🚨 A Fox In the Hen House

Raising chickens is not for the faint of heart.

Among our first steps to homesteading was—like many—backyard chicks. Last spring, Andrew and I adopted six of the cutest baby chicks. They were smaller than a tennis ball when we got them.

We ordered a chicken coop kit, which we modified a fair amount to account for our harsh winters and now includes insulation and three heaters.

Raising chickens—not financially rewarding but rewarding to the soul.

Anyone who’s jumped on the backyard chicken train knows—this is not a money-making scheme. Six chickens hardly lay enough eggs to pay for their feed, and that is before considering the startup costs. Living where we do, we also have to heat the coop in the winter, increasing our electric bill to embarrassing levels.

But the hard work of having baby chicks paid dividends when it came to quality of life. More than that, it became a labor of love. The more time we spent caring for, nurturing, and being with our silly little creatures, the more we enjoyed the fruits of our hard work. Much of our spring and summer downtime is spent in our yard hanging out with the crew.

For the last year, living in a small village with a fenced yard, we had a rather idyllic setup when it came to our chickens. During the day, the chickens were able to run around in our yard pecking at the grass, giving themselves dirt baths (yes, that is a thing), and just generally hanging out with us when we were gardening or relaxing. At night we put them up in the secured part of their coop, And so it went like that.

Perhaps we were too lax; we got complacent. Living where we do, we did not worry too much about predators. Yes, it is a rural community, but we live in a neighborhood. On Saturday morning, tragedy hit. I heard a commotion in our yard shortly after sitting down for cup of coffee. Running out to check on our girls, I caught the fox with one of our chickens in his mouth. I was in complete and utter shock—I loved this little chick and now the fox had killed her. Without going into details of the tragic tale—the morning ended with two fatalities, and my husband in his pajamas with a shotgun in our front yard—unfortunately, we did not get the monster.

Tragedies Destroy Your Peace, But You Must Keep Going.

Sometimes things happen that you cannot plan for, and you are forced to simply react, reduce the damage as much as possible, and regroup hoping and planning to avoid the same catastrophe in the future.

Like a whirlwind, tragedies destroy what was a peaceful existence. Yes, in the moment they create stress, sadness, and a host of other immediate responses. But it’s the afterwards: the days, weeks, months, or years later that the real impact of an unexpected tragedy is felt. The way I feel now about the safety of our remaining chickens? Constantly worried and going on the window every hour to see if the fox returned. Last night we went to let the chickens out of their coop while we supervised and I couldn’t get the worry out of my mind—even while we stood right there protecting them.

As I’ve gone through life, I’ve learned that success means you cannot let tragedy or set back prevent you from evaluating, regrouping, and moving forward. Sure, you shed some tears and take a pause, but then you have to take that challenge head on and plan for it better next time.

In our case, Andrew and I are already planning on increasing our flock by adding some chicks and building a bigger coop. We are looking into reinforcing our defenses through various methods including stronger fencing materials and maybe even using scary solar-powered owls.

For now, I take comfort in what C.S. Lewis believed—that our pets become part of our selfhood and God may recall them to heaven when we get there. RIP my little ones, until we see you on the other side.