Got 'im!

Hah! I got that little bastard who was after my chickens. And do you know it took another poaching for idiot me to finally resolve the problem? Yes, I'm dumb.

I got a pair of Dutch bantams and put them in a cage that I thought was varmint-proof.

WRONG!

My predator killed the hen and got her out out of the cage. He even ate her right there and left the feet and wings for me. Lovely.

Angry? I was ang-REE! It was Sunday and I stomped into the house and told Evil Genius Husband that I was going right then to buy a trap.

I paid $60 (that I do not have) for the damned thing, baited it and put it out. I was really torn in the store because the trap was a small one (7x7 I think) and I was afraid that a 'coon or a big possum just wouldn't fit in. But the next size up was $15 more and whatever this thing was had gotten into my coop through a hole no biggeer than 6x6. I also figured that it would take a few nights to catch him.

Wrong about that too.

The dogs kicked up a row right after it got good and dark and I checked the trap. Sure enough, a big racoon was wedged in there like a foot in a too small shoe. Huzzah!

I left the trap out, baited with catfood, just in case I had another visitor. It's been empty every night since but I noticed that last night something had pawed away the pine needles in front of the trap - obviously trying to get to the food - so tomorrow I might have a tale of a new capture.

The Burrow

The farmhouse that we live in was built in 1886. It's a classic Poor Folks's Victorian. Originally two up and two down, with a detatched kitchen (typical of the time) that was beside and a bit behind the main house and connected by a long porch. It was not originally a big or grand house. It was built by a farmer for his young family.

The porch has long since been closed in as a hall and a small "grandmother's room". There's the original porch across the front (with a tiny bit of gingerbread) and, again, a part of it was closed in at some point to make a room. The house was slowly growing.

The house was built by a family named Amick, was eventually and unfortunately abandoned by them, held some squatters at one point, and was finally rediscovered in the 60s - literally falling to the ground - by a couple who set to restoring it. They (mostly she) slaved over details and brought it back to it's simple beauty. They raised their children here as they worked.

Then, after everyone was grown and gone, and the couple grew older, it inevitably got to be too much. So they sold the house.

Two families lived here between the Blessed Restorers of the house and us. Each family made some changes - some more grotesque and misguided than others.

Next time: The Family Room or did they just not care??

Blue -vs- Predator

All right, operation Get That Little Bastard is underway.

I went out to the coop to let the chickens out yesterday and two -count 'em TWO - of my hens were inside, dead! I was sooooo angry. The whatever-it-was didn't even eat the second one.

So I spent the late afternoon nailing boards and stapling and cutting wire. I put up wire everywhere! I even jammed wads of old chicken wire into every teeny little hole that I thought was big enough for a rat or a snake. The largest holes I have in the coop now are right in the front, at the very top, under the eave. I had put 2x4 wire over the 6inch tall, 4 foot wide opening that I'd left for ventilation. If the whatever-it-is can clamber up there and get through a 2inch by 4 inch opening then have the strength and energy to kill an adult sex-linked hen ... well, my hat's off to it.

And I'll be out there with the nails and the wire again. *sigh*