Unfortunately, we are in a bit of a pickle because while we
live in the county, we are also within one mile from the city limits and some
houses, people and livestock, so the idea of loading my .22 and picking off
some chucks is out of the question. We
have tried to poison them, but it seems the tablets shoved under the ground
into their dens served as an aphrodisiac because the bastards mated and now we
have a herd of rock chucks! (Herd? Gaggle?)
Keith even ordered an air rifle, but it seems the sight is off a bit and
when they do get hit, they just run away with a limp. Great. Injured rock chucks. And now they are climbing into the chicken
coop and eating the feed like I made them a freakin’ buffet for their breakfast. And poor Keith, I send him pictures and text
messages all day with a updates on how many I see and what they are doing. This obsession has led me to load the live
trap with fresh cantaloupe, hoping to trap them and then relocate them to the
river, where they belong. So I cut up
some fresh fruit and placed some outside the trap and then inside the trap,
hoping they would get a taste of the sweet, juicy melon and then run into the
metal cage and get trapped! Well, I
trapped something this morning and it wasn’t a rock chuck, but a stupid
chicken. Someone else likes cantaloupe
it seems. So “Mission: Rock Chuck” continues… Until
then, you will be able to hear the faint yelling as far down as Road 68 and
Court of me and Taylor yelling “PACK YOUR BAGS, ROCK CHUCKS!”
As for the chickens, they are flourishing. And by flourishing I mean they are shatting
all over my patio, deck and patio furniture.
Each morning I wake up, start my coffee and walk out to the coop to let
their eager chicken butt’s out. They
run, RUN, out, flapping their wings as if they had been tied down all night. Then after a few laps, they go up to the
patio furniture, take a few poops, and settle in for a nice morning nap. Um,
hello. You just woke up! Get out there and eat some earwigs, ants, spiders,
heck, I don’t care, go peck a rock chuck in the eye! Nope, just gonna take a
nap. So after a few hours, they wonder
around the property eating, fighting each other trying to establish a pecking
order and then nap again in some random place like the play toy or
wheelbarrow. I do love them, but man, they poop a lot.
Little Chicken, AKA: Chickie, Runt, Baby Chick, Feathered
Feet, Mary Jane, is doing well. She is growing very fast and is not happy being
cooped up in the Tupperware in our garage.
We have been taking her outside to the coop for the day, but some days
she doesn’t make it out until later in the day.
I feel bad and want her to run with the other girls, but I’m not sure
she is strong enough to withstand a pecking from the big girls quite yet. I
know they will have to do some kind of chicken initiation with some pecking and
maybe some examining of feathers or whatever, but I’m going to keep her separated
for a while longer. I also want to be
sure she is not a rooster. I looked at her for a long time last night, trying
to see if I could see a rooster comb or whatever forming. Ugh. If she is a he, he is out of here. I don’t think she is a he, but we’ll have to
wait and see.
Taylor is loving the birds, especially Baby Chick. He loves to hold her in his lap, but gets
kinda bored and wants to make her chirp really loudly. So to make that happens,
he’ll squeeze her. Then he might throw
her to watch her fly. He also love to
feel her beak and look at her eyes. Poor
chick. But at least she’s not someone’s
dinner, so I don’t feel too bad.
Speaking of predators, we have some foxes living around our
house. My neighbor has lost a few chickens (and I found a rooster’s head in my
driveway-sick!) and our other neighbor has seen a coyote. This makes me so
nervous. I hate rock chucks, but fox and
coyotes are a different type of (scary) nuisance. We will continue to watch our birds and keep
them locked up when the sun goes down. I
will not deal with a murder of chickens very well. Ick.
Until next time…
