bye bye birdies

So. I've been working up to being able to write this for the last 4 days or so now, but first I had to filter through the outrage, the anger, and the terrible sadness. Friday morning our chicken flock was wiped out by some neighborhood dogs. We no longer have an egg problem. Friday morning I got up and started getting the girls up for the day, and I heard a howl from the side of the house the chicken coop is on, and looked out the window in time to see two dogs coming out of the chicken coop. Not good. I ran out to the coop, but it was too late. They had obviously had quite a bit of fun tossing the chickens around. At first glance, all of them were dead. It was horrible. I chased the dogs out of the coop and tried to assess the damage, but I was crying too hard at that point. So I went inside and called Davey and semi-coherently tried to sob out what had happened. I think all he managed to understand was that something had happened to the chickens. (Clearly I am not a calm person in a crisis. I should work on that.) I went out to the coop a little while later, after having a good cry, and reassessed the damage. Of 22 chickens, there were 9 still breathing and in various states of shock and injury. As of today, only 3 of those 9 are still alive, with one still questionable. My 4 baby Ameracaunas that I was so excited about were in the 19 killed. So was Pretty Girl, my pet Speckled Sussex. I understand that (with the exception of Pretty Girl, who was NOT for eating) all of these chickens were going to die at some point. And I was ok with them eventually ending up in the soup pot. And we've lost chickens to dogs before. But something about this massive slaughter just felt too awful. I guess because the chickens were in their home, where they should have been safe. The coop and the attached chicken run were intended to protect them from things like this, and clearly failed to do so (it looks like the dogs dug their way into the run). Plus, I'm all mommy-fied and soft now, with the hormonal need to protect everything I can remotely imagine needs mothering and nurturing. Maybe putting chickens in the soup pot is going to be harder than I thought. One thing is for sure. Since moving to the farm, we've become a lot more familiar with death. Ducks, chickens, a cow, even pets. And so far, none of them have died to feed us, except for a couple of squirrels, which didn't feed us much, and I sincerely hope will never have to feed us again. Blech. Anyway. I hope that this gets easier. And I hope that we get better at this whole farming thing. It feels like we've got a lot to learn. That we learn it at the expense of animals' lives makes the lessons costly, but ultimately memorable. For example, we now know that baby cows need wormer; and that ducks have a much better survival rate when you've got a mean ol' African Grey goose around to defend them. And I have a feeling we'll be learning a better way to build a chicken run really soon. So. Now we get to begin rebuilding our flock. We wanted to sort of mix the flock up a bit, and bring in some different breeds, we just intended to eat the chickens we culled out. And maybe take our time with it. For better or worse, the job was done for us. So, once we fix up the chicken run, it's time to start buying some new chicks. Fortunately the Mennonite Animal Market in Delano is at the end of this month. Something to look forward to!