Thursday, February 21, 2013

Fox Attack

I was standing by the kitchen sink fixing Fergal's food when I saw something, a lot of somethings, drift across the meadow.

"What is that? Ashes?"
"Leaves," Rob said.
"From where?"
"They don't look like leaves."

A little while later he came in the house. "That stuff in the meadow is chicken feathers. Lots of them."

We couldn't figure out what on earth it was at first. There were feathers from different chickens all over the place. Brown ones, red ones, gray ones. Piles of them. Like the Grim Reaper had danced around the farm butchering. But strangely, no blood.

We found a lot of chewed up hens which I spent the morning doctoring and two dead ones, carried off down the hill by a fox which Rob saw and chased off. We are wondering if there were two of them. How could one fox do so much damage in such short time? Rob said he heard the girls squawking this morning but didn't think anything of it at the time.

I don't know how many of the injured ones will live. One was so bad I had to wrap her in an ace bandage. A couple appear to be in shock. I put stress vitamins in their water and I'm about to make them a stodge of oatmeal, yogurt, and other nourishing things.

I hate to walk outside and see the feathers drift by. They're everywhere.