I went out to feed chickens Friday morning and I noticed some loose straw in our woodshed/feed room had been made into a nest. A rather large nest. At first I thought it was the stray cat taking up residence in our woodshed and wasn't too concerned about it.
After I got done milking, I noticed that the feed bags had been shredded and a few crumbles of chicken feed had been scattered. I went in to strain milk and came back out to gather eggs. To my surprise there was a rather large raccoon nestled in the straw. It just sat there and stared at me. By now the dog had seen it and began lunging and whining. I dragged her back to the house (lest the raccoon had rabies) and told DH (who was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts drinking coffee) "Get some pants on and get your gun! I need you to shoot something."
He gave me an odd look.
After I told him it was a raccoon, he sighed, put pants on and grabbed the gun. After he shot it, the thing fell behind some sections of ash log that DH had been waiting to season. He's a big guy, 6'2" 225 lbs, so I had to squeeze back there and fetch out the bloody raccoon. The thing reeked of skunk musk and had porcupine quills lodged in its muzzle and throat--which explains why it just looked at me rather than run away, it was in pain. We took it down to the swamp.
After that, I did a quick head count. All chickens accounted for, but it was an adrenaline packed 15 minutes. Our fence is pretty sturdy so I wasn't terribly worried, but still, you never know.
After I got done milking, I noticed that the feed bags had been shredded and a few crumbles of chicken feed had been scattered. I went in to strain milk and came back out to gather eggs. To my surprise there was a rather large raccoon nestled in the straw. It just sat there and stared at me. By now the dog had seen it and began lunging and whining. I dragged her back to the house (lest the raccoon had rabies) and told DH (who was sitting at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts drinking coffee) "Get some pants on and get your gun! I need you to shoot something."
He gave me an odd look.
After I told him it was a raccoon, he sighed, put pants on and grabbed the gun. After he shot it, the thing fell behind some sections of ash log that DH had been waiting to season. He's a big guy, 6'2" 225 lbs, so I had to squeeze back there and fetch out the bloody raccoon. The thing reeked of skunk musk and had porcupine quills lodged in its muzzle and throat--which explains why it just looked at me rather than run away, it was in pain. We took it down to the swamp.
After that, I did a quick head count. All chickens accounted for, but it was an adrenaline packed 15 minutes. Our fence is pretty sturdy so I wasn't terribly worried, but still, you never know.
