Yesterday, fifteen of our chickens were slaughtered while I was away. I found piles of feathers all through the fields and two dead bodies but the rest were gone. A pack of coyotes must have attacked around the same time that an intense thunderstorm left things looking like a demon ripped through. Something turned the water in my fountain freakishly red. I found a few survivors, wet as rats, babbling anxiously as they wandered the fence line. Young chickens are so bright, curious and love to explore - it’s sad to see them lose their innocence to the inevitable predatory attack.
slaughter