Yesterday we bought a new rooster at the local Lions auction. We spotted this rooster early looking extremely handsome and very calm even when suffering the indignity of sitting in a cardboard box. He had all the signs of being perfect for our place. As there were so many roosters (many were passed in unsold) our intended rooster got put with a batch and the highest bidder would get first choice. Richard won the bid at $6 and we got him.

He has the same regal beauty as Rasputin, and in keeping with my preference for names for roosters beginning with ‘R’…we’ve named him Rajiv, a name of Indian hindi origins which apparently means ‘striped’. It really seems to suit his classic colours and the intensity of his beady gaze.

We also bought two young large hens, which gives us 1 rooster, 6 hens , 1 young unknown (Lucky) and 2 ducks.

I’ve seen the fox again, and even with the dogs beside me it moved off without any real alarm, looking back frequently to see how far we would follow. It is *so* beautiful, especially in the twilight when the sun catches it’s fur. Half of me wants to encourage it to visit just to see it, but the other half of me wants my chickens free again.

Yesterday we purchased four new brown chickens to fill the gaping hole and quietness that losing so many leaves behind. I still can’t believe Rasputin the rooster is gone. The evidence is piling up though. His beautiful green feathers blowing around in the secret garden mean that there is little doubt about the place of his demise.

At dusk last night I thought I heard a fox-like animal crashing through the sheoaks. The ducks refused to come off the dam as though they knew something was out there. I couldn’t find anything though and started to doubt myself and suspect fox paranoia. At 1.30am I got up to the dogs barking and checked on the ducks (still safe on the dam) but didn’t see any clever eyes shining back at me in the torchlight.

This morning at 8.30am, Elf started growling at the lounge window. I went over and looked along her line of sight which led to the sheoaks and sure enough, there was a rusty smudge in the trees. I ran to get my glasses which translated the rusty smudge into a fox. Seconds later and we were out there with wooden spoons and pan lids chasing it away. It’s an age old tradition – wooden spoons and pan lids to scare foxes. I’m certain for centuries women like me have been grabbing their kitchen utensils and running around their houses in their pajamas chasing foxes. It’s some sort of primeval instinct – it must be, I don’t remember planning my weapon grab. The only problem is that I didn’t adapt the technique for the 21st century and my stainless steel lid broke the wooden spoon.

Richard has set a cage (live) trap to see if we can capture the fox. I don’t want to think about what will happen if we catch it. I’ll be in love with it, I know that much.

Today we spent a lot of time in the chicken coop making small inroads into making it secure, tidying it up, and generally just making our new chickens feel welcome. We’ve sectioned off some of the yards and I’ve put some of my chicken/cow manure compost brew down and some radish and pak choi seeds to see if I can grow the new girls a little food forest. This is because for the time being they will have to spend a lot of time ‘behind the wire’, except on weekends when we are there to watch over them.

Next week at the auction I’ll be looking out for a new handsome rooster to look after our new ladies.

You learn a lot about life from chickens.

A few weeks ago a fox pegged off a few of our finest two legged friends. It was very upsetting to have a fox treating a chicken coop like a drive-thru KFC but in my best David Attenborough inner voice I told myself to forgive it – after all instinct is instinct. We take fish from the sea – they take chickens from farms. Life is life.

Storm, the cuddliest mother in the flock was lost in this first meal. I think it is ok for a 29 year old to cry about chickens. I’m not sure on the actual benchmark when you get mature enough to ‘just deal with it’. We found a gaping hole in the roof of the chicken coop, next to a tree which looked like the obvious fox entry point.

A few weeks passed and we began to trust daylight again and had started to let them free range once more. We’re still not sure exactly when this latest massive attack happened, but it was seemingly overnight, so the fox may have just opened itself another door somewhere.

On Thursday morning five more had gone seemingly overnight. Only one young chick (now named Lucky) and our two ducks remain.

Rasputin, the jovial lady-loving lad is gone too. He was special, a handsome immense rooster – I’m sure he put up some sort of fight for his ladies. Our two ducks were also spared. I can’t imagine never seeing cheeky Rasputin again…he had a presence.

I respect the cunning creativity and wily ways of foxes….I don’t want this fox dead….I just want it to stop eating my chickens. I hate fox hunting and if the truth is known, I love foxes – even this one. If I came face to face with it I could no more kill it than hug it. The thought of it dying in agony by using fox bait just because it dared to eat my chickens seems like nothing but a warped way of handing out some sort of punishment or justice.

It’s not like this fox is laughing behind my back and licking its chops like in the fairy tales….this animal is probably scraping out a living in an increasingly urban environment, adapting and struggling just to get enough to eat each day and may have even taken our chickens back to it’s den for some young cubs. Watch any documentary about predators and you truly can’t help understanding them. The status of foxes as a pest species is a human made problem and now the fox is marginilised as a pesky chicken killer because of it. I can’t be angry at it and I don’t want revenge. Forgiveness is my tragic flaw.

Maybe I could try reasoning with it…I think what we are going to try is to rebuild the flock but also acquire 2 geese as protectors – but some people say this doesn’t work. I don’t want to restrict my chickens to life behind chicken wire…but for their own safety we will need to for a while.