The other night I was watching TV and sipping a cold one, or maybe it was a glass of wine... I don't know. Thing 3 was playing computer or video games in his room, and the other Things were at swim practice.
I heard a scream outside, so I did what any mother would do, I yelled to my youngest child and told him that he better get out and close in the chickens because I heard something.
Thing 3: "What did you hear?"
Me, "I dunno, a scream I think."
Thing 3: "A scream?"
Me: "Yeah, you better check it out."
See, I'm a prime candidate for mother of the year, don't you think?
A few minutes later Thing 3 runs in the house with a pool cue stick in his hand.
"Mom, Mom, Mom, there are dead chickens everywhere! I saw something with glowing eyes that looked like a cat."
"Shit", says mom.
"Could be a bobcat", I theorized.
Thing 3 handed me a weapon, the second pool cue, and we both went out. Mind you, these are not full size sticks, they are for the mini table we got for Thing 3 last Christmas.
Outside it was awful. There were feathers and dying birds everywhere. It was heartbreaking. Nice, young, productive hens in their prime, laying there, some of them still breathing, some of them reflexively moving. Sickening.
I went into the coop where the damage was done. There were two birds in there that looked like they might be dead. I picked up one and it screamed in pain. It violently tried to get away from me. I put her into a nesting box and wondered if she would be alive in the morning. There was another bird in similar condition which I decided to leave alone. They were in shock. All the other birds were extremely quiet and sitting up on roosting poles.
It was dark out there, too. We had one flashlight and Thing 3 was walking around looking at the damage. He called me over.
"Mom, look."
Thing 3 was standing about 10 feet from the old trampoline. The trampoline has been decimated by the Arizona sun and needs to be taken apart and disposed of. It used to have a net enclosure, so it has tall poles that extend high in the air that were to support the enclosure. On top of one of the poles there was a great horned owl perched, watching us.
Whoa. Creeeeeepy! Creepy, yet amazing and magnificent. It was as if he was deciding if he should defend his kill, or as if he was proud that he did so much damage. He wasn't the least bit intimidated and he was staring right back at us.
Thing 3 has a temper, like his mom, and he was mad about his chickens, so he made a mean sound like an angry cat. With that, the owl turned and flew away. I would have liked to look him over a little longer... but at least we knew hoo did the damage. (heh, heh, sorry about that.)
The owl was HUGE! It was at least two feet tall, and when it flew its wing span had to be three feet wide! As I thought about it, we were probably lucky to get a good view of him so close.
Then our clean up began. I couldn't stand the thought of the predators returning and scavengers coming. The poor birds had been through enough terror for the night.
I found one glove in the darkness. I grabbed an empty feed bag from the trash and began collecting the dead. A couple of times I found birds that were still alive, so I picked them up by the head and spun them around a few times to make sure their necks were broken. Believe me, I didn't enjoy this. I was operating like a machine. I tried to not think, just do. I didn't want them to suffer any more, that's all.
In all we lost seven birds. One of them was
Gimpy, which was a bit of a blessing because she had a hard life. The other birds had not allowed her to eat or drink, so she had to sneak for meals and water when the other birds were out foraging.
Carrying the bag to the garbage was hard. The bag was heavy and I could feel and hear movements in the bag. I even stopped and dumped the birds out to make sure that there wasn't a live bird in there. Best as I could tell, the movements were reflexive.
I carried the bag to the trash, threw it in, and walked into the house. I felt shell shocked.
Thing 3 felt bad. He felt responsible because he is supposed to go out and close them in when it is getting dark. As time has passed we have been more and more lax about securing them. This time we paid the price. I felt sick to my stomach and didn't care to watch TV or anything. Ugh.
I told Thing 3 that what is done is done. Regret and guilt are futile. All that we can do when something we do, or don't do, causes damage is to move ahead and learn from our mistakes. Good advice for any regret, isn't it? What point is there to feel guilty and regret? It serves no purpose unless it brings a lesson and that we learn.
I told Thing 3 that we needed to learn. I was telling myself as much as telling him. We needed to remember that our chickens are helpless creatures and that they depend on us to keep them safe. My intent was not to make Thing 3 feel guilty, but to say aloud what we all needed to learn from our "pain" and regrets. I also told him that we were probably lucky that we got to see such an amazing creature, the great horned owl, so close. Because, even in the worst of circumstances, isn't there something good that comes of it, even if it doesn't
feel good?
We spent the rest of the evening researching great horned owls. We learned a lot.
The next day we discoverd that the screaming bird in the coop was alive. She appears to have a broken leg.
That was not the only carnage last week. I'll share that another time.
