This morning around 7:45 am -- in other words, broad daylight -- I heard a commotion outside with the chickens. I glanced out the window and saw several hens fleeing down the driveway, cackling in alarm.
I was outside in a flash, in time to see a coyote blatantly clambering over the compost pile toward the fence into the woods. "Hey, get out of here!" I shouted, and ran toward it.
It disappeared from sight. I stalked back and forth, checking for any injured birds; and since there was an enormous pile of feathers at the base of the compost pile, I figured the predator got his meal.
But not so fast. It seems the coyote had grabbed a rooster by his tail and got nothing more than a mouthful of feathers. Remarkably, the rooster was unhurt. Here's our boy with his libido reduced (I also associate rooster tails with mojo). That is one lucky bird.
They say cats have nine lives, but I'm calling chickens on this one. The rooster may have lost his pride and joy, but he gained his life. Fair trade-off, I'd say.
And we're keeping the shotgun handy.