Hello All,
I grew up on a family farm in west-central Nebraska. My mother ordered 100 birds every spring (always straight run of a white breed). She put the extra roosters in the freezer then, gradually culled over the course of the year, keeping the best layers and then starting the whole thing over the following spring.
One morning, it must have been around July 1, I came down for breakfast and mom was mad "as a wet hen" as she used to say. Turns out, when she'd gone out to feed her flock, she'd found around twenty five birds dead, only one had a couple of bites out of her, the rest were just killed and left. My dad, may God rest his soul, surmised it was a mama 'coon teaching her youngsters, mom was sure it was a weasel. That night, dad parked his pickup within 12 gauge range of the coop (which was pretty much directly under a yard light) and at dark, he and I took one of his shotguns out and sat in the truck. Turned out dad was right. At about 10:30 p.m., as my 10 year old mind was wandering to who knows where, dad said, and I can still hear him 38 years later, "There's your chicken killers." Sure enough, here came a large sow 'coon with six young ones with her, she made a bee-line for the window screen she'd come through the night before but she never made it, nor did 4 of the youngsters.
As an aside, since I always got stuck doing the plucking when butchering time came, it's a wonder I jumped back into chickens. I distinctly remember sitting on the back steps, over a metal trash can, plucking the same bird for the third or fourth time (after mom came back out with her stating "You're missing too many pin-feathers, go over her again." and saying under my breath, when I grow up, I'll NEVER have a single chicken, EVER! As of last count, we're at seventy two birds.....hence my screenname "Prodigal son" I've come back to chickens after all of these years and love them!