Last week I was narrating how a fox repeatedly killed some of my chickens and the last time, he had killed one of my happiest hens. After that attack, I was wondering if the attack was carried out by a pack of coyotes, but my son and his friend were adamant that the culprit was a fox
Read on:


I was skeptical and I remained skeptical
Until the last attack; so typical, and
Miss Hen was attacked and killed.

I felt bad for the attack
The chicken house was secure this time.
I had let the chicks out just before sunset
My plan was to get them in one hour.
My music drowned out the noise.
I heard nothing-
"Are the chicks out?" My son came out asking
" They are making noise behind my window"

I ran outside to see---and there was
The frizzled rooster, always ready to fight.
He flashed before the door in a hurried trot-
I ran in the direction of his flight
And there before my very eyes was--
A fox, a big fox, the size of a medium dog,
A fiery color, and a bushy tail-
 running off right in front of me.

If I had a rock,or a stick
I could reached  him with a hi--
He was that close, running,
On his way to the fence.
I was so startled, I couldn't do a thing.
I was happy he was already on his way
And not attacking me, by the way.

Miss Hen was on the grass panting,
Blood dripping from her beak, bright red,
Down and feathers all around
And death around the bend.
There was nothing I could do,
She was dead within minutes.
Her two sisters made off safe.
I found the rooster collapsed in the grass
Quite a distance from the scene.
His frizzled wings spread out like shields.
He looked dead, but was surely alive;
There was no sign of bleeding, but
Something was obviously wrong.
He could not stand or hold his head up.
It was hard to decide what to do with him;
Couldn't get myself to put him down.

He would not eat or drink for three days,
Even with food and drink close by.
By the fourth day, he started coming back to life
Lifting up his head, eating some,
drinking some, but no crowing
No threats of fighting anybody
He was nursing his battered body.
In the past, after charging for a fight,
Wings spread, claws in the air,
He would land, trot around
And then puff up and crow-
A deliberate drawn-out crow,
Head jerking back and forth.
" The rooster's victory crow"
My son used to call it.

He never charges anymore-
Now he moves slowly away, eyeing
us carefully, but,
His crow is back-
Elaborate and drawn out,just as before-
He looks out for himself and the chicks-
Making warning sounds -
As if to say-
"Danger! hide, do something-
The monster is back-
They run to hide, or trot around-
Makin noise.

I had buried Miss Hen behind the chicken house-
And put an oak seedling on her grave.
The chicks can see it from the roost-
Not that they know or give a hoot.


This past Easter, we picked up more birds
All chicks, No ducks
Different breeds-
Diversity-----


To be continued next week---a diversity issue is on  the range.