We caught a killer.
And it was adorable.
First, before I continue our saga...
THANK YOU.
(I shared your kind comments about our
loss of Salt with our chicken-mama, Kiki. Your sympathy really
touched us—and she's feeling much better.)
After the raccoon attack, we moved the
girls inside at night, housing them in a dog kennel in our basement
to keep them safe, while we frantically worked to finish the new
coop. Still, we worried that the raccoon would return during the day
while they free-ranged in our backyard. Yes, raccoons are
nocturnal—but who knew if it would come for a late lunch or an
early dinner, now that it found a self-serve buffet?
So we borrowed a trap, baited it with
scallops, and waited.
Five days after the attack—and after
accidentally catching Roxanne in the trap, which scared an egg out of
the poor thing--success!
There are a few things you should know
about us:
We love animals. We believe kids need
to play in nature. We support wildlife organizations. I'm a card
carrying member of Greenpeace, The Nature Conservancy, the World
Wildlife Foundation. We've raised abandoned baby squirrels and
released them into our forest.
And we have a Backyard Wildlife Habitat
certification.
Now, we had a raccoon...in a trap.
(“Mommy, if you let me keep him, I'll
clean his cage!” promised our youngest, Mikey. Hideous
chicken-slaughtering beast turned darling potential pet. Even
Chicken-Mama cooed over it.)
The irony of the situation isn't lost
on me. In fact, while my husband took the kids to school, the guilt
set in.
The killer now cowered in the corner of
the trap, hiding behind the straw it had pulled into the cage
to—what? Stay warm? Hide?
Our plan was simple. Catch the murderer
and release it in the mountains where it could live a good, happy
raccoon life—far away from our pet chickens. Peter and I knew a
beautiful, forested, undeveloped area with a river, not far from
where we hike.
Seems reasonable, right?
While waiting for Peter to return, I
worried about the stress level of the raccoon in the trap. I went to
the computer and Googled “How to Minimize Stress when Relocating
Raccoons.”
And found that, in all likelihood, we'd
just handed it a death sentence.
No matter how carefully or where we
relocate it, said the website, the raccoon's chance for survival is
not good. Raccoons are territorial, and the existing raccoons in the
area may attack the newcomer.
Our easy solution wasn't so simple,
after all.
In fact, relocating a wild animal is
illegal in some states. (I decided not to research the legality in SC
further.)
If we release the raccoon back into the forest, our daughter's chickens are in jeopardy.
If we relocate it, we're removing it from its territory and potentially killing it.
Guilt set in.
And I kept it to myself.
Peter returned, loaded the trap into
the van, and off we drove to the mountains, according to our plan.
(If you're cheering for the raccoon at
this point, you'll be happy to know...it paid me back by leaving a
lovely, odoriferous memento in my van. Whew.)
We reached our destination and unloaded the trap.
After a bit of coaxing and a look to Peter that
said either “How could you do this to me?” or “I'm going to
bite your nose off...”
...whoosh! Freedom!
But was it, really?
We watched the raccoon for a bit as it
swam through the river, ran along the banks, darted across the road,
then ran back to the water.
And hoped we had caught and released
the true bandit.
Being a naturalist or conservationist
is not always such an easy decision. No matter what good intentions
we might have, our actions impact the environment. We tried to
resolve a predator versus pet conflict humanely.
But was our decision truly humane?
Honestly, it feels hypocritical.
Still, I'm hopeful that removing the
raccoon might keep our daughter's pet chickens safe. She is less
worried—but more vigilant—about them. After all, I'm sure it's
not the only raccoon in our neighborhood.
Soon, though, the chicken fortress will
be complete, and the girls can sleep safely in their raccoon-proof
home.
I think I might need to remove our
Backyard Wildlife Habitat sign.
It might ease my hypocrisy.
XO ~
Julie
