Well…
It was bound to happen eventually. Something got one of the chicks yesterday afternoon. We didn’t notice it yesterday, the birds went into the coop last night on their own accord, we came out and closed things up like normal – albeit a little later than normal as I didn’t realize Shannon had let the chickens out, so they didn’t get closed up until almost 9:00… This morning when she opened up the door – out comes mama, but only two chicks followed. Shannon looked all over the place… there’s no sign of feathers, or anything else that might indicate a struggle of some variety, it’s just gone. No peeping, no noise, no way anything could have gotten it last night while they were roosting…
We’re leaning in the direction of a hawk or something, yesterday sometime… just ‘pluck’ and gone… There were no peeps from random places in the yard, so it’s definitely gone… it’s a bummer though, and you can’t help but feel a smidgen of failure as their protector. Granted… I’m not their mother, I’m not even a chicken… but I still feel some responsibility for these little babies, yet in a broad stroke of irony, I am also ultimately responsible for putting them in the stew pot when their usefulness is past…
It’s interesting the dichotomy between caretaker and butcher… feelings on one hand, apathy and cold-heartedness on the other. I’m finding it’s a somewhat difficult line to walk…
Little House on 17th Street 