Two Acres On A Dream

December 18th was not a good day for me. Winter pregnancy (mine) makes all of the outdoor chores harder to do. The worst headache all year pounded in my head all day, and all the way until bedtime. I considered going out to close my coop at dusk, but then dinner was ready. I hoped some fluids and food would lessen the head ache’s thumping.

After dinner, I drudged outside, wrapped snugly in my winter coat, scarf, and gloves. Headlamp wrapped around my forehead, I made my way out to the coop. It was full dark by now, and I just wanted to get this over with. 

 

My Motivation for Closing My Coop at Dusk

I had yet to be plagued by chicken owner problems. I got my chickens during the late summer, and I was like a younger person in Game of Thrones: I had no experience with winter. So far this cold season, I had gone out plenty of times after full dark without any consequences. That time abruptly ended when I discovered one of my chickens headless and another missing. I didn’t take any pictures of the slain chicken, and I only found feathers from the presumed dead chicken:

Shock doesn’t begin to describe what I felt. Extreme guilt gets close to the mark. I can’t help but feel that if I had gone out to close up my coop before full dark, the probable racoon that snacked on my chicken’s head wouldn’t have been able to reach her. I couldn’t find evidence of the other chicken, so I imagined her carried off to feed baby raccoons.

Now, I didn’t go into this expected to never lose an animal to predatory wildlife. I felt guilty though, because if I had gone out before dark, I really believe the raccoon wouldn’t have made dinner from my hens. The lesson will stay with me, like many others I expect to gather on this homestead dream.

Surveying the Predator Damage

The raccoon kept its damage minimal. It just dug out a little bit under the outer fence to get to the hens. After taking care of that, I checked on the rest of my girls. I know people think chickens are dumb, but chicken depression had clearly taken a hold of them:

 

Only Carrot showed any interest in maybe coming out, and the rest just wanted to stay in the coop. They didn’t greet me with their customary clucking, despite the fact I came outside a little late. Actually, before I opened the door, I only heard silence.

So I placed the food under the coop, and refilled their water containers. I went just outside the coop to see if I could follow the feather trail anywhere. I heard some clucking, but I assumed the girls in the coop had noticed my absence. I turned around, and saw the presumed dead Zipper hesitantly walking up to me!

 

“Hey there girl! Did you spend the night in the pine tree?! Do you want to come inside?” I asked her, holding open the chicken run door. After a few clucks of affirmation, she gingerly made her way inside the run. I went inside and opened the coop doors, so the girls could see their prodigal sister. Everyone fluttered, clucked, and jostled for a better view. Carrot actually came out of the coop to show some chicken affection:

 

 

Lesson Learned: Always Close my Coop at Dusk!

I won’t ever put off closing the coop ever again, and neither should you. My silver lining is that I lost one chicken instead of two, or even more. Chickens really do a lot to take care of themselves, but people have their role to play too.

Have you had a similar experience? Experience is the best teacher, but I would love to hear some of your stories too! I will respond to all comments!