"Let's go turn our chickens loose on this gorgeous day!" I told Eden while unbuckling her carseat straps when we arrived home. They'd been on lockdown for a full week in attempts to protect them from a Cooper's hawk (Sharpshinned??) that has been killing my hens of late. Just a week ago, all in the same day, I lost a hen to a hawk and narrowly saved a second hen from a raccoon by running through the cold, dark woods in my pjs with a flickering flashlight, yelling in my scariest voice. This tactic actually worked, although in the future I'm hoping my soon-to-arrive new solar powered automatic chicken coop door will keep me from having to rely on this as my primary defense against nocturnal prowlers.
It took me a second to figure out what I was looking at as we approached the chicken pen. The fluffy piles of creamy yellow feathers surrounding a motionless mound of dead, semi-devoured chicken was an all too familiar sight. But just under the edge of the chicken house there was something hopping around in an erratic fashion. Another chicken, alive but mangled? Nope, I had surprised the killer at his feast and my presence had him cornered under the chicken house, frantically testing the chicken wire for a way out. In an instant my shock disappeared and the caffeine in my system combined with a sudden surge of adrenaline to create a rage so palpable I felt like I might explode!
Whenever I share my predation frustrations with other humans, the most common response involves jokes about making hawk stew or involving weaponry in the situation. I tend to ignore these comments because this particular solution is not only illegal (all birds of prey are federally protected) and impractical (even if I knew how one goes about hunting hawks, I'm not sure where in my 24/7 schedule of infant care I'd fit it in), it does not jive with my personal moral compass. However, at this particular moment my best self was trampled to the ground by a raving, revenge seeking version of myself I generally keep pretty good control over, and if I had had a shotgun in my hand I would have obliterated that hawk! If I'd had a nuclear weapon at my disposal I would have pushed that red button in an instant and taken the whole east coast down with me just to get that bird!! But, I had no shotgun or nuclear weapon in my hands, only a baby on my hip, and a cellphone.
So, I did the next best thing and called Joe, who was catching up on work at school, and I screamed at him. Well, not at him, but to him. Poor Eden; if her first words are of the four letter variety, this one instance will be the reason why. Joe, who I'm pretty sure has meditated every last scrap of crazy revenge seeking self out of his psyche, listened patiently and responded empathically. He was very understanding, but he suggested I have a heart-to-heart with the hawk. Hardly the wrathful justice I was wanting to wield, but I didn't have many options. The only thing keeping the hawk cornered was my presence, and there was no one else but Eden around. I squatted down to get a closer look at my enemy. I could see I wasn't the only one hopped up on adrenaline. "Good" my rage-self said, "maybe he'll die of a stress induced heart attack!" My better self was in awe of his wildness and beauty. And my incredulous self still can't believe such a little bird is killing chickens almost twice it's size!
My better self gave it a shot at understanding the hawk's need for sustenance and reminded it that the woods were full of squirrels and rabbits which I had no personal investment in. Then I tried to get a couple of photos, nearly impossible given my jittery hands and a jittery hawk. I held my ground for as long as I could, really hoping this particular hawk would decide a few chicken mcnuggets aren't worth all this stress, but it was past lunchtime, and no amount of standing there being mad will make a dead chicken come back to life. When I had backed far enough away that the hawk felt he had a window, he flew with a high pitched whistle up into a pine tree and looked down on me for a second before disappearing into the woods.
When Joe got home and took over with Eden, I removed the dead hen from the pen and finally took the time to spread some netting over the top of the pen. I was kicking myself because I'd bought this netting almost a year ago and could have prevented this particular incident if I'd been proactive about installing it. Hopefully now the chickens will be safe from aerial predators when they're in the pen. As for when they are free ranging, which is an uncompromising chicken-quality-of-life point for me, I can only hope that hawk is perched somewhere taking our heart-to-heart to heart. My other hope is in a new generation of chickens I'm going to add to my now puny two hen, two rooster flock this summer. After much research, I'm opting for breeds that are billed as being "quick and alert". You gotta stay on your toes around here!
There's not much of an end to this story. It's merely a chapter in my ongoing saga to find a way to make it all work, to be creative and find solutions in-line with my better self, even when the quick fix solution seems most gratifying in the moment. The photo I've attached is grainy, but zoom in for a better look.
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