Local Food meets the Local Food Chain

I knew I should have put a wire cover over the chicken yard. But after nine months fenced under some apple trees our eight happy hens seemed immune — immune to the wild uncertainties looming in the adjacent pinons and sagebrush. Sure we kept them locked in a sturdy coop at night, but otherwise they were outdoor birds. Bears and bobcats, coyotes and weasels all haunt the property, but because of the llamas that live right next to the chickens it seemed that none of these wily predators were interested  (llamas are great guard animals).  At least not until the onset of deep winter. Over the past week Gwen’s dad (Big John) had noticed the bobcat patrolling the area more brazenly and in broad daylight. She always patrols the area, but usually in those crepuscular hours when few are awake to notice. Those midday recons were a sign, but I failed to make sense of it.

December was cold, and Big John had been keeping the llamas close to the barns (and the chicken yard) rather than turning then out into an icy pasture. But on New Year’s Eve he let them out for a few hours, and the bobcat made her move. After months of watching our layers cluck and strut about she hopped the fence and wreaked havoc. Four of the more level-headed birds huddled into a corner, and by luck, Providence, or proximity they were spared. But that bobcat was hungry, and she made short work of the others. A Buff Orpington head served as an appetizer, followed by quick killing bites to the other three. She probably would have gotten them all but Big John was coming out for the llamas and must have spooked her. When he walked past the yard he noticed the four survivors, still paralyzed in the corner. And when he stopped to investigate he found three of the others (including the headless one). But the cat had already made off with one of her victims. Interestingly she selected the biggest Brahma hen in the flock, a bird that weighed close to 8 pounds. The average female bobcat tips the scales at a mere 20 pounds, and our raider needed to make a 4 foot vertical jump up and out of the enclosure with that lunker in her mouth. That is a hell of a jump! Imagine yourself leaping straight up 12 feet with a 70 pound emu in your mouth and you’ll see my point.

We kept the four survivors locked in their coop the next day but we could see bobcat tracks all over the surrounding snow. Our tawny cat friend now had a taste for chicken. It was time to find the survivors a new home and reassess our fortifications for next year. Surprisingly all four of the gals laid eggs that next morning. I had assumed the stress of the day before would set them back a few days, but no. And there were four more the next day as well. Not bad for mid-winter with wild predators! In the end our friend Jim in town adopted them into his backyard flock. He already has 8 layers AND he has a St. Bernard/Akita mix that protects the flock day and night. (Don’t ask me why the dog doesn’t eat the birds like jalapeno poppers– but he doesn’t.) After a couple of days of social revisioning a new pecking order was established and the gals are happily laying away in their new home. As a bonus, Jim works at the local organic grocery and supplements them with surplus produce every few days.

We are sure going to miss those fresh eggs. The gals offered up 2-3 dozen a week, more than enough for our two households. And they were delicious eggs — eggs that taught us what real eggs should look and taste like. I’ll have to mooch off Jim and Seth and others for the rest of winter. And next summer I will endeavor to build a better enclosure for a new flock of hens. But I cannot resent the wild lesson we have received from our bobcat friend. Despite my attachment to those hens (my first) I love the bobcat too. Her stealthy dawn patrols, her incredible golden-russet coat, her agility and raw power — these things have inspired us since we moved into this place. And she too is a farm worker of sorts, keeping the rabbits and ground squirrels in check and thereby protecting our garden and the legs of our llamas. Losing the chickens was my fault, not hers. Afterall a chicken looks a lot like a grouse (albeit a huge, fat grouse) and bobcats certainly eat grouse! So in the end I say “buen provecho wild feline — I hope you enjoyed the meal.”

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