The Death House

We lost all of our banty hens.  Chicken died during the winter months.  Not sure why.  Then Charcoal was being attacked by the other chickens, so we had her separated for awhile.  We kept her in a box and either kept her in the house or on the back patio at night.  Otherwise, she was out gallivanting around the yard happy as a lark all day.  One night after dark Ramona realized that Charcoal hadn’t been put away, so she said she would go and put her in her box.  I said to leave her because she likes to bed down in the shed.  Now mind you we live in the city and not in the country, so I was sure that the little henny would be fine.  But to my shock when Ramona went out to check on the chickies in the morning she couldn’t locate Charcoal.  I sent her back out to look again and she came in with this report, “CP found her and there is a wing and some meat.”  I told her to get dad.  Out of shear guilt, I couldn’t even go look at her.  At least Ramona described her as “meat” and not as a pet.  I know it is terrible, but at least she has the right perspective on these animals. 

I needed to close up a hole that was in the side of the coop.  I wasn’t able to get any chicken wire at the time, so I placed some heavy items in front of the hole in hopes that whatever ate Charcoal would find it too hard for a repeat offense.  No such luck.  A week later Snowy was dead.  The animal  went in the coop, but couldn’t get her back out.  He didn’t eat her, just killed her.  From the look of the ground (red feathers all over) and the big featherless hole on Butterscotch (3D’s full size chicken,) she came to Snowy’s defense and probably came close to saving her life. 

The next week we had some company over and Ramona began to tell the mom the complete saga of all of our dying animals.  She began by saying, “this is the death house….”


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