Death From Above

As I was puttering in the kitchen, I caught sight of a flurry of movement out of the corner of my eye.  I turned to look in the direction of the unexpected activity to see a spread of grey and white feathers in the chicken run and eight brown birds hustling around the corner (which, ironically, is the wide open portion of their run).  I have just witnessed my first falcon attack.  Yes, death does indeed come from above.

Now, I don’t know what that raptor was thinking.  I get that it is a predatory, meat-eating bird, but my chickens are noticeably larger than it is.  I know these birds have keen eye sight, but maybe he’s far sighted?  Dude.  There’s eight of them, each one significantly outweighing you.  When the chickens startled and ran flapping for dear life, he quickly switched to retreat and flew across the yard to the opposite corner of woods.  He’s probably lurking in there, plotting his next move, and if he hopes to be successful, recruiting some friends.  Not that I want him to be successful.  I’ve come to kinda like the girls.  They live outside and they’re pretty low maintenance and they keep me in fresh eggs.

Once things settled down in the run again and the girls when back to pecking at the feeder and roosting on their favorite (and only) cinder block, I noticed the quantity of loose feathers that the falcon frenzy produced.  Thinking back to warmer days, I think perhaps this is not our first encounter with death from above.  Fortunately, all attacks have been unsuccessful.

Web Mistress