Every year around this time, a raccoon wanders in and gets a little too comfortable. I know, because I see someone’s been washing their dirty hands in the water dishes, and I have to get the trap.
The chickens weren’t quite as alarmed and fascinated as I expected, but the guinea was aghast. He hopped back into the greenhouse to alert me, shouting. Threat!!! Threat!!! Hey! You seem to be ignoring that there’s a RACCOON out here! He and Puffcheeks are the only birds that attempt to communicate with me, looking me in the eyes and vocalizing, like they really mean to tell me something, and giving me the benefit of the doubt that I might be capable of understanding. The barred rocks were the most concerned, looking at it, looking at each other.
Phew! 11pm, I heard the sudden scream of a bird being killed. My heart detonating in one beat from serene to explosive, I leapt up, yelling instantly at the top of my lungs. The sound escalated and I burst out of the camper, running for my chickens, and pulled up short realizing the sound was coming from the opposite direction, the woods. There was snarling and screaming. I yelled a bit more. I wasn’t sure it was a bird anymore, but it was the chilling sound of mortal struggle. Very close. I grabbed a shovel and started banging it on the ground. The apparent perpetrator moved towards me, fast, rustling, and I heard it pass our path, still snarling. I dashed back into the camper to snatch up a headlamp and went out again with the shovel, grabbing a big steel bowl. I made a lap around my chickens (sound asleep), banging the bowl on trees as I went along the path. Terrifying! I have no idea what the parties are.
Mystery thickens. 10 minutes later, noise resumes, even closer. I go back out without yelling and ruckus seems to be taking place at altitude, in a tree. Noise stops. My headlight beam finds two yellow eyes a couple inches apart, 30’ up in a tree. WTF? I would have sworn it was moving on the ground before. Rules out a coyote. No idea what these thing(s) are, and I really wish H.W. were here. Is the bird the attacker? The growler the victim? Owl and squirrel? Rabbit? That darn tabby cat? We haven’t seen it in weeks. Possum. Deranged porcupine. Rare Nova Scotian monkey?
Listened from the camper and heard telltale sounds of descent and dismount from the tree. My senses and memory (and stable heartbeat) returned: most likely it’s the beautiful and formidable marten/fisher. It all fits. Victim unknown. Thankfully my coops will withstand his ilk. Then a coyote started up yelping nearby. Apparently I’m not meant to get any sleep while H.W.’s away. We need a dog, yesterday.