Murder, Mayhem, and Miracles

This is the story of the time my husband and I battled a serial killer with a voracious appetite for our much loved flock. Yes, you guessed it – a weasel. This nightmare wreaked havoc on our serene little farm and resulted in the loss of half of our flock. I learned many lessons from this experience; the three most important being never underestimate a weasel's thirst for blood, a chicken's will to survive, or the effect of one moment of complete joy after a tragedy.

The winter of 2015 was especially long, cold, and snowy even by Mid-Coast Maine standards. We had constant snow cover since about mid-January with little to no melting. A storm in early February found us with over a foot of snow, and after snow blowing a path to our coop, I opened the door to be shocked by the sight of three dead hens. My favorite hen, Maisie, a Buff Orpington who was getting up there in years was among the dead. She was a large, beautiful, yellow feathered chicken who was extremely friendly and easygoing. She was from my first flock of chickens who came to live with us when their owner found herself moving to a home that wasn't chicken friendly. I innocently thought Maisie died of old age and that the other two succumbed to the hazards of an especially brutal winter.

Then the nightmare started. First one hen, then another died. They were not old, and they were in good health. We knew that these were not natural deaths, but we were mystified at what type of predator would leave the body largely untouched except for the back of the neck and head. We were also baffled by the fact that the bodies were left behind. After doing some research, we suddenly realized that there was a weasel in their midst. We examined our coop closely and found a few holes. We made some repairs and thought the coop was secure.

Peace reigned for a few days and then the killing started again. In late February, I made my way to the coop and opened the door cautiously, fearful of what I would find. First, I saw a very small white head with tiny dark eyes, ducking down into a space between the coop wall and the chicken door. Then, I saw more corpses and ran back to the house to get my husband. I burst through the kitchen door, saying between sobs, "I saw the weasel...it killed more hens...you have to help me kill it...Charbonne is missing." She was our oldest hen also from the original flock and was tiny and fearless. I had not seen her among the dead, and she was not on the roosting bar.

My husband quickly dressed for the cold and followed me to the coop. I showed him the spot where the weasel had disappeared. He grabbed a spade and stood guard. Suddenly, a tiny white head popped up and went back down so quickly that my husband barely had time to take aim. I remember thinking that this was like watching a sick version of Pop Goes the Weasel; I could hear the rhyme in my head. We both stood in the coop barely breathing, waiting for it to show itself again. After 20 minutes or so, we decided that it was too cold to continue our vigil. We searched for Charbonne and found her lifeless body in a cranny of a cement block we kept their waterers on. She had tried to hide from the weasel, but it killed her during its feeding frenzy. I stood in my husband's embrace and wept. She was such a presence in our flock; I would miss her indomitable spirit.

We had clearly lost the battle this time and needed to move the remaining flock to the barn. It was more open and would provide some opportunities for escape as well as more hiding space. It was not ideal since it was much colder than the coop, but it would do for a day or two. We knew that leaving them in the coop would result in more deaths for certain. At the advice of our local hardware store, we rented a trap, baited it with chicken liver, and left it in the coop. The weasel stayed out of sight, never touched the bait, and eluded capture. The chickens stayed close together in the barn, and roosted on the pile of hay bales.

Now we had to work on reinforcing the coop to keep the weasel out. Our local hardware store had also suggested that ¼ inch hardware cloth would be an effective barrier for a weasel. We spent the next two days in frigid cold weather with temperatures barely above 10° working as quickly as we could. To prepare the coop for the hardware cloth, we first had to break up frozen bedding with a pick axe. Then we raked the bedding away from the walls to the middle of the coop. We put on knee pads and got down on our hands and knees to nail the hardware cloth to the floor and then about a foot up the walls. The cold was bone-chilling, but we worked until dark. The next day we finished nailing down the hardware cloth and put up boards to cover any and all cracks. Late that same day, we moved our flock back to the coop confident that they were now safe.