Happy Harvest Blog
Chicken sitting, and an accidental week off.
I had no intention of taking a week off blogging, but I had a real week from hell. A book deadline, two books released, other time-sensitive obligations, and a side serving of serious stress which led to far too many nights working past midnight, so I'm just coming up for air now and seeing what else really needs to be done. The bees got reduced on time, they're happy. The chickens, though, are under siege.
The killer has pointy ears
I came face to face with Inky's killer today. I saw the rounded brown form lope into the brush as I came by the greenhouse to check on the pigs. I thought it was a raccoon because it was slow and lazy getting out of sight. To be sure, I snuck up for a closer look. It moved. I moved. It wasn't in much of a hurry. I found it, camouflaged in the underbrush. A bobcat. Sitting front feet together like a cultured cat, head forward, round face a little sad looking, like wild cats' faces look.
Predator pressure
The gang's all here. You put these here for us, right? We needed a grooming station. The gang's not really all there. A few of them are trapped in the greenhouse with the Silkie moms and their chicks today, because I was worried. Things are going to change. I have to get the birds under cover for their own safety, asap, and it's going to be hard. Yesterday I got out of my car to a bald eagle hovering overhead. We looked at each other, I told him to leave, and he tipped and banked towards the greenhouse.
No more Inky
Inky is gone. She wasn't in her tree and I searched, and found a half dozen black and iridescent green feathers. I'm heartbroken, and I've already been having a hard few weeks. I want to get out of chickens, because it hurts too much. I can't protect them 100% and let them range. It's captivity, or risk. It's not fair though, it's like they know which are my favorites, and get the special ones first.
Keet bedtime
The guinea family is admitted to the greenhouse as early as 6:30, and usually by seven. They go to bed much earlier than the chickens. Galahad watches for my appearance, and they scamper in as soon as I open the door. Bedtime begins with some last foraging for a snack and a familiarizing walk around the greenhouse. Then they hit the ladder. They really do use it as a ladder, hopping up a rung at a time, zigzagging, until they get to the top. Then they have to fly to the perch.
Night attack
11pm, I heard the sudden scream of a bird being killed. The sound escalated and I burst out of the camper, running for my chickens, and pulled up short realizing the sound was coming from the opposite direction, the woods.
Instagram.
I may not make a blog post every day, but at least I Insta.
Bite size.
