Where the fuck do you live where skunks attack chickens?
I live in suburban New Hampshire. It’s not even a rural area. I’ve seen foxes, deer, turkeys, skunks (obviously), bunnies, and groundhogs in my yard over the years.
Apparently skunk attacks on chickens are fairly common.
Excerpt from here:
The chickens were all understandably freaked out, as skunks are natural chicken predators. Although, I have heard that they don’t usually go after the full-grown chickens and prefer eggs and chicks to a big ol’ hen that they can’t carry away or eat all the way. But, if they can get a hold of them, they will try to kill them and then just eat the head and blood which is what happened to some of my chickens when I was a kid.
Late last night there was quite a ruckus with our neighbor’s chickens. It went on for about twenty minutes before I went out on the back porch to see what the fuck was happening. I saw one in the middle of the yard squawking horribly. I thought maybe a fox I had seen previously had gotten into the chicken coop, in typical proverbial fashion. I couldn’t tell what was going on until it broke free from a skunk’s clutches. Yes, a skunk. It’s a good thing I didn’t get any closer to investigate.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to make the camera take pictures in the dark until after the skunk left, so there are no action shots. After the chicken freed itself, the skunk went off behind the trees and found a second chicken that had gotten out of the coop. That chicken seemed to be experiencing the same horrific treatment the first one was, but at least it was in someone else’s backyard and I could block out the sound.
This morning it was evident that the skunk was more successful in his mission the second time. The dead chicken was being sniffed at by another neighbor’s dog in his yard. The rest of the chickens escaped the coop (and the skunk) and were wandering the yard free-range style.
All Poultry Bulletin
My neighbors have some chickens in a pen in the back yard.
Today some of them got out and roamed the yard. Most of them went back to their pen because that’s where the food and water is. When the wife next door got home, she tried to herd the remaining chicken into the pen.
It was quite comical.
She (the neighbor) opened the door and walked around the pen, and the chicken moved so it was perfectly on the opposite side the whole time. But the door kept closing before the chicken got to it, so she opened it on each lap. But it always closed by the time the chicken got there.
If aliens were watching this chicken dance, they’d be hard-pressed to discern which one was the sentient species.
She (the neighbor) finally propped open the door to the pen before chasing the chicken again. But she went the wrong way (so the chicken got to the door before the opening) and the chicken just went around the door and continued to do laps around the pen.
It was quite funny. She stopped and it looked like she was talking to it. I don’t know if she was cursing it out, threatening to devour its progeny, or trying to reason with it. Maybe they were just gossiping. Who knows.
She (the neighbor) finally figured out how to chase the chicken around the pen the right way and the chicken went in the door on the first lap. YAAAYYY!!!
She (the neighbor) texted about the breakout afterwards. There is still one chicken at large. She is considered avian and delicious.
The chickens got out because the door’s two latches were unhooked. That proves that birds are modern dinosaurs because THEY CAN OPEN DOORS NOW.
“I almost feel like the playwright is working too hard to NOT stereotype her characters, that she forces them to be unexpected when, really, they would probably actually do the expected thing,” he explains while licking grocery-store fried chicken from his fingers during intermission.
More like Chicken and Conversation Day, AMIRITE?
Yes. Unfortunately, I am right.
Nerds were inoculated against ridicule in childhood. When you joke about jock silliness in adulthood, the butthurt hits them HARD.
Syndrome, I dub thee Chicken Jox.
When my mother lived in North Carolina, I noticed that the family across the street, who happened to be black, had recliners on the front porch. The porch wasn’t enclosed, but was covered. I had never seen anyone put upholstered furniture on a porch like that, so I pointed it out to my mother. She said that it’s apparently practiced predominantly by black people in the South. So much so that when a neighboring town tried to pass a law banning upholstered furniture on front porches, they were accused of racism.
I thought it was really interesting that something so seemingly neutral to me as an outsider could be the cause of a racially contentious legal battle. Can’t upholstered furniture on a porch just be upholstered furniture on a porch?
As I gazed out the window contemplating racial harmony, wedge issues, and stereotypes, the guy across the street pulled his car in the driveway and went into the house carrying a giant watermelon.
I don’t know what made me think of that just now.
The only thing better than pizza is
After the innards were eaten out of half of an Uno’s deep-dish pizza, I filled the shells with chicken-spinach-feta and pork-broccoli-rabe sausages swimming in chili pepper tomato sauce and covered each one with a slice of pepper jack cheese, then baked to melty goodness.
Re-Pizza Every Day