A raccoon attack

Last week was really hard on our chickens. On Friday night at about 3:00 a.m., I was awakened by the most horrible bloodcurdling noise from the back yard. I feared the worst, so I ran around searching for my bathrobe and a flashlight, but I couldn't find them so I ended up running out in the rain in my PJs, with no glasses and just a wind-up flashlight.

I heard thumping in the coop, and when I threw upon the lid a raccoon rushed out, ran into the bushes, and started hissing at me. I hissed back. I was under the influence of massive amounts of adrenaline, and Jeff says I was screeching like a lion was eating my innards. It's amazing all of the neighbors' lights didn't go on. (I talked to one neighbor later who didn't hear a thing). To add the chaos, the cat was sitting outside growling and grumbling at the raccoon, and I was afraid they were going to fight.

When I opened the coop, Martha was sitting on her perch, unscathed. I grabbed her and ran inside and put her in a box, yelling for Jeff; Jeff came down and I told him I was sure Dolley was dead and to look for her. Jeff shooed the raccoon off and said he saw Dolley lying in the run. I told him (rather hysterical at this point) that he was going to have to kill her if she wasn't already dead. Jeff picked Dolley up and brought her in, and she was so ruffled and bloody that we couldn't even find her head - I thought she might have literally lost her head, like Mike the Headless Chicken. After a few moments her head became visible. She had been wounded terribly on the back of the neck, though we couldn't see it then. We put her in a box in the basement. Later I tried pouring hydrogen peroxide on her wounds, but it was too traumatic for both of us so I stopped.

The next morning I tried to find a vet that would take her and fortunately found a great emergency veterinary clinic in Tualatin that took her right away. They stitched her up (apparently they get a lot of chickens and pet turkeys). It cost $175, which I thought was reasonable given that she is a real pet now.

So now she is living in a big dog crate in the play room, and I have to feed her three or four times a day and give her antibiotics twice a day. She is improving; she has taken some small supervised outings into the yard, where she has pecked at bugs and flowers, but she tires easily. I am hoping that soon she will be able to feed herself, because I don't really have the time and patience to sit for hours trying to feed a chicken (although I have anyway. I signed up for it).

The whole thing leaves me with many conflicting feelings. It's a lot of work to put into a chicken; if it happens again I don't know if I would go to so much trouble, although I don't know if I could just let nature take its course. Sometimes I think it might be better just to give the girls numbers and take a more farmerly attitude. On the other hand, it is rewarding to see such a maimed animal recover, and it makes me respect chickens more. They are surprisingly resilient. But after putting so much effort into rehabilitating Dolley, I don't think I can eat chicken for a long while. It just doesn't make sense to me now - plus it kind of disgusts me. More tofu coming our way!