Fleet foxes, fences & dead poultry

It has been a eventful couple of weeks since I last talked story on here. I have become convinced of the chicken snatcher's identity, all signs point to a fox. 3 more laying hens have disappeared leaving no more trace than a pile of feathers that trails away into the woods. Following the feathers leads me to well worn game trails that lead down to the creek and evaporate into dense forest. I let the dog's noses take in the scent of feathers and death and follow them as they inch forward holding their nostrils inches off the ground wearing the most serious expressions I have ever seen on either of their faces. The scent trails go on for a distance revealing scattered feathers here and there but no blood, no bones or carcasses. The hens have been locked up for nearly every minute of the last two weeks in their coop and exercise yard, growing ever squawkier and more determined to have their freedom after becoming so entitled to free ranging over the farm. Held prisoner by the ever present but never seen threat of death by fox, it becomes more and more frustrating to match wits with something much cleverer than I. Traps have been laid around the woods edge baited with tuna and dog food, a fence constructed around the chicken coop, sniper positions set up with lines of sight to the scene of each chicken theft. The traps sit undisturbed, the fence defeated by the wings of the freedom loving hens and the fox remains stealthy and unseen. I ask around for ideas and am offered things like an electronic call that simulates the sounds a rabbit in distress and the barks of a horny foxette, leaving piles of ground beef mixed with antifreeze out to tempt Mr. Fox to a poisonous end and calling the boys at Wildlife Control who charge $45 for the first visit and $25 more for each visit to check the traps thereafter. I feel like I should be able to solve this one myself, but I can't even lay eyes on the clever bastard. Down to 14 laying hens and 6 month old chicks, I continue to fortify their coop defenses and today finished "roofing" their larger outdoor exercise run for them so they can still enjoy some sunshine, fresh grass and dirt baths. It is "roofed" with bird netting because the fat hens can't stand the sight of the compost pile so near and promising the deliciousness of insects, rotten fruit and old vegetables. So they were doing ninja chicken escapes multiple times a day leading to chasing hens all over the place with my chicken herding stick and catching a clucker determined to be free is an exercise in frustration. So we have them fenced and roofed in until we can solve the fox problem and restore the halcyon days of free ranging chickens we could enjoy watching from the living room and the occasional intrepid hen who would stroll into the house to see what was going on.

At the same time I have been battling the fox to keep my chickens alive, I had been preparing myself mentally for a chicken butchering at my friends William & Marie's Bluebird Farm. I met William through one of the guys in my Lion's Club and came out to his farm for a visit to gain some more knowledge on running a profitable organic operation. He does an organic vegetable CSA along with pigs, lambs, laying hens and meat birds. He mentioned that they would be butchering almost 200 birds soon and I volunteered to help work the slaughter so I could learn how it was done. The night before I started to grow a little nervous and began wondering if I had what it takes to be a chicken killer or if would chicken out. I woke about 5am on Tuesday and made the hour long drive over to Bluebird Farm with a little knot in my stomach that I wasn't quite sure was nerves or the 32 oz. coffee I was swigging. Arriving I saw plastic crates full of the hapless broilers and the gleam of stainless steel tables under a pristine white awning, steam rose up into the chilly morning air from the scalder and gracefully my tension calmed as I came to the realization that this was how all the chicken I had ever eaten got on my plate. I was introduced to the other guys & gals working the butchering, a Peruvian, 3 Mexicans and a Guatemalan. I broke the ice with some bad espanol and William didn't waste any time breaking me in showing me how to load the birds into the killing cones, where the soft spot in their throats is and how deep to draw the knife across their necks. Soon I had slit the throats of 20 or 30 birds, quietly whispering Bismillah each time I slit a throat as my friend James had told me to in order to make the meat halal. I wasn't sure if these birds would ever end up on a Muslim's plate but treating them with holy reverence before their deaths somehow comforted me. The birds still in the crates saw what was happening to their comrades and grew more combative as we pulled them from the crates and loaded them into the killing cones. Soon I was fairly spackled with blood and bird crap and feeling less in my heart with each pull of the knife. I got to load the dead blood drained birds into the scalder and dunk them 7 or 8 times to loosen the feathers before running them through the plucking machine. Eventually I moved over to the table with my fellow latinos and did the fine plucking of the birds by hand before the ladies eviscerated them and dunked them into ice before weighing and packaging them. I had been told to expect to work until 4 or so but we had a fuller crew than usual and worked quickly and efficiently, I learned a lot about killing and myself and got some of the dust off my Spanish too. After a hearty lunch with the crew, I was in the car headed home thinking about a clever title for this post and wondering if my hens would know what I had been up to...

first colors of fall