That Sneaky Fox

One of our favorite things about our little homestead is raising our chickens. If you’re
unfamiliar with the girls, their names are Mary, Mary, Mary, and Lottie. The Marys are a
beautiful orange/red, and Lottie is a spotted black. We inherited them from my fabulous
mother-in-law, Judy, when they moved from a little farm on the parsonage, to a home in
town after retirement.
While my sister-in-law and I have forever hated the “evil chicken”, the gal who likes to
sneak up on you and peck you when you’re least expecting it; we’ve recently bonded and
have improved our relationship. My relationship with the others has been steadily positive.
The girls have not only provided us with an abundance of eggs that we’re lucky enough to
be able to share with our friends and family, they’ve also become an integral part of our
family. They’ve provided us with entertainment, purpose, and more. We let them out to run
around and nourish the land with their natural pest control, soil aeration and fertilizer. The
best part-they kill frogs. I hate frogs.

Every morning, the girls like to wake up and sing to the neighborhood, telling us about their
recent lay. They never fail to produce the best, most gorgeous eggs we can ask for at a
consistent 3-4 per day. We’ve been happy together for a couple years now. Unfortunately,
much to my dismay, their song sounded a bit different one morning. I was sitting in the
living room, sipping coffee and enjoying my morning “alone time” before my family woke
up, when I heard their song.
Only this time, their song sounded different. I paused to listen, realizing that their song was
actually screeching. I ran outside to see a Fox in the chicken run, with Lottie pinned
underneath her, scared and powerless, getting her feathers ripped out and ready to
become a meal. I yelled at the Fox and clapped my hands, which luckily was enough to
deter the Fox and she jumped out of the coop.

By then, Noah had heard my yelling and ran outside in his underwear to catch the predator.
It was too late. That sneaky Fox had made it out of the coop and to the other side of the
yard, where she stood behind a tree staring at us. I chased after her but of course, she was
too fast. We ran to Lottie and assessed the damage. To our surprise, we had saved her just
in the nick of time. She hadn’t been hurt, other than the feathers and extreme trauma.
She’s still recovering in the coop but has gone from complete freeze to eating and walking
around. My poor baby.
Leave it to Noah to do the research and come up with all possible defenses against the
Fox, knowing she would return. We purchased the materials to build a fox-proof fence and
began strategizing. One of the solutions was rather unconventional, albeit effective and
involved Noah having to pee around the coop. Why it had to be a male, I’ve no clue. But I
wasn’t asking questions when Scout immediately volunteered for the task. We locked the
chickens in the coop when we were at work and only let them out when we were able to
keep watch. We avoided peak hunting times like sunrise and sunset, and of course, did not
leave any sort of food or eggs around.

We were doing so well, and Scout really grew into a little mom in response to her concern
over Lottie. She visits the coop every day to check on her and hand feed her watermelon
and treats. The chickens seemed to bond in response to the attack, and even the evil
chicken got in line to support the vulnerable Lottie. We thought we were on the up and up,
buying time until we could get the Fox fence up with makeshift barriers and surveillance.
Until it rained.
I held my annual garage sale, which generally consists of me and Rachel sitting outside
and chatting all day while having an excuse to ditch our families and hang out. Rachel
could only come Friday, so Noah and Scout helped me out on Saturday. We were setting
up, almost ready to open when Noah came around the house and looked at me with the
face he makes when he’s deciding how to let me down. He said to me in a gentle voice,
“The Marys are gone.” My stomach didn’t even drop. I was actually shocked.
All I could manage to respond with was, “What? All of them??”
“Yeah. All of them.”
“But how do you know they just didn’t get out?”
“I know.”
Noah is a man of few words, which is pretty useful in a time like this, when all I can do is
muster a line of questioning. Even though it wasn’t very surprising, given the first sighting.
We knew she would return eventually. It was mostly the fact that she managed to get all
three in one shot. I couldn’t process what he had just told me. And to tell the truth I don’t
think I’ve fully realized what happened. I keep looking out the window to check on them,
and each time I’m reminded of the reality that they are no longer there.
As Judy said, it’s just nature taking its course. It’s the reality of raising livestock. I know it
was only a matter of time that I would remember the negative part of living on a farm-animals die. We believe the Fox is a mother, whose den is nearby and filled with babies
that need to be fed. I learned that Foxes don’t kill for fun, only survival. In a weird way, I get
it. Yes, they were my flock. She shouldn’t have stolen them. But I can understand the need
to feed your children. I have empathy in these times for mothers of all species, as we are all
just trying to survive. I think about it, and while having eggs was massively beneficial to me,
I have reliable options for other food. She may not. This is a Fox who has been around since
we moved here. She has never infiltrated my flock before. Maybe it’s me justifying it in a
way that is easier for me to cope, but it helps to think that at least my loss was in the name
of benefitting babies.
In thinking, it’s a much more merciful act to steal for the purpose of providing than to steal
for the purpose of greed, like we humans seem to be doing a lot of lately. I would rather see
death benefit the living than to see it being used to destroy. So, as much as I hate what she
did, I respect her and most definitely prefer the interaction with nature’s predators.
In usual fashion, we will rebuild again. We’ll get some chicks (after our fence is complete
of course) and raise them to produce. We’ll hopefully get to spend many years with them
and form new bonds. Perhaps we will name them all Mary, in remembrance of the OGs. As
for Lottie, she will be retiring to a chicken sanctuary where she can live out the rest of her
days in the happiness and safety of a new, larger flock. I will miss her dearly, but she will
not survive winter without the Marys and is not safe in her current situation. She deserves
happiness after all the happiness she has given us.

So, nature wins again as it always will. It’s an important lesson for me to revisit, and one to
teach Scout. I grew up on a farm, so I have lived through many instances like this with
different animals. It’s something that reminds you that we are all just tiny specks on a
planet, with no control and no protection from the consequences of nature. It’s important
to lose in life, so you appreciate life itself. I hope the Marys are living in chicken heaven,
with a plethora of worms to eat and fresh air to breathe. As for us, we’re already there. In
life there are setbacks, but there is beauty in starting over.
RIP Marys. We are so grateful for all you have given us. And as for the Fox, I hope your
babies have full bellies and the feeling of safety. I forgive you.
XOXO
Roslyn