Hustling through the small pasture, a coyote had something big and bright pink in its mouth. He jumped through the fence and I glanced back to where he had been and a pile of white feathers told the story as he stopped to look at me. Hooping and hollering, I ran after him as he bounced through the tall grass with the dead hen in his mouth.
Returning to the scene of the crime, an inspection of the feathers revealed Uncle Chubs had been killed. Oddly, the coyote was either so starved, or so comfortable, that he had taken the time to rip off wings and de-feather the bird prior to my interruption. Magpies fluttered around the kill site and I noticed a few more flying far down in neighbor's field, probably hazing the coyote for some scraps. Remarkably, he returned 10 minutes later with a friend, eyeballing the remaining hens that were safely behind a coyote proof fence.
Hating to keep them confined in a small area, I risked letting them out and assumed the earlier attack was a fluke since coyotes typically use the cover of darkness to skulk around. But, in less than a week, more hens were massacred in the middle of the day. In less than two weeks, the flock dropped from ten happy, egg laying hens to a mere three.
I declared war.
And there he was! Standing beside the gate peering for another free chicken meal. I rushed inside and quietly slipped back outside with a .22 rifle. He was poking around in some tall grass when my bullet whizzed past him and I kicked myself for missing such an easy shot. He jumped into a neighbor's field and I stalked him. He disappeared and I chucked a rock thinking he had bedded down. He did not stand, so I assumed he had slithered away.
Laying my rifle in the ditch, I walked out where I had last seen him and suddenly, he stood and stared at me. He looked rough! Nonchalantly, he waltzed away as I ambled back to my rifle. In the distance, I watched him hunt mice and then disappear again.
Respecting my neighbor and his property, I told him where the coyote had likely bedded down and he walked down the fence line. Mr. Coyote stood and daringly stared at him, and then died from immediate lead poisoning.
I went down to inspect the chicken killer.
His ugly body boldly stated how miserable he was feeling. Mange had him scratching himself hairless to where even his bare skin was thick and crusty from his digging at himself. What should have been a big puffy tail was instead a hairless rat tail.
Mange can be a sign of too many critters in an area, so Mother Nature steps in to adjust the population in a rather cruel way. The tiny parasites burrow into the skin where the infected beast constantly is scratching to the point it is digging at itself day and night for comfort. Sleepless, they become poor hunters and suffer from exposure since winter hair is rubbed off. Temporary relief is experienced basking in warm sunlight and this coyote resorted to daytime hunting for survival. Unfortunately, chickens were easy targets but his suffering had ended where he was far too nasty to bother skinning and scavenging magpies even turned up their noses and didn't even bother with him.
I'm glad his suffering is over and that he's done dining on chicken, but, another one was noticed jumping the neighbor's fence last night. And, this morning at dawn, a pair gliding across the driveway challenged the dogs.
The battle will continue...
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