The Death of Hercules

Well, I had figured it would happen sometime. We have so many wild animals about that I'm surprised Hercules lived this long. But after months of roosting on the stall walls in the barn and roaming freely all day, announcing loudly and proudly his location, we had begun to think of him as a permanent fixture (see Hercules is Banished). One night, during evening prayers, my five year old even prayed that he would go away (see The Killer Roo). In fact, I almost advertised him on craigslist yesterday. 

But today he met his demise. Here's how it went down. It is a sunny day in the lower 60's. We were all sitting at lunch, and had the window open in order to hear the spring peepers, the wind, and to smell the spring soil. Suddenly, my seven year old stood up, pointed out the window and shouted, "I see a fox!"

If you look closely you will see Hercules' tail feathers sticking up from the hay to the foxes left.

So I walked to the window to take a look, and sure enough there was a fox in the hay field at about 12:30 pm rolling about...

and scratching. 

The children clamored at the window to get a better look at him. I retrieved my camera to snap a few photos, which I took through two panes of glass since the lower sash was raised. He seemed completely unaware of us. "Does he have hydrophobia?" I wondered aloud.

Eventually, he trotted over to the copse of trees in the hay field that lies just on the other side of the fence from the swing set. He did a turn and then ducked into the tangle of autumn olives, Russian olives, and multi-flora roses.

When I was looking at the fox through the lens of my camera earlier, I thought I had seen the legs of another animal in the air, so I scanned that area again with my camera to see if there were two foxes out there. Then it hit me. I hadn't seen the legs of another fox lying on its back in the hay. I had seen feathers! They were the long tail feathers of the seemingly invincible Hercules, stuck in the hay and waving in the wind!

With my 2 year old buckled back in his chair at the table and left with my sixteen year old, I went out to see if Hercules was still alive and in distress. All I found were three piles of feathers.... lots and lots of feathers, all seemingly black belly and tail feathers. I didn't see any white feathers at all, although there was some gray down. 

I took a quick turn through the barn and made sure the fox hadn't been digging about the chicken's hoop run, and to see if an injured Herc had returned home. But I saw no signs of digging or the rooster, and I returned to my waiting children. We decided that the fox must have been rolling about and scratching in order to remove the feathers from his coat. The kids think he took Hercules to the head of the little waterfall below the upper barn and ate him there, then trotted out to where we saw him in order to clean off. 

On one hand, I am relieved. The rooster had increasingly been a problem. He roamed all around the house, stalked my little boys, bothered my oldest when he fetched tools from the barn- And I'm glad that he went in a natural way, that my fed-up husband didn't have to dispatch him. But on the other hand, I am sort of sad too. It has been nearly a year that we've had him. I will miss his entertaining roosterish antics, if not his boisterous crowing or his fearsome foot fetish. 

He had a fantastic strut, 

the tallest comb, 

Here is his comb after roughing it in the barn, You can see the effects of frostbite. 

and the most glorious black, iridescent, and flowing tail feathers.

Now I definitely know what was taking my chickens last fall before I imprisoned them. If that fox took the meanest rooster at midday, then it surely could have taken Rusty the rooster or the other four hens who went missing. And it means I will never ever be able to let my girls roam freely. It also means that the lightweight, moveable run with aviary netting that I was thinking of building for the summer is out of the question. Foxes can even chew through chicken wire and most hardware cloth, the stinkers.  

Snowbird

A male robin has been frequenting the crabapple tree behind our house. 

This is what he looked like when he first showed up in January.

He clumsily eats crabapples when the grass is covered with snow 

(as it most often is.)

 When it is cold, he puffs himself up and hunkers down in the sun.

He chases off the white-breasted nuthatches, 

the black-capped chickadees, 

and the downy or hairy woodpeckers when he is near.  

And I've even seen him drive off another male robin.

 I'm not sure when he showed up, 

but since his favorite tree is right outside of our dining room, 

we see him a lot. 

I snapped my first picture of him in the middle of January. 

He doesn't sleep in the tree. 

Some days I never notice him out there. 

Some days he seems to be there all day. 

I'm hoping he has pegged the tree for a nesting site, 

but male robbins don't build nests, 

so perhaps the tree is just one of the look-out posts for his territory. 

Female robins are supposed to follow the males by only a few weeks, 

but although I've seen a flock of robins in the yard on one occasion 

since "our" robins arrival, 

none of them stayed. 

Perhaps the snow on the ground had something to do with that. 

Despite the thick blanket of snow outside, 

spring is definitely "just around the corner."

Our daffodils showed their green, spiky tops last December!

Already the days are longer 

and I must trudge out to the chicken coop earlier and earlier in the morning,

and I close the chickens up later and later each evening.

Already the moon rises big and round behind the barn 

instead of slipping up between the trees in the woods.

I long to hear the trilling of sandhill cranes as they fly over. 

I enjoy the honk of Canada geese down on the pond.

I like the loud chirping of incalculable spring peepers

and the return of birdsong.

I love spring flowers

But I do not look forward 

to the mucky swamp that our lawn will be when it thaws-

and my children will be clamoring to romp in it.

I do not look forward to the return of ticks.

The weeds, autumn olives, multiflora roses, and wild raspberries will take over again.

The tentacles of poison ivy will creep into the "yard."

And all too soon, mowing will begin again.

So I am satisfied to see small signs of spring, 

like "our" robin,

but I have no desire to hurry it along.