The Spess Gang and most of my Small Town World is in mourning this week.
Remember when I told you about Dad’s chickens? He loves those babies! He’s had a ton of fun, raising them and figuring out the best way to keep them.
He shared a ton of eggs. He shared with his kids (yay!) his employees and friends.
At first, the eggs were itty-bitty, but they got bigger. Much bigger.
Dad and his wife discovered if the chickens got to range a little in their yard, they’d eat some green growing things and make the eggs even better and more nutritious.
So the other morning he turned his hens out to forage–all twenty-nine of them–and went inside to eat breakfast and get ready for work. A while later, he went out to put them back inside as he left for work when he saw something that didn’t belong.
A four legged critter with a furry tail. Coyote! She had chicken dinner for breakfast.
When he got to the scene, he found one dead hen, a pile of feathers and 12 hens sitting in the trees and other hard to reach places. Since one scrawny coyote probably couldn’t eat that many chickens, Dad figures there was a whole gang of them. (I’ve been told coyotes run in packs, not gangs, but I think street terminology fits here.)
One hen did limp home the next day, but that’s it. Only thirteen hens, and somewhere, not far away, a pack/gang/gaggle of really fat coyotes.