Our small farm has been plagued over the past year by filthy scoundrels of all sorts: cats, coons, and coyotes. (Also possums, but I didn’t want to interrupt the alliteration.)
The dirty thieves have been making off with egg and chick alike.
We’ve nabbed a few of the wily intruders, such as a couple of cats and a few possums, rest their souls. But the one critter yet to be whipped is the infamous coyote.
Those rascals have made several appearances over the past several months, with us never even knowing they were there until we looked out the window.
The first time we saw one, it was just standing there outside the window, looking for the weaker prey item.We chased after it (anyone who‘s ever tried to nab a coyote knows how that usually goes), but to no avail. We may have hit him on the run with our small-arms fire, but if we did, it didn’t show. The next time we saw one, it was making off with a small chicken in the front yard. It too got away.
About a week ago, my Dad was casually going to and fro outside when a commotion of clamoring chickens startled him. Sure enough, running right for him was a hen being chased by a coyote. Not wanting to leave the chicken to be eaten, instead of running inside to get a gun, he rushed towards the coyote. The old song-dog saw him coming towards him and casually trotted away; that’s a bad sign.
That coyote should have darted away instead of trotting.
Oh well, the more brazen they are, the easier it will be to drop them.
The next time such a haughty mongrel appears, he will be met with the resounding clash of arms.
Check back for updates.