Devastation

I am writing this as a form of catharsis, having just come into the house from the devastation of a fox ransacked hen run. We had been busy in the garden all day and Richard was the last one in at about 8pm. We ate supper and then I went out again – to see a chicken wandering around the orchard (instead of inside her hen run). I called Richard and we stood watching her for a few minutes laughing because she had escaped from the run and looked completely bemused. In fact she was in shock.

As Richard went over to herd her back into the run I saw a movement in the field to my left. Thinking it was a deer I went to look – and saw a fox running along the outside of the run with a chicken in his/her mouth. It was probably a vixen in fact as at this time of year they are working hard to feed their cubs. We then realized that the run was ominously silent.

Richard went back to the house to get a bin bag and I put on my wellies. I tried to give him a hug when he came back with the bag, but he said don’t – far better to get it over with without emotion.

We walked round the run collecting bodies. There were tragedies and some consolations. We collected lots of bodies – including dear Ruby who we had only just put back into the run (ironically to keep her safe) after her failure to hatch any of the eggs she had been incubating in a hidden spot in the garden. We had even clipped her wings to stop her from flying out of it – that probably sealed her fate.  The hens were all still warm and as I picked them up I held them as carefully as I would a live bird, unable to believe that they were gone. Apart from the warmth, there were no signs of life. They had either died of fright or been bitten on the neck.

At one point I found Handsome Henry, our big cockerel. I picked him up and he blinked. He remained motionless, however, as I held him, stroked him and talked to him, so I carried him to the side of the hen house and set him on the ground, hoping he may recover. We continued our search. The grass in the run is long and it is clear that the fox had been everywhere – having fun stalking the hens individually and killing them for entertainment. The fox could have been there for an hour. It saw us go into the house and chose its moment well. No doubt it will be back. Our hen run is now, in its eyes, a cross between an amusement arcade and a restaurant.

Another hen – one of our Araucanas - appeared in the orchard and we found one, possibly two, other Araucanas hiding in the grass (not sure if it was two or the same one at the moment as they were – understandably – hiding and ran away from us as we approached. Then we saw that Handsome Henry had recovered enough to move away from the side of the hen house and take cover in a patch of long grass. Finally ‘Weldy’, our oldest surviving Welsomer, appeared from a flower bed in the garden and, after a lot of persuasion, returned to the run. So it looks like we have two or three Araucanas (the cockerel has gone – which gives us a practical problem in the future), two Welsomers, a little speckledy hen who had had the brains to hide in a nesting box and Handsome Henry our big cockerel.

Bad Boris and his wives are all safe as the fox confined its entertainment to the hen run and Boris and co. have free range of the garden. We also have our chicks and their mothers – two hens and 20 chicks in total. Most of these are little Lavender Pekins but there are 8 chicks which should grow into full sized hens, fox permitting. Because the trouble is, it will be back. We now have a major problem to deal with in terms of protecting the rest of our hens and their chicks for the forseeable future.

This is the second time I have dealt with such extensive devastation in a hen run. The last was on my birthday (May 20th – so the same time of year) a few years ago. We went out for a meal with friends. The hens had not been put away before we set off because it was still daylight and when we came home after midnight every hen was dead. One had been taken for food. The rest had – like tonight – either died of fright or had their necks bitten.

I loath foxes.  I can look at most animals and birds and understand where they fit in the food chain, or in the natural order of things, but the fox is at the top of his particular food chain and takes advantage of the fact. If he simply killed to eat, then that would strike me fair – but to kill harmless creatures for no other reason than because it is fun to do so is wicked. Plainly and simply.

No picture of the devastation to support this blog – obviously. But I have chosen a nice picture of a favourite of ours. He was called Einstein (for obvious reasons) and went to live with our friends Adriana and Jocelyn. Where he was killed by a fox.