"cuz there's nothin' strange about an axe with blood stains in the barn
there's always some killin' you got to do around the farm"
–Murder In The Red Barn, Tom Waits
I awoke last night to the sound of something tearing and the bang of something on a metal roof. I sat up in bed trying to identify the location and cause of the sound. Then I heard the chickens. Chickens are silent in the dark, unless they are nervous or panicked. This sounded like panic.
I got dressed as quickly as I could, and scrounged around for a flashlight, but in the minute it took me to get out to the coop, something had run off with at least one bird, and left feathers and body parts strewn about as if in a tornado zone. I wasn't sure if the killer was still in the coop or not, and I had no idea what I might be faced with if I went inside, so I circled around and tried to get as good a look at the inside of the coop before I went in.
There were two chickens in the fenced in yard. One just sort of standing there in a daze, clearly traumatized, but otherwise unharmed. The other was definitely hurt and not at all mobile.
I went in to the coop. Whatever had been there was gone… along with a good chunk of the bird netting canopy. The birds that got attacked were the ones who have always roosted on the ground. The ones up on rungs were nervous, but fine. I managed to corral the one wandering bird and once I git her inside, I commenced to board up the door that was the entry point for the killing beast. Finished that task and then, satisfied that the birds would be safe for the rest of the night, I found two more dead birds. I scooped up the two Black Australorps… and pocketed an egg that had been set loose during the massacre.
Betty (the white Auracana) watched silently.
In the morning I went out to survey the damage. Betty was still alive, but any hopes I had that she'd be alright were clearly grossly optimistic. One of her legs was dislocated and she had a hole in her back. She tried to move but only got a couple of inches before she gave up.
The other chickens were let out into an adjoining pen that they normally don't get to see. They acted completely normal. Doing what chickens do, scratching and eating sprigs of greenery. Not mourning their sisters in any obvious way.
I cleaned the feathers and gore out of the main yard and took a long hard look at Betty. I would have to "dispatch" her. I went to the shed and started sharpening the axe.
I took a few deep breaths and walked slowly back to the coop. The cat followed. I knelt down by the stricken bird as she squirmed. I placed a gentle hand on her back and ridiculously requested that she relax. She made a slight squawk. I laid her neck out gently with the head of the axe and took another breath. I tried to banish all thoughts of missing, of flailing wings and flying blood. The axe fell. I didn't miss but took a second swing to try and sever the skin that was still attaching body to head. Blood gurgled out onto the dirt and she lay still. But only for a moment. Then the flailing began.
It's a disconcerting thing. Clearly, the head and body were not attached, but one still questions the deadness and the level of suffering. As the falling stopped, a hawk landed on the corner post to get a better look. The cat got very nervous. The hawk, not liking his chances, flew off. I picked up my now pink bird; she jerked one more time. I set her outside the perimeter, picked up a few bloody feathers, shut the gate. I walked up to the garage with Betty dangling by a wing. I threw the carcass in the trash.
In the driveway, I found this:
Pruning shears shown for scale
Related to the chicken massacre? Don't know. Related to the lettuce in Stan's garden? Could be….
"Life on the farm is kinda laid back." –Thank God I'm a Country Boy, John Denver