You know … just in case … we do have a lot of little, tasty animals here – it’s basically a coyote-buffet this winter …
Now, don’t freak out. I’ll be getting my P.A.L and training next month. And I will be smart about it … I’m a mom … I certainly don’t want anything to foolish or dangerous to happen around the home with all these precious little ones…. but, this will be interesting, to say the least.
A different kind of shooting for me, that’s for sure.
Maybe a new blog series … ?
Hah.
Stay tuned.
And in the meantime, I really pray nothing attacks our lovely ladies.
{the thankful hen that Lyla saved …}
by Gigi
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