|Object is closer than it appears.|
I hate carnivores.
[SFX: audible sigh]
Okay, that's not true. I don't hate carnivores.
IN FACT: during the wildlife documentaries where the relentless wolf chases the cute, innocent widdle bunny wabbit...I'm the guy cheering for the wolf.
Lions and tigers and bears gotta make a living, ya know.
[SFX: angry, conflicted muttering]
BUT NOT IN OUR BACK YARD
No, our LITERAL back yard, where our chickens live and recently have been stalked by coyotes and hawks.
The hawks have vexed us for a while now, TBH, but the coyotes are new. And frankly it's wracking my nerves. Every time a crow caws out back (crows are amazing first-alert alarms) I rush to the window at defcon 1.
|"Let's see if this gate opens!"|
If it's a coyote outside the fenceline, I fly madly down the stairs, grabbing a big stick on the way out the door. I've actually had to charge the fence, shouting and banging the fence posts before the critter will retreat.
Would I take a home run swing at a coyote's backside if I got the chance? Why yes, yes I would. We sincerely love the urban wildlife—but we love our hens more. Sorry, not sorry.
[SFX: audible sigh]Thankfully, urban coyotes are way too smart to stand around waiting to be whacked by soft-walkers carrying big sticks.