Coyote is Back—No, Wait, It’s a Bobcat!

Hens a bit agitated after their scare

This was a first.

When it comes to wildlife incursions at our place, I thought I’d seen it all. But other day, as sundown approached, the hens were making some weird sounds—not their usual buck-buck- bucking alarm call, but one I hadn’t heard before: strange, high-pitched shrieking.

I jumped to the window to see a hen flying off the big maple stump, still screeching—and a large, dark shape hovering over the girls’ caged pen: a critter had climbed up the steer wire fence and was terrorizing the girls only a few feet away from them.  ON TOP of the pen.

I ran outside and the dark shape slunk the woods—but as it jumped over our fence about 40 feet away, I saw the black streak on its tail. A coyote.

At least the girls were physically safe in their caged pen. As they changed to their buck-buck alarm call, I called out to them, over and over, “It’s okay, it’s gone, you’re safe.”  

As the two hens gradually dialed down their alarm, I returned to the house, sighing, and changed into my work gear. After the encounter with a killer, the girls would probably retreat back to the coop, lose interest in eating, and stop laying for a while. Again.

I was wrong. Even though they’d recently been traumatized from the hawk attack that killed their “sister,” these two girls proved to be very resilient. They didn’t run to coop, just sort of loitered around the pen, and after a little while, pecked at their feeder. They seemed to have good appetites when I refilled it too.

The next morning, they were out as usual, roosting on the big stump. And the biggest surprise: two eggs in the nest! And since then, they’ve been laying better than ever.

But now that I know for sure the coyote(s) aren’t giving up, I can’t pretend that keeping the girls in their cage all day is only temporary. (Though I was really secretly hoping it was.)

It’s true, the cage is pretty good for hens' digs: it’s about 20’ x 10’, plenty roomy for at least a half-dozen chickens, so the two of them have plenty of space. And the big-leaf maple stump serves as a hen jungle-gym of sorts, and has become a favorite roosting spot. Plus now that it’s weeding season, I frequently toss a bunch of pulled weeds in the pen for them to scratch through.

But still. With predators from the ground and from the sky, these incidents will keep happening. Just yesterday afternoon, as I was leaving for a bike ride, I heard the girls’ alarm call again. I jumped off my bike and hurried to their cage.

One girl was looking very vigilant, neck stiff, peering around, and the other was inside the coop. Maybe the coyote had paid another call—but the one hen must’ve known she was safe. And when I returned, both girls were milling around as usual. Maybe they’re actually getting used to being hassled!

Later that afternoon, I did let them out into their fenced yard while I did some weeding. They seemed to enjoy scratching in the new spring grass, but seeing them out in the open was nerve-wracking for me. A hawk could descend on a hen in seconds, a coyote climb a fence and snatch one just as quickly. I breathed a sigh of relief when they went inside for the night.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know it was coyotes that killed our last flock of five hens. And over the last couple of months, coyotes have been picking off our neighbor’s chickens too.

Update 3 hours later…

I was heading for the coop, skirting past one of our woodsheds when I heard a thump, and a rustle: just feet away, a large, tawny shape leaped through the shed and streaked away. A bobcat! It was clearly stalking our hens again.

It was the tail that fooled me. I hadn’t seen a bobcat for a year or so and had forgotten their tails are simply shorter than a house cat’s, not completely bobbed. And this creature had a black streak on its tail. So it was a bobcat’s tail I saw as it jumped our fence, a bobcat that was after the hens this week, just like it’s a bobcat that’s been killing our neighbor’s chickens. 

We’re almost certain coyotes killed our flock, but I guess the whole climbing coyote thing was my imagination going into overdrive. 

In any event, it doesn’t matter: coyote or bobcat, they still want to eat our hens. Nature, I am forced to conclude, is relentless. As much as we humans think we can control or outsmart the weather or wildlife, or nature will win every time.

But what’s interesting and sort of sad: since the hawk attack, the girls been turning into their coop much earlier. Hens have sort of a light sensor in their brain structure—a gland—which cues them when the daylight starts to dim prior to sunset. And that’s when hens generally go into their coop for the night.

The hawk attack happened a little while before this change in light. And ever since that early evening, our two girls have been turning in significantly earlier than they used to: a good 45 minutes before sundown. And although they’ve returned to their other normal hen behaviors, I’m guessing that terrible incident imprinted on their brains for the long term.

On a more hopeful note: If you’re interested in the way hens brains work, here’s a charming little book written by a true chicken-lover:   How to Speak Chicken by Melissa Caughey. It’s a fun and quick read, with some fascinating intel about roosters too. The author shows that hens are FAR more intelligent than folks give them credit for, and far more than most humans have ever suspected. 

Super-interesting book!

For lots more chicken-keeping tips, info and stories, you might check out my 2021 posts, here on the Little Farm blog!