Another chicken went missing today. That’s three in a month. This time it was an Easter Egger. Her name was Ginger. She never even got a chance to lay eggs – she was only four months old.
Her (presumed) death is a mystery. There was a hawk circling nearby earlier today, but I watched it leave, and generally the chickens are too nervous to go out in the open when there’s a hawk about.
At around 7:00PM, I decided to go check to see if Ginger had somehow reappeared. She had not. But an opossum had appeared in the tool room – hiding in a back corner. Could he/she have been our predator? Very likely. Either way, he (I’ll assume it was a he) had eaten the kitty’s food and knocked over his water bowl. Were it not enough of an offense for a predator to even set foot on our property, tampering with the Whiz Chiz’s food is a crime with only one punishment.
I fashioned a homemade bayonet by duct-taping a machete to a pole, and released my inner Rambo, complete with primal screams. When he was too wounded to do anything but play dead, I dragged him outside and shot him in the head. Twice.
Don’t. Touch. My. Chickens.
You may think me cruel for punishing the creature when I had no proof of his guilt. To that, I say: If he killed my chicken, he received his due reward; if he did not kill my chicken, I saved the life of one he might soon have killed. None are innocent.