Yesterday evening we were sitting at the table, eating cookies and goat milk, when all of the sudden we heard a ruckus outside. From where the table sits in the dining room, we can see out into the fenced dog yard well. Just beyond that are two bulky oak trees and a long row of brush another eight feet out. The brush hides the easement driveway and neighbor’s house from our view.
All of our chickens burst into a fit and ran like hell down the little path behind the garage that leads to the brush along the easement driveway. Colonel O’Neill, our rooster, stood watch like a miniature, feathered crossing guard. We all jumped out of our chairs, obviously sensing that something must be wrong, and looked out the window for clues.
Trevor took Hänsel out the front door figuring that whatever predator was threatening the chickens must still be out front. Sure enough, it was. A Red-tailed hawk had one of our Speckled Sussex hens pinned to the ground going for a the throat. I suspect that Hänsel didn’t bark at the perp because he didn’t see any real difference between a red hawk and a red chicken.
It only took a second to realize that our BB gun was out of… wait for it… BB’s. Of course it was. We “shoo’ed” the hawk away as best as someone could and it sat in the pine tree above us waiting to finish the chicken off. I inspected the hen, but couldn’t find any wounds or blood. Phew!
The hen looked absolutely dead one second and then pooped her pants and ran off the next. She seemed a bit wobbly for a minute, but when I called and coaxed all the chickens around the house and into the coop, they all stayed by my side. By the time we reached the coop, I couldn’t tell which of the four Speckled Sussex hens was the one who was attacked.
With a severe lack of appropriate weaponry, we chased the hawk off with the garden hose. Real tough, we are.