Remember when I was complaining about the nasty ducks? What about when I shared how pleased I was with how well my chickens were growing?

Well, nasty ducks, growing chickens... meet The Incredible Mr. Fox. 

Need I say more? I went out Wednesday morning to Jessie's barking. Mister had already left for work so it was up to yours truly to see what the fuss was about. I thought she was just barking at her tennis ball which had been stuck in a bush somehow. However, when I went to give it to her she ran around me and stuck her head under the porch steps. Much to my surprise, out pops a chicken. "Hmmm.... that's weird," I think to myself. Jessie, being the herd dog she is promptly caught the bird under her foot and held it there until I could pick it up. 

Thinking it just got out by accident I marched it back to the pasture where our coop is and that's when I saw it... or them... or something...

Piles. of. chickens. EVERYWHERE. PILES. EVERYWHERE. PILES. It looked like World War III had just happened in my front yard. I gathered up a total of nine dead ladies (six of which were left in two piles of three, two left in a pair, and one thrown down away from those... Mister found another when he got home). Together, there were ten chickens we found. That means the scoundrel carried off another 11. ELEVEN CHICKENS! HOW?! After doing all this math in my head, my thoughts turned to our brand new ducks. I tucked the lone survivor in the coop and ran over to the ducks' house. It was as I suspected. They were gone, too. 

21 chickens and four ducks. Gone. G-O-N-E. I have to admit, I turned my face to the woods, balled up my fists and hollered as loud as I could. This meant war. A fox has now stolen THREE flocks of chickens from us over the past year.

I had the fleeting thought of giving up. Throwing in the towel. Forgetting ever having or wanting chickens. I went back to the house and continued my day. I had to go to work. What else could I do? I got ready for work and opened the front door. There, across the yard, I saw it. It saw me, too, and began to run along the fence line. I ran back inside and grabbed the .22 but by the time I had gotten a shot off on it, it had already began to run into the woods. 

Ugh. It ain't over. Last night our fellow homesteading friends brought over a trap for us to borrow. It may have won the battles... but it won't win the war! This girl is going to have chickens in my yard... and a fox on my wall!