Coyote Climate

Photo copyright Wings, 2015; all rights reserved.

Coyote returned today.

Actually, the whole extended clan, in-laws and outlaws alike, showed up last night to taunt the dogs with falsetto cries. The large family gathering is probably part of the reason why he came in search of an easy meal today.

He didn't get it.

Wings saw him on the north side, not far enough away. So did one of the reds, who he said stretched her neck like a periscopic Slinky and sounded the alarm, sending all dozen of her sisters scurrying back to the safety of the near area, running headlong like little old ladies holding up their skirts.

They've learned.

They've learned a few other tricks, too. Anyone tells you chickens are dumb, they don't know chickens. 

Inside the free-range coop, they have two, count them, two chicken condos. One entirely of wood, with dual hinged doors and a ramp entry, regularly refilled with hay; the other built on two-by-fours set on the ground, with a ceiling and hay bales atop that. They nest in the former, especially; they peck at the bales on top of the latter. But they'll only sleep on top of the big condo. Thirteen chickens, all in a row, no matter how cold it gets.

And so, needless to say, the top of the place gets messy fast. To that end, Wings keeps a battered paint bucket and small shovel on top of it, in the corner, to clean it off regularly. It's about one-third full at the moment; when filled, he spreads it in the garden plots.

Knowing their penchant for finding new and creative places to nest — today, while we were mucking out the stalls, one of the reds built a nest in the hay piled in the V of one of the hay troughs before deciding to go lay elsewhere — I checked that bucket a few days ago, just in case.

Nothing. One less place to worry about.

Today, done with muck duty, I went to check for eggs. 

There was a red in the bucket. Neck and head were all that were visible; she'd clearly settled in. So . . . .

Nine eggs underneath her.

[Sigh] they probably saw me looking, and decided that I had the right idea.

In the time it took me to go retrieve a bowl to put them all in, the red had laid a tenth. I went back later to find #11, plus two more inside the coop in their usual spot.

It was a smart move. The magpies like to eat the eggs, but they tend to go for the easy targets, the ones they can see.

Of course, the raggedy girls shouldn't be laying at all right now. They're in full molt, straggly feathers everywhere, skimpy patchy looks with white down showing through. Barely decent, layered petticoats notwithstanding.

But Coyote has taken over the climate, too. Sixty-three degrees today, barely a week into February. And then, supposedly, more snow on Wednesday. Then back into the fifties on Thursday.

And the chickens are still laying.

All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.