First a little backstory.
My clucking chickens have been happy and healthy. As we waited for the first egg (my girls are Brahmas that are great producers but take longer than average to begin production), we noticed a bit of a problem in the pecking order. Yes, it’s a thing.
One little girl was being bullied. She was one of the latest bloomers and didn’t enjoy the morning advances (!!) of the very aggressive rooster. His name (blush) has been Pecker since he was a little chick and we thought he was just a rude girl who constantly pecked at his sisters.
Our little hen stayed in the coop all day, every day, too scared to venture out and play with everyone. She also has always been the one to hang around the humans. She didn’t mind being held or petted and thus, stayed by our feet. When the bullying started, we brought her to her own area of the yard to range alone and safe and named her Moxy hoping that she would live up to her name. Hey, it worked for Pecker!
Three days ago, we found this beauty in the coop!
And the next day, two more, and then two more after that!
As the egg laying began, so did the idea of perhaps allowing the mean, scary bully of a rooster to grace the center of our Thanksgiving table rather than just bullying our layers.
We balked. Maybe it was the process. Maybe we just had some guilt.
Glad we did.
This morning we woke to find Moxy and one of her sisters slain in the coop by a Canadian weasel. These nasty little creatures are a chicken farmer’s worst enemy. They eat eggs. They eat just chicken necks. They can squeeze into tiny spaces. Not sure how or when he got in, but the hunt is now on.
Pecker’s feet are bloody. He did his job the best he could and perhaps saved the rest of the flock. Good job, buddy. I forgive you.
This girl thought she was going to be chopping Pecker’s head off quite gleefully this week. Turns out that head will be a smaller and more weasely variety.
My husband glanced out the window and *happened* to see the weasel. Justin was stationed outside hoping for a chance.