Instinct Part I

I stepped out the back door with the intent of gathering firewood from the dwindling pile when I heard the call of a pileated woodpecker. Instinctively, I stopped and moved my gaze to see if I could locate the big redhead in the woods. There it was, high up on the side of a dead ash tree, no doubt getting a meal on this cold and dreary day. Then my gaze was drawn down to another sight; a bright white spot in a sea of gray. “Aww C’mon!” I said when I realized the white was one of my hens, lifeless and still, in the jaws of a molting red fox. The fox looked at me, dropped the bird, and ran off. I stood on the back porch and considered my next move.

I managed to have this flock for an entire year without a fox attack and now this was the second hen this month to be taken (last week Big Red had gone missing without a trace but now my suspicions were confirmed). Experience has taught me that once the fox knows a tasty meal is available then he will come back; making this place his personal McDonald’s drive-thru. My limited knowledge of red foxes has me believing that the perpetrator is a male with a family to feed. After all, April is the time of year when there are fox dens filled with doting vixens and their adorable kits. They rely on the dog of a father to go out and provide for them. Knowing this made my decision for me. I didn’t go and get the gun. I didn’t go and remove the dead hen. I decided to hide and wait.

A hungry fox always comes back for its prey. ALWAYS. So if I wanted to kill him it would have been easy. But I didn’t want to do that. That would have been the reactive thing to do, but somehow knowing there is probably a family out there relying on the food he hunts made it easy for me to do nothing more than observe. But before I grabbed my binoculars I made sure the other hens were alive and well. One by one they came out of the horse barn. Well, at least five of them did. Little Old Biddy was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t too concerned. She’s the smartest hen I’ve ever known and the sole survivor of numerous other past attacks.

Fox loves hunting chickens on rainy days. The property is quiet because I’m not out working and the lazy hens stay close to their coop. It is so much easier to nab a fat, flightless chicken than it is to catch a rabbit or squirrel. How can you blame the fox for seizing the opportunity? How do you not admire the cunning? With my coat on and binoculars around my neck, I waited for Mr. Fox to return. I can’t tell you how long it took for him to circle back around for his loot. It couldn’t have been long because I had not gotten cold enough to go back inside to stoke the fire. But what happened during those minutes was wonderful.

The fox was gone. Well, he was out of my sight at least. The dead hen lay in the woods. The other hens mulled cautiously around the front yard. I stood motionless on the edge of the front porch. From that vantage point, I could keep an eye on the yard, the coop, and the lump of white feathers, and easily spot the fox when he decided to approach (he would be expecting me at the back of the house). As I was thinking about how I was going to handle this current upset a crow flew across the yard and perched in a tree directly above the carcass. It caw cawed. I thought, “ Hmm… Someone is claiming lunch. Okay, Crow, I can use an extra set of eyes and if he doesn’t come back you can help yourself.”

I stood and watched and waited. My focus went from the crow to the hen and then back to the crow. I scanned the property line. Where was the fox? Then the call came from the crow. Gray squirrels started to chitter and chatter. Then I saw the four goats snap their heads up from their hay pile. The geese at the pond all lifted their heads and turned in the same direction. Something was happening and I was certain the fox was approaching from the opposite direction from whence he left. I was correct. He silently trotted through the grassy field that lies between the pond and the woods. He cautiously approached the hen, ignoring the complaints of the crow, and snatched up his meal.

Now if I was looking to exterminate him it would have been easy. The plump hen proved difficult to maneuver over all the fallen branches that litter the woods. Mr. Fox was not making the clean getaway he had anticipated. His lack of slyness caught the attention of the otherwise oblivious hens. They ran to the wood line squawking and then thought better and fled back to the safety of the yard. I lifted my binoculars so I could get a better view of his clumsy chicken extraction. He must have noticed my movement because when I finally focused on him I was looking straight into his eyes. I stood frozen. He was the first to move. He managed to retreat a few more yards and then dropped his bounty. What was he doing? I watched as he bit at the hen. He wasn’t eating her. He was removing feathers. He wanted to get a better grip. When he was able to comfortably hold her in his jaws he proudly trotted off through the field and up the hill to the woods behind the neighbor’s house. I lowered my binoculars knowing full well that this wasn’t the last I’d be seeing of him.

I learned long ago to accept that this is part of having free-range chickens. (Now, that is not to say that I will welcome Mr. Fox with open arms.) I chastised myself for being lackadaisical about guarding my hens this past year but quickly resolved to be more proactive moving forward. My first task was getting the girls into the coop. Fortunately, they love their dried mealworm treats so a shake of the bag got them running straight toward me. Once they were cooped and enjoying their treats I headed off to find Old Biddy. Just as I expected she was safe and hiding. She was hanging out in the feed room of the horse barn waiting to be carried back to the coop. I lifted her and examined her - not a single feather was out of place. As we walked back across the yard I had this sense that we were being watched. I stopped and peered towards the woods. There he was, coming back for seconds, but I had permanently closed the drive-thru. He turned around and ran for the hills.

I suppose this occurrence should have made me angry and desiring retribution. But I have no want to punish the fox because he didn’t act out of malice or greed, but out of necessity. The fox can’t be expected to know better. The fox doesn’t understand the rules of propriety. He is a wild animal living by instinct; a predator killing to survive. The hens just make it easier for him to avoid starvation. No matter how unhappy losing a chicken makes me I cannot label a fox as evil because being evil would require him to violate a moral code. Honestly, I can't judge him or any other animal as I would a human. However, now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t help but wonder about the mindset of my fellow man…..

Photo credits: Sue at Back Yard Biology bybio.wordpress.com/2014/05/17/red-fox-running