Treed

Last night around 8:30 I trudged up to the ram pasture to shut the door of the chick cottage and tuck the little chickies in for the night safe and sound. After I did that, I decided I'd better check on the status of the ripening mulberries (status: the harvesting will begin in a few days--brace yourselves). I was still a little ways away from the mulberry tree when I caught a glimpse of something scurrying up the trunk of the tree. At first I thought it was just a squirrel, but it seemed to be moving oddly for a squirrel.

And then I saw the masked face of a raccoon peering out at me from the crotch of the tree. Oh shit.

I turned around and sprinted back to the house, where I yelled to A. there was a raccoon in the mulberry tree, and then ran straight back to the tree to make sure it was still up there. Thirty seconds later, A. arrived with his shotgun, and shortly thereafter the raccoon was on the ground. Dead on the ground, that is.

I hate this kind of shooting of animals. A. doesn't really like it, either. Neither of us enjoy killing animals we're not going to be eating. However, this particular animal was within 50 feet of the chick cottage, and probably that very night would have been trying to get in to kill and maim all the chicks. So we had to kill an animal that we don't eat, but that would kill animals that we do eat. It has to be done, but it's still a little upsetting.

It's always somewhat sobering to realize how heartless that Mama N. is, and no matter how civilized humans may try to be, in the end, we're just a part of that natural world.

And on that note, allow me to wish you a most pleasant Monday, poppets!