Double murder

In the midst of spring renewal and new life, we are heartbroken over the deaths of Nadia and Gracie. A mink—probably the same one I saw at the creek last week—wriggled under the cage of the Home of the Chicken where there was a gap between the plywood wall and the soil ridge next to the garden. The enclosure we intended as a refuge ended up being a trap. By the time Hilda discovered him, both chickens were dead.

The last happy days of Nadia and Gracie. See the gap between the plywood and the sod?

I knew minks and chickens were not a good mix, but I never thought a mink would be so bold as to come after the hens in broad daylight. I thought they girls would be safe in their coops during the danger of the darkness. The hens from Coop 2 had been able to run away when the mink came. Poor Nadia and Gracie.

Hilda told me as soon as I got home. “Sit down,” she said. I’d seen Dad making supper in the kitchen, so I knew he was still alive. She explained what had happened that afternoon. I was stunned, I guess. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. Gracie in particular was my little buddy ever since I saved her life when she almost died of pasty butt as a chick. In the early days, she waited in the coop for me after all the other hens had run out in the morning. I would pick her up and pet her, then put her on the floor and shoo her out so I could do the chores. She was so funny and goofy. She crossed her feet when she ran. It was hilarious.

More recently, we saved Nadia from being pecked to death. We contemplated having them butchered before we decided to try the enclosure idea. They had just recovered their feathers and started to lay, and now this. At least they probably didn’t suffer. I’m sure the mink was every bit as efficient a killer as our butcher.

Thursday night at dusk, I went out to shut and latch the door of Coop 2. When I saw the empty Little Red Hen Barn and run, the sadness welled up in me and burst forth in great sobs. As much as I hate the headache that invariably follows, I was relieved to finally have the good cry that I knew was coming.

As the days have passed, I’ve come to accept the loss. It was hard to not keep going over what we should have done differently. We could have kept them in the upper run. We could have even let them use the big coop and the whole run. I always felt a little guilty about the tiny space they had in the Home of the Chicken. We could have dug in the plywood around their cage by the garden better. We could have electrified the fence around the garden. But we didn’t. And they’re gone. And that’s all there is.