We had a chicken scare this morning. At dawn, (which was barely dawn because it was so drab grey) a chicken began cackling underneath the bedroom window. Only one lone chicken, cackling in an upset “I’m all alone!” sort of way. It yanked us out of sound sleep, and I lay there for just a moment thinking about it, then realized noone has let them out yet, she shouldn’t be there…

In the world of chickens, this can be a harbinger of disaster. We have a few final details we haven’t finished on the coop, loopholes that a crafty raccoon could manage to navigate looking for a midnight snack. In a chicken armageddon of past years, I lost about 15 chickens in one night of raccoon attack. At that time, it was nearly all of my flock, and I gave the survivors away and gave up chicken raising for a while.

Last night, I was pretty tired. I went to a birth the night before, returned at 3 am, woke at 9 am and was out of the house as quick as possible to go to a building tear-down event. Worked all day pounding and carrying and lifting, and hauling salvaged wood, then finally got home after dark and shut the chickens up quickly for the night without bothering with a flashlight. So this morning, I was certain I had left something open for the raccoons, and the lone chicken under the window was giving the alert call for havoc.

So we leaped out of bed and pulled on overalls and boots and ran out to the coop. Thirty-some sleepy and content chickens eyed us, completely enclosed with no breaches in the armor of the coop. Whew. And of course, the loose chicken was a Delaware. The breed that has proven to be inquisitive lets-see-where-this-dark-passageway-leads curious types. She must have hidden and camped out for the night rather than going into the coop with the others. False alarm! We are thankful for that.