I left the door to the chickens open today. It was sunny and warm and I figured they could use some sunlight, and they happily came outside to check winter out. And then, a few hours later, I found our favourite chicken, Berntadotte, dead outside my window. The fox had been here. There were feathers on the ground, no chickens to be seen anywhere, except her.
Let us just take a moment for Berntadotte: She was the only survivor of a fox attack where she used to live - at our friend Bernt's house (thus the name) - so he gave her to us. She was the cuddliest hen we've had, you could pick her up and stroke her, she was so friendly. I am so sad.
We found a little over half the flock in the barn, two were hurt, one had to be slaughtered, and we are still lacking eight chickens.
It's tough learning sometimes, this farm life.
