The First Death--Warning! Disturbing story

Ever since I started with the chickens last fall, I have been expecting that one of them would die at some point. From the first, when I had the chicks shipped in the late fall, and throughout the cold, relentless winter I worried that they would succumb to the weather, but they never seemed to be too bothered. I only found out about Marek’s disease after it was too late to vaccinate, and I have worried about that ever since but so far they have been fine. I was prepared for Clucky to have an unsuccessful hatch or to lose a couple of chicks while we both got the hang of things, but they’re all doing well. I worried from the beginning about predation, but aside from the neighbor’s dogs, and the odd whiff of skunk, I have seen neither critter nor raptor. The only casualties so far have been Clucky’s two unhatched eggs.

I’m a soft heart when it comes to animals, and I try to provide well for my pets. A few years ago when my aging cats were all ill, it was an unusual week when I wasn’t at the vet’s for something. My remaining cat gets hypoallergenic food and allergy shots. I do poison the mice in the attic, but if the cat finds one alive I release it back outside. I went over the top with the chickens, thinking of them as pets, and trying to come up with a plan that would allow them to have a nice safe coop and run with some space without impacting the habitat that my property has become too much. I’ve been spending the weeks since Clucky and Zen went broody obsessing over the logistics of keeping two broods of young chicks in the facilities that I have.

We’ve sweated the details--we insulated the coop against cold and heat, strung flagging up to deter hawks, and installed the electric fence to keep chickens in and critters out. I stopped feeding my wild birds when the chickens moved outside because I didn’t want to attract hungry critters. I bought an axe for eventual chicken euthanasia (because I’m not planning on bringing a chicken in to my small animal vet to be put to sleep). I know the fence can be a hazard, and I’m keeping Clucky’s chicks in the inner compound until they are too big to be inclined to try to get through it. I’ve seen it work correctly when it shocked a dog last February and sent it running off. I’ve seen the chickens get zapped occasionally too, and they respect it without appearing to fear it, leaving a foot-wide belt of grass untouched along it. But I was not prepared for what actually happened.

I went out Saturday evening to close up the coop and heard the fence snapping in the back corner. It does this when weeds or grass contact it, so I didn’t think much of it, but when I was done with the chickens I went back to investigate thinking a fallen branch was leaning against it or something. What I found was a dead adult opossum entangled in the fence. He had gotten inside the fence somehow (possibly by going under it since the bottom strand contacts the ground and is not electrified). He got trapped on his way out, getting his head through one of the lowest openings and then not being able to continue out or to pull back. He was dead, but there were signs of struggle, and he was caught so tightly behind his jaws that if I had been alone, I would have had to cut the fence to get him out. As it was, Steve worked him out and left him in the ravine for my resident vultures. What a terrible death. I only hope it was fast. It happened during the afternoon sometime; we were inside with the windows open and heard nothing from the possum or the chickens. I told Steve I would have felt better if he had gotten in, killed a chicken, and gotten out again. At least then it would have been clean.