A lesson in feeling safe thanks to my flock of chickens and a hungry bobcat
When people find out the location of my home, their typical question is, “Aren’t you afraid to live in the wilderness?”
Often, my response is, “There are far more predators where you live.”
One of my neighbor’s answers the inquiry this way: “Yes, I’m terrified. I sit 24-7 by my door with a loaded gun.”
It’s a fact of life up here in these Santa Lucia Mountains; predators prefer to prey on the defenseless – as with everywhere. Some potential victims are more vulnerable than others.
The culprit in this case, Lynx rufus, was still on scene when I arrived at first light. I swung open the front door. From the back of the room, on the highest perch, his wild eyes peered down at me. Below him, on the thickly bedded floor, my flock of hens and the rooster laid still and silent. My heart sank.
Angry in the doorway, I yelled, “Bad kitty!” The bobcat’s stubby tail twitched.
His head shook from side to side searching for an escape route. He then leapt toward one of the many windows. His paws landed on the ledge. His forehead hit the glass. To avoid breakage of the window and injury to the bobcat, I backed away from the door and allowed the lean cat an exit. It wasn’t until he leapt down and out the threshold that he realized egress came with a risk. Just outside, the jaws of a big, black dog awaited.
It was the kind of command a dog dreams about — orders to chase the cat. “Go get him!” I instructed Takoda, my Labrador. As predicted, there was no contest. The young cat swiftly gained ground ahead of the old arthritic dog. They ran toward then disappeared down a deep and thickly wooded ravine. Before long, Takoda returned.
Satisfied with his effort to rid the hen house of the perpetrator, his tongue dragged and his tail wagged. To celebrate, he waded into the nearby pond for a victory lap across the water through tadpoles and garter snakes.
Back at the massacre, upon further inspection, I discovered that ground squirrels had chewed a hole through the floor of the hen house. A short tunnel from outside provided an entryway just big enough for a skinny cat to squeeze through.
Inside — in the dark — the hens were helpless.
The lone survivor, a white silkie named Q-tip, now sleeps in our mudroom on a perch inside a latched dog crate lined with deluxe bedding. During daylight hours, she cruises around the yard protected by the dogs and tolerated by the house cat.
Less susceptible to danger than ever before, Q-tip seems happy as she chirps, flaps and twirls away her days. She’s a perfect example of how life is good when you feel safe and secure.
This story was originally published May 7, 2018 at 6:49 PM with the headline "A lesson in feeling safe thanks to my flock of chickens and a hungry bobcat."