Made by Hand by Mark Frauenfelder

Author:Mark Frauenfelder [Frauenfelder, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2010-05-06T04:00:00+00:00

THE COYOTES

The chickens had no problem learning the operation of the door. They walked down the ramp when the door opened, and walked up the ramp when it started to get dark. The door closed at 9 p.m., after they’d been inside for an hour or so. They were laying eggs in the nesting box, which I retrieved through a little access hole in the coop wall.

For a week, this arrangement worked without a hitch. Then, one Saturday morning, our life of chicken bliss was shattered. I awoke to the sound of my chickens squawking. I checked the clock: It was 6:15 a.m. That meant the automatic door was open and the chickens were out. Still sleepy, I didn’t think much of their clucks at first. But they kept at it. The sound they were making was unusual. A bad feeling crept over me.

“I’m going to check on the chickens,” I told Carla, who was just starting to wake up.

Outside the dawn light was weak. I saw four chickens standing on the sloped part of the property above the coop. They were standing tall, with their necks straight and long, and were clucking loudly. They all stared at the same spot down the hill. I turned to see what they were looking at. A skinny gray coyote was standing on our side of the fence. I felt a gush of panic and yelled, “Get out!” The coyote scrambled up the chain-link fence and disappeared into the scrubby vegetation of the valley below.

My heart pounding, I looked for the missing two chickens, but I already knew I wasn’t going to find them, at least not alive. I walked down to where the coyote had been standing. Before I got there, I found clumps of black-and-white-striped feathers in the grass. I was surprised by how many there were. Then I saw a chicken slumped against the fence. She was lying upside down, with her legs exposed. One of them had a green cable tie around it. Hazel had been killed. She was the kids’ second-favorite chicken, right behind Ethel. The two of them were the boldest, friendliest, and most inquisitive hens in the flock. I looked around for another chicken body but couldn’t find one.

I went in the house to tell Carla the news. She followed me out, and I explained what had happened. She started crying. I looked at the leg bands of the four surviving chickens: Darla, Jordan, Daisy, and Rosie. That meant that Ethel, the black-banded hen, was gone. I looked around, but there was no sign of her, except perhaps the feathers blowing from one clump of weeds to another. The coyote must have carried her over the fence.

Carla was upset not only because the two chickens had been killed but because she had warned me about the coyotes and had (correctly) believed I hadn’t done enough to ensure the chickens’ safety. She’d told me that she didn’t think the fence was high enough to prevent coyotes from getting over it.

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