Don't Mess With My Eggs

The electric fence has been cold for the past several days.  "Cold" as opposed to "hot", as in not charged.  I have no real explanation for this.  It could be that grassy ground contact or fallen leaves or rolled hedge apples have shorted out the system.  It could be that cloudy, misty days have delivered insufficient light to interest the solar charging cell.  I'll work on that.  In the meantime the chickens are "protected" by this flimsy mesh fencing, which accounts for the possum.

Recent evenings I have headed out to the coop at dusk to close the run's outer door to be greeted by beady eyes and gray fur.  Subsequent reading has asserted that possums are serious predators, but so far there has been no sign of aggression.  The chickens allow it wide space, but otherwise seem unperturbed.  Me?  Not so much.  It makes me shiver.  Armed with a flashlight and an egg basket I represent very little threat, but apparently the mere fact of my presence is ample incentive for the invading little marsupial to exit.  Chicken feed, rather than the chickens themselves, have seemed to be the extent of its appetite.

Until yesterday.  Well before dusk I headed out back to check for eggs.  Dropping the laying box trap door to see how many treasures I might collect I was greeted by a furry white triangular face with egg yolk dripping from its chin.  The little bugger had strolled into the run, made its way up the ramp and into the box and settled in for an early supper.  It's one thing to be scared.  It's another to be mad.  Eggs, after all, are precious!

I hustled back to the house, grabbed a sturdy broom and returned to the scene of the crime.  Partially opening the rear door, I used the bristles at the end of the handle to evict the intruder through the still-opened hatch, watch it shuffle away, and then cleaned up the egg detritus so as not to traumatize the girls.  Securing them inside the run and now fueled by righteous indignation, we loaded up and headed for the farm supply store and returned with a live trap...and...other predator control tools that will remain undefined.  I baited and set the trap.  Darkness fell.  We turned in for the night.

We both rose early this morning -- curious, anxious, horrified by the thought of what sunrise might reveal.  Impatiently we tried one flashlight after another in search of an early glimpse.  It turns out that we are going to need a brighter light.  It finally came about a half-hour later in the form of the sun which revealed...

...one fewer critter that the chickens and I have to worry about.  The Beverly Hillbillies' culinary mouths are no doubt jealously watering.  Me?   I'm just trying to decide if a simple benediction is adequate, or if a full-blown graveside service is required.

For now, in keeping with the Christmas spirit, I'll simply recall the familiar words of Simeon:
"Lord now let your servant depart in peace..."

Amen.