An open letter to my chickens

Dear Chickens,
I heard the guinea hens sound the alarm and I answered the call. Really. I ran right out the door in my pajamas without a thought to my askew pony tail and shoeless state when I heard all that guinea hen commotion.

Of course, I do wish my leap in to action included a weapon of some sort.

Yes, that would have been helpful.

But I did get help to you in the end. That's what counts right?

It turns out that our friend Josh was correct. The screeching we heard in the middle of the night outside your coop a couple of weeks ago was indeed a red fox. I know there was some debate on my Facebook page about it being a fisher but Josh, he was right in the end.

But then again you girls probably already knew that.

Had I run out of the house with my camera I could have had an amazing photo of your nemesis. I was less than 2 feet away from him having a staring contest for more than a few seconds.

Although I should come clean that I wasn't sure I was going to win that contest for a moment or two.

I did in the end though, sort of.

I'm not actually sure if clapping my hands and telling Mr. Fox to shoo was all that effective.

No, maybe I have to concede that our neighbor Mike running in to the yard with his shotgun might have been a tad more powerful a suggestion to Mr. Fox to find his breakfast elsewhere.

Maybe.

Sorry chickens, I haven't got much mojo or quick thinking brainpower at 6:30 a.m. to protect you. But luckily the guy across the street does. You can call on him next time you need a hand.

I'll stick to sharing your stories in my blog. I'm much better with a computer keyboard anyhow.