Stalked by coyotes

A few days ago, Older Daughter took Mr. Darcy on a hike in a nearby park. We've both been on this trail many times, and frequently we'll see deer or moose. If Mr. Darcy sees wildlife -- being the Mighty Hunter -- he lunges on the leash. In fact, Darcy's behavior is often the first indicator something is out there.

On this occasion, Mr. Darcy started lunging, so Older Daughter pulled him close and scanned the area. She saw a pair of ears sticking up from behind a log. A coyote.

She kept hiking and kept Darcy close at her side. The coyote got bolder.

In fact, it started following her.

Soon it was joined by a second coyote.

As she later told me the story, and since I knew coyotes wouldn't hurt her, I asked, "What did you do? Did you say 'Scat'?"

"Well, not exactly," she admitted. "Specifically I yelled, 'You come over here and I'm gonna whoop your a**.'"

Whatever. It worked. No more coyotes.

Eagles and coyotes

The other day a bald eagle swooped over and landed in a tree near our barn.

I mentioned to Don and Older Daughter that if we still had our chickens, I'd be out there guarding them with a baseball bat. An eagle could easily pluck off a hen.

But since our chickens now belong to some neighbors, we didn't have to worry about losing any to predation. Instead, we could watch and enjoy this majestic bird.

Then early yesterday morning, just as it was getting light, I looked up from my computer screen and thought our neighbor's dog was loose in their field. Turns out it was a coyote.

I watched it for quite some time as it wandered around, sniffing after voles and sometime digging for them.

Evidently he didn't find much, since he soon moved on. Once again, our chickens would have been vulnerable, but they're safe in their new home.

Coyotes and eagles. Just part of North Idaho living.

The NERVE of some people

It was a cold, clear day yesterday, the first sunny day we've had in weeks.

The temp was about 10F.

Bundled up, I went about my usual morning routine: Releasing the chickens, opening the corral gate, topping off the water tank, de-icing the chicken waterer, then finally filling the feed boxes for the cattle.

It was as I was coming out of the barn after feeding the cows that a movement caught my eye. There in our driveway, not 20 feet away, was a coyote.

He was clearly as surprised to see me as I was to see him. I yanked off my gloves and pulled the camera out of my pocket (yet another example of why I try never to set foot outside without my camera -- you never know what might happen!) while the coyote bounced around the driveway, blocked by yard fences and the house, and tried to figure out where to go.

Finally in desperation, he darted into the garden (which had the gate open). That's about the time I got my camera turned on.

Of course, now he was trapped in the garden. What to do? He ricocheted around until he was finally able to blast his way through another gate, at which point he rather insolently stopped and watched me.

After this, he trotted along until he was able to cross into the neighbor's pasture.

Then he cantered away until he was over a hill and out of sight -- and out of reach of the chickens.

Honesty, the nerve of some people. Er, coyotes.

Meanwhile, I examined the animal's tracks in the garden.

They were surprisingly tiny prints. In fact, four of them could easily fit inside one of Mr. Darcy's paw prints (which were side by side later in the day, as Darcy sniffed around the coyote prints). When I saw those prints earlier while doing my chores (before I spotted the coyote), they were so small I thought they belonged to a house cat.

Here's some prints next to my boot print:

Well, regardless of paw print size, he was big enough to eat a chicken. Boy, did I spoil his Christmas dinner plans!

Durned lucky chickens

Yesterday I heard, once again, the telltale squawks and alarmed clucks of chickens in distress. I dashed outside and through the barn. Peering out back into the corral, I saw the yellow eyes of a coyote peering back at me through the board fences. Being without the shotgun, I resorted instead to slamming out the barn door and yelling. "Ya! Ya!" The coyote ran off about twenty feet, stopped and looked at me again. I ran toward it, yelling. He took off into the woods.

The birds who had been behind the barn were cackling in alarm. I decided to leash up Lydia and walk her through the woods, letting her sniff out the coyote's trail in hopes it would keep it from returning anytime soon. Sadly, as soon as I went outside the corral, this is what I saw:

This is what was left of one of our two remaining Buff Orpington hens. I was bummed, as I'm fond of these ladies.

The entire tail had been pulled out in one unit, still complete.

I walked Lydia throughout the woods, letting her choose her own paths, and let me tell you she was hot on the trail of the predator. However no glimpse of the wily creature could be seen, so after half an hour we made our way back toward the corral.

But then Lydia wandered into a small side pen off the barn we seldom enter. Immediately a series of squawks came from the depths. The hen was alive!

I pulled Lydia out of the pen, tucked her in the house, then went into the pen and gently picked up the hen. She seemed glad to be cradled in my arms and, though shaken, was otherwise uninjured.

Let me tell you, that is one durned lucky chicken.

I carried her into the new barn and put her down. She was still drawn and tense and is completely missing her tail (except for one feather sticking up).

She was still shedding feathers too, as she walked.

But she's alive and unhurt, and that's a whole lot better than most chickens end up after meeting a coyote.

Now that we're apparently on the local coyote population's daily grocery run, attacks on our flock have been increasing. It underscores the need to complete an important project this summer: a large enclosed yard for the birds. I like having chickens scattered all over the property, but -- unfortunately -- so do the coyotes.

Such is life on a farm.

Nesting robins in the barn

Lately, in an effort to discourage wandering early-morning coyote attacks on the chickens, I've taken to setting up my computer in the barn for a couple of hours when I release the birds just after sunrise. So far it's worked to thwart additional attacks. (But no opportunity for a clean shot, however; there's a reason coyotes are termed "wily.")

Setting myself up in the barn isn't quite the hardship it implies. Early mornings have always been my favorite time of day anyway, and since the weather is finally warming up, the mornings are pleasant. The air is fresh and clean. The birds are singing. The early sun shines on the budding leaves and flowers. I bring my computer speakers so I have my Baroque music quietly playing. I have hot tea. Life is good.

This early-morning time allows me to capture some nice pics of the chickens I might not otherwise get, including the obligatory "rooster on the compost pile" shots...

...though since the compost pile elevates the chickens, it also allows them to spot the coyote early, when he (or she) is slinking around the edge of the woods, casing the joint. Paying attention to their alarm clucks is important (situational awareness!).

The nice thing about camping out in the barn for couple hours each morning is the little things that take place right under my nose I might otherwise not have noticed. Case in point, the robins who are nesting under the awning.

Robins have always been among my all-time favorite birds, so it's fun to watch both parents work hard to bring food to their offspring.

Look at those gaping gullets.

But I wanted to see the babies, so I leaned a ladder against the eave.

The mother flew away in alarm and watched me suspiciously from nearby.

Nests really are amazing construction.

Here's what the hatchlings looked like on May 19:

And on May 22:

I sometimes catch the robins in moments of leisure, such as this fellow grooming himself between warbling his "teereyo" call.

Sometimes the mother dozes while waiting for the father to return with a meal.

Then when he shows up, she steps aside so he can feed the babies.

Then -- I wasn't sure I was seeing this right until I confirmed it online -- after feeding, the parents remove the babies' waste. According to Wikipedia: "Waste accumulation does not occur in the nest because adults collect and take it away. Chicks are fed, and then raise tails for elimination of waste, a solid white clump that is collected by a parent prior to flying off." I've watched this, but to be honest it looks like the parents swallow the waste globule, not fly away to dispose of it. I've seen this over and over.

This nest is located in a wonderfully sheltered spot, away from wind and rain. But we have magpies around here, famous for eating nestlings. I've seen bluebirds and robins lose their broods in the past, which is so sad. I'm hoping this family is successful in raising their babies.