Foxy

I was sitting at my kitchen table this morning checking e-mails and thinking of blogging when out of the corner of my eye I detected movement out of the window . I saw the red-blond colored back of a medium dog-like animal moving so quickly I could barely track it. Not a Fisher as previously thought. Adrenalin kicked in. Reddish-Blond,  and fast. It was very close to the house and my chickens were currently free ranging it nearby! Only one thing it could be. A fox.

 I jumped up and slid my bare feet into the closest boots which happen to be my father-in-law's size 12 old rubber boots that somehow got left here. I grabbed the bowl of leftover popcorn from the night before (my chicken's favorite meal, next to Styrofoam, but that's another story) and ran outside.

Of course we were having a heatwave and the chickens were busy dust bathing and trying  to stay cool so were quite oblivious to the bloodthirsty predator near by. I called and they would not be lured. Eventually by leaving a trail of popcorn all but one of my 12 chickens followed me into their coop. I grabbed the big fishing net from the wall and sought out the last chicken.

I love animals but there always seems to be one chicken in every flock that goes her own way, won't follow her rooster and won't be caught or come when called. In short the asshole of the flock. Sorry, but there it is. I love my chickens and treat them very well but I have to call an asshole when I see it and that chicken is an asshole. I have spent more time and energy chasing that chicken around trying to save it's life than on all other chickens combined.

 I spent forty minutes chasing that hen towards the coop and when I finally got her near the door, went to open it, she let out a squeaky clothesline screech that of course lured the rooster and his entourage out to see what the commotion was. I admit it. I lost it. I threw a little hissy-fit, cursing and stomping and there may even have been a tear but then I got back to it with a big sigh. It didn't take too much shooing to get them back in and when I got the final one in it was a huge victory. I shut the door, went around to the shed and grabbed my ax.

I ran up near the woods by my house glonking along in the big rubber boots, a tank top, sun glasses and carrying an ax, hunting that fox. Yes I realize this was ridiculous but sometimes you just go with it and it is only later you realize how ridiculous you are. Shockingly I didn't catch the fox and I don't really know what I expected to do if I had caught it. Sometimes life is about surviving the day, and chasing the fox, but not about catching it. Oh and maybe it's all about the boots.