2:00 in the morning and we hear a commotion outside. Thinking it’s a cat we start to doze off again only to be immediately startled back to consciousness by the unmistakeable sound of turmoil in the chicken coop. Grabbing a flashlight and the dogs, Mark and I run outside and see the chicken coop literally shaking, chickens screaming, dogs barking, and then stillness. The dogs continue to bark and we quickly go to the front of the coop and see a chicken huddled in the corner. After shining our flashlights around and seeing nothing, we go into the garden to the back of the coop and see a lifeless pile of chickens laid out by the watering trough. As we shine our lights on each chicken I am struck by the lack of blood -- nothing except a small trickle from one.
Five hens in that pile. One hen left unscathed. My little brood is destroyed. Sadness engulfs me. I am strangely attached to these little birds. But then as I am starting to turn, I see one of the fallen hen’s chests still moving, still breathing, and a faint glimmer of hope stirs. I look closer. Maybe. Just maybe I will have 2. I can’t bring myself to clean up what has happened just yet, deciding to wait until the morning, and as I fall asleep I send up a little prayer for two live chickens.
We have been hit by coyotes, but we interrupted their hunt, so they leave with nothing. A little later, as I am falling asleep, I hear them howl, having finally found their dinner.
Hello! My name is Pam Reynolds Baker and I am a mom/wife, writer, and lavender farmer who lives in Dundee Oregon .