Chickens are unlike other, more typical pets in many ways. They have feathers and beaks and wattles and combs. They live in their own house, not ours. They have their own unique anatomy, physiology, quirks and traits.
And then there’s a far more troublesome difference. Chickens are tasty, which makes them attractive to all sorts of critters who have only one thing in mind: a nighttime snack.
I hesitate to write this for fear of jinxing myself, but in the five years that we’ve kept chickens, we have not lost any to predators. Still, I’m not foolish enough to believe that means there’s no cause for concern. I know people who've suffered such attacks.
We live in a densely populated neighborhood in a relatively small Maine city. I’ve never seen that most dastardly of chicken predators —a fox — since we bought our house 29 years ago. I’d like to believe our neighborhood is too built up to attract them, but that’s probably wishful thinking.
In any case, we have had our share of skunks and raccoons over the years. I once spotted a skunk right outside the pen at dawn, peering inside. I waited until the morning brightened and the skunk disappeared for the day, before releasing our three hens from the coop. Last week, I saw yet another predator, not only for the first time in our yard but for the first time in my life: a possum. When I went out to lock “the girls” in their coop one night, it was sitting about eight feet away, eyeing me quietly.
I’m not a churchgoing person, but every morning, when “the girls” race down the ramp into the pen, I thank the powers that be for watching over them. There are no guarantees in life, though, whether you're a human or a chicken. We take precautions, and hope for the best.
And then there’s a far more troublesome difference. Chickens are tasty, which makes them attractive to all sorts of critters who have only one thing in mind: a nighttime snack.
I hesitate to write this for fear of jinxing myself, but in the five years that we’ve kept chickens, we have not lost any to predators. Still, I’m not foolish enough to believe that means there’s no cause for concern. I know people who've suffered such attacks.
We live in a densely populated neighborhood in a relatively small Maine city. I’ve never seen that most dastardly of chicken predators —a fox — since we bought our house 29 years ago. I’d like to believe our neighborhood is too built up to attract them, but that’s probably wishful thinking.
In any case, we have had our share of skunks and raccoons over the years. I once spotted a skunk right outside the pen at dawn, peering inside. I waited until the morning brightened and the skunk disappeared for the day, before releasing our three hens from the coop. Last week, I saw yet another predator, not only for the first time in our yard but for the first time in my life: a possum. When I went out to lock “the girls” in their coop one night, it was sitting about eight feet away, eyeing me quietly.
I’m not a churchgoing person, but every morning, when “the girls” race down the ramp into the pen, I thank the powers that be for watching over them. There are no guarantees in life, though, whether you're a human or a chicken. We take precautions, and hope for the best.
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