This post is three days late, today is the first day I could face writing it. Trixie is dead.
After the weasel killed Coraline and Haley last Sunday night, I was a mess, as you might imagine, but not completely without hope. It was the first time I’d opened the coop to fatalities myself, but I felt confident we’d dealt with the issues before bed. Deeply depressed by the newest losses, I did something I hadn’t done all winter: I sat in the coop at roost time, and let the girls sit in my lap.
This is primarily a 1.0 pursuit; 2.0 wasn’t handled enough as chicks, an error I plan to rectify with 3.0. I was able to find solace in the wrestling match between Big Tallulah and Trixie for my lap, the winner getting big body scrubs. It made me cry, but there was a sweetness to the tears, as well as bitterness.
The next morning, I opened the inner coop door to find Trixie lying lifeless on the ground by the poop pit.
It was too much, and I broke. I spent the day either sobbing hysterically or staring into space, catatonic. The Man forbade me to drive. This fucking rodent was killing my new life and there was nothing, it seemed, I could do to stop it.
The good news is, we found a way to stop the deaths (see Heedley’s Hens Facebook Page for more details). The bad news is, the weasel is still alive and taking bait from traps, leaving the coop unscathed, night after night.
I now have three remaining 1.0s: Tallulah (who will now, surely, be Head Hen), Alexia, and Hermione. To see my (only) eight girls grazing on the lawn makes me so sad, every day. So few.
The weasel saga will continue, and 3.0 will hatch (she said), but I want to take this moment to remember Trixie, who yelled louder than anyone over nothing, who laid nothing but fart eggs for ten months, and who was my last remaining Buff Orpington. She is missed.