We have chickens.... we've never been what I would call successful chicken owners. We have them and it is a real love/hate relationship. Last year when our little flock got knocked back to 7 we felt it was time to buy a few more. The damn things wouldn't lay. Normally after about 6 months with new chicks they are old enough to start laying. But all winter we waited and watched as our old hens died off one by one and the new ones were being fed but with narry an oval globe to be seen. Mostly their butts were sealed. Finally Hubby blew a fuse and said, "I'm not feeding those useless excuses for chickens, anymore."
But feed them we did. Daughter #2 has a friend who loves chickens.... like normal people like dogs. So one day I looked out and noticed Daughter #2 and said friend sneaking off with chickens under their arms. I decided to find out what my chicken rustlers were up to. I carefully eavesdropped the next time they were close to me and discovered that they were liberating our chickens from the chopping block by sneaking them away to said friend's chicken coop where they could live in peace without fear of losing their heads. This struck me as funny, and so I proceeded to watch their efforts over the next few weeks as chicken by chicken disappeared. Finally we were down to twelve and I felt that this had gone on long enough. So I spoke to Daughter #2 and told her she had to leave the chickens alone now. That's when we noticed that the chickens were starting lay eggs. Damn chickens! Contrary that's what they are.
Hubby and I concluded that the buggers were overcrowded all winter and that we should have butchered a few.
Two nights ago I was sitting in my new sunroom with a lovely cup of tea and noticed that in the bushes by the chicken coop was our large Huskey dogwho happens to love gettin an odd egg from the chickens. Then I realized that the colouring was wrong. It was too light to be our dog. All I could see was the fur. That's when I noticed that it wasn't a dog at all..... I thought briefly it might be a coyote, which have been known to enter my chicken domain and carry off a few from time to time before. Then it lifted it's head and I saw that it wasn't a coyote either. No sirree, this chicken thief was a bear. A cinnamon bear. A young, obviously from it size, starving, and lonely bear!
Oh did I tell you I was by this time heading toward the chicken coop with a large stick in hand to get rid of the coyote. No I didn't think I did. Well Mr. Bruin came up on his hind legs and took one look at me and recognized me as a treat and proceeded to drop down on all fours and start walking most sedately toward me to check out if my stick was something good to eat. I turned and ran. Thank heavens there was still 30 feet between us. He didn't find me interesting when I headed for the house so he turned and ripped the ever living sh-- out of my chicken coop and fence and started to catch my newly laying birds one by one while I frantically tried to think of someone who might be able to come shoot the scoundrel, before he decided the lambs were on the menu too.
Honeydew, our llama was bugling by now, and Daughter #2 was beating sticks on walls to make as much noise as possible. That's when I thought of a friend who lives just up the road who would come and deal with this. I called and his wife answered. I explained the situation and let them know that Hubby was away (which is my usual line of defense). They were there in minutes but it felt like hours. Meanwhile Mr. Bruin had made the fence look like matchsticks and my chickens.... or what was left of them.... were headed for the house, which meant that Mr. Bruin would be following directly when he was finished with the chicken he was devouring. The friend with the gun showed up and shot above Mr. Bruin's head in an effort to get rid of him but Mr. Bruin who was starved from the look of his ribs and hips was not having anything to do with departing from his food source which was my coop. He would run away but circle back after a few minutes. Finally after 7 - 8 shots with no success of encouraging Mr. Bruin to leave permanently, Mr. Bruin met his maker.
My chickens eventually returned to the coop and we are now down to 10. Mr. Bruin ate 2. My chickens are so permanently scarred by this that there has been narry an oval globe since. Back to square one. At least Mr. Bruin didn't get my lambs.
I've noticed the crows and ravens have been quite happy for the last two mornings. Poor Mr. Bruin. Too bad he found my chickens.
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