It's been a pretty full week.
We had raccoons bust into Ft. Chicken - at this point the security is antiquated and the hackers have figured out the door codes. We should consider upgrading to more modern measures, but, Time, Kids, Time, Other Things That Seem Like More Fun Than Digging Trenches And Laying Chicken Wire Again, and Time. So it probably won't happen.
Imagine this: HOLY GODDAM, IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING WHAT'S THAT NOISE. Ryan dons my very short kimono style bathrobe and wanders into the backyard armed only with a flash light. He goes into the Ft. Chicken, at which point I notice two very large, very frantic animals trying hard to escape the pen. Before I can say, "Dude, your dangly bits and legs and get out before you get scratched," the two animals scamper up the trees in the pen.
So it's HOLY GODDAM IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING. Ryan is in the chicken pen, only nominally dressed, and he's got two raccoons treed. Oh, and he's armed with a flash light.
Don't you wish your life was exciting like mine?
I take clothes out to the back porch for Ryan. He dresses and moves all the chickens into the actual coop and locks it down. (Stupid birds had decided to sleep out of doors. Possibly because they had a opossum that was sleeping with them every night and eating their eggs. Great deal for the opossum, warm snuggly down comforter style bodies to cuddle with and a free continental breakfast to boot! But I would imagine that he snored, or he was a lousy roommate. Or they missed him since we fixed that hole a while back and he had to find a new apartment. But they hadn't gone back into the coup since.) We then open the pen door and go back to bed.
At WHAT THE HELL ITS FIVE FREAKING THIRTY we hear the tell tale squawks of a chicken being murdered.
This time Ryan puts on shorts before grabbing his trusty flashlight and going on out. There's nothing. No raccoons, no carcass, nothing. We assume that one of the birds didn't get put away, or that she managed to wiggle out of the coup and met her untimely end.
Ryan slips back into bed just as Ferris gives his usual, IT'S SIX IN THE MORNING AND I'M AWAKE!!!!! AND I'M BORED!!!!! AND I NEED SNACKS!!!! call.
We had raccoons bust into Ft. Chicken - at this point the security is antiquated and the hackers have figured out the door codes. We should consider upgrading to more modern measures, but, Time, Kids, Time, Other Things That Seem Like More Fun Than Digging Trenches And Laying Chicken Wire Again, and Time. So it probably won't happen.
Imagine this: HOLY GODDAM, IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING WHAT'S THAT NOISE. Ryan dons my very short kimono style bathrobe and wanders into the backyard armed only with a flash light. He goes into the Ft. Chicken, at which point I notice two very large, very frantic animals trying hard to escape the pen. Before I can say, "Dude, your dangly bits and legs and get out before you get scratched," the two animals scamper up the trees in the pen.
So it's HOLY GODDAM IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING. Ryan is in the chicken pen, only nominally dressed, and he's got two raccoons treed. Oh, and he's armed with a flash light.
Don't you wish your life was exciting like mine?
I take clothes out to the back porch for Ryan. He dresses and moves all the chickens into the actual coop and locks it down. (Stupid birds had decided to sleep out of doors. Possibly because they had a opossum that was sleeping with them every night and eating their eggs. Great deal for the opossum, warm snuggly down comforter style bodies to cuddle with and a free continental breakfast to boot! But I would imagine that he snored, or he was a lousy roommate. Or they missed him since we fixed that hole a while back and he had to find a new apartment. But they hadn't gone back into the coup since.) We then open the pen door and go back to bed.
At WHAT THE HELL ITS FIVE FREAKING THIRTY we hear the tell tale squawks of a chicken being murdered.
This time Ryan puts on shorts before grabbing his trusty flashlight and going on out. There's nothing. No raccoons, no carcass, nothing. We assume that one of the birds didn't get put away, or that she managed to wiggle out of the coup and met her untimely end.
Ryan slips back into bed just as Ferris gives his usual, IT'S SIX IN THE MORNING AND I'M AWAKE!!!!! AND I'M BORED!!!!! AND I NEED SNACKS!!!! call.
 |
We did catch both of them, and relocated them to a far away land where there's tons of tasty vittles and way less chickens to traumatize. And we fixed this hole in the fence too. Oh, and bait your raccoon traps with marshmallows, you'll end up with way fewer pissed off housecats. Trust us on this one. Pissed off housecats are way worse to release from the traps then rabid salmonella ridden raccoons. Oh, did I not mention the conversations with local epidemiologist 'cause Ferris caught salmonella from the baby chickens. Very nice lady, but kept saying, "The CDC recommends..." Good times.
|