A Cruel Twist to Bucolic Bliss

This isn't easy to write. It's taken me the better part of two days to be in a calm enough mental state to sit down and process my feelings into real words. 

On Sunday morning my husband and I let 12 happy, yet dopey chickens to explore their new yard. By Sunday night, we could only put 7 to bed. Five of our New Hampshire reds had escaped the yard right before sundown and had been killed by our dogs.  

Look, I know chickens are going to die.  They will more than likely get taken by hawks or another predator. They could die prematurely of some natural cause that we may never discover.  They are livestock that masquerade as pets. 

So what I felt would be misinterpreted by some, as heartbreak. I didn't name those particular chickens. I hadn't studied their unique idiosyncrasies just yet. I couldn't look at a photo and tell you which ones perished and which survived.  

What I felt was frustration. I felt foolish. I felt traumatized. And 90% of those feelings were directed squarely at myself. 

Yes, my husband and I had argued over the need to cover wide openings in the gates. We compromised on covering just the space on the bottom that they could squeeze under. We left the gaps on the top of the gate and where the screws connect the gate to the post.  In hindsight, the chickens could've squeezed OR flown OR shimmied their way out.  

Personally, I think they flew. All the chickens were Reds. The Frizzles are much smaller and none of them escaped. Neither did the chunkier Big Chungus, the Dominicker, who can fly but not nearly as well. Considering we had negotiated for Big Chungus, I am relieved that she was a survivor.  

After an eerily quiet evening, I tried in vain to sleep. Again, not mourning what we lost, but troubleshooting the problem to avoid future losses. At 4 am, I was up for good. Praying and worrying. At 5 am, I made my husband come with me to double check that I had latched my chicken house.  I had. At 6 am, we got up to make our upgrades and repairs.  

At 6:30, I called Papa to come help me clip the remaining Reds' wings.  By 7 am, everyone but Caleb was out in the yard Monday morning quarterbacking and tweaking what could be tweaked.  

Chris and the inlaws denied my request to clip their wings. They then denied my request to keep the remaining chickens at their house. "If they can get out of your yard, they can get out of ours." 

"Yeah, but you don't have four bloodthirsty predators inches outside your gate either."  Another thing I felt guilty about: how stupid are you to get chickens when you have two JRT mixes?  They will find a way to kill them all.  

At 7:30am, I made Caleb bring his Kindle outside and take first watch. He was to make sure the chickens didn't try to escape, and to keep the dogs away if they did.  Macy and I took turns as well. When it was obvious the heat of the day was going to keep them hunkered down, I called of the vigil until evening. 

But I couldn't relax. I had to do some compliance stuff for school, but I panicked every time I heard the gate or a loud cluck.  I avoided all conversations on all media. 

Finally at 3 pm, I passed out. I've been a napper, so that shows how exhausted I was. Finally at 6:30, I sent both kids out, just to check them out.  At 7:15, I piddled away out there until I convinced them to go to bed by 7:40. 

I cannot tell you how much relief washed over me when I was able to put seven chickens to bed. No attempted escapes. No dog threats. Despite the long nap, I fell asleep just fine. 

Of course, I woke up early thinking. Thinking no one would hold vigil today. I made the unilateral decision that the small (viscious) dogs would be staying inside while the chickens were out. They could go out with one of us, but we'd need to double check that the chickens hadn't escaped. All day, my anxiety has slowly seeped away.  I was able to get through the day with few moments of anxiety, even ran an errand or two.  

Thanks for reading, but I've got to go check my chickens. BRB.