From Disney to the Brothers Grimm

Once again, my timing is off.

All spring I've been taking pictures and videos of the fox kits out by the old barns.

So. Frickin. Cute.

Should have posted some a while ago. The posts would have written themselves, right?

At their peak, I counted 7 kits. Running and pouncing and wrestling with each other. Cue the flutes and whistles.

That was probably around the beginning of May.

As they got older I began to see them all the time. I couldn't walk outside without interrupting at least three or four. They were everywhere.  Feasting on berries under the mulberry trees. Racing around the pasture. Darting in and out of the barns. I loved watching them.

They coexisted peacefully with the sheep. Each ignored the other. I started to believe that all would be fine.

Then life intervened for me and I lost track for a little while. By the time I tuned back in, the mood out by the barns had changed a bit.

I started finding...well, I won't even try to be delicate...I started finding body parts.

Everywhere.

At first the back half of a raccoon.

Then most of a second one.

Sometimes they'd be fresh and sometimes not.

A skunk.

A groundhog.

One was the entire wingspan of a chicken. Ugh. I had to run to the coop to count mine, who were thankfully all there.

Usually, the carcasses were just lying out on the ground by the old barns.

Sometimes, I'd see them first from a distance. That sucks, cause what if it's a cat or a lamb? I always have to go check them out to make sure.

Sometimes, I just stumble on them unexpectedly. Now that REALLY sucks, cause, well, lets just say, there are no flutes and whistles in the background when that happens.

The groundhog was left in a stall in the pony barn. Um, thanks?

My apprehension went up a serious notch when I went out to check on the sheep one afternoon and found Devon, one of my Icelandics, sitting in the back pasture with bloody, fly-covered wounds across her rump. Like she'd been pounced on by a fox. The attacker was nowhere to be seen and clearly hadn't followed through with its attack, considering Devon was still sitting there, calmly chewing her cud in a very lifelike manner. I took her back to the barn, cleaned her up, sprayed her for flies, and she was fine in a couple of days, but still. Still. A fox attacked a grown sheep.

I worried about the lambs.

Especially Hamza and Helenka, the two bottle babies. They don't have any adult sheep to look out for them, just each other, and they're not a lot bigger than the foxes.

I started thinking about encouraging the foxes to move on.

I struggled with that idea. From what I gather, baby foxes don't move out of the home den until fall and that's still several months off.

I didn't want to endanger them any more than I wanted to endanger the sheep.

I was still hoping for a Disney ending I guess.

Then I started to notice that the number of kits seemed to have declined. By the end of June I was seeing them much less frequently and I rarely saw more than two at a time. Maybe three.

A couple of days ago, I found, not one, but two different carcasses in the pony pens during morning rounds. They'd both been dead long enough that it was challenging to tell what they were. Raccoon? Groundhog? Fox?

I think they were foxes.

Sunday morning, mama fox (I'm pretty sure it was mama) got hit by a car on the road.

This afternoon I found yet another dead kit in the pasture.

Both yesterday and today, I saw only one fox each day.

Just one.

I wish there was something I could do to save this one, but nature clearly is taking its course.

It looks like I won't need to worry about chasing them away.

But, geez, this is not how I imagined this little adventure playing out.

Worth the wait

March passed with no further fox sightings.

By April, I thought maybe they had moved on after all.

Recently though, I'd started to catch fleeting glimpses again. Usually just the swoosh of a small figure caught out of the corner of my eye. Sometimes dashing for the fence line at the back of the property. Sometimes dashing for the barn.

I wanted to get a picture, even a crummy one, but invariably my phone was dead, or I'd put it down somewhere, or my hands were full, or wet, or she was long gone by the time I got my phone free.

Last week I heard the screams again.

But wait, I say to myself.

I never saw the first litter. You can't be working on a second litter yet, Ms. Fox. Where is my first litter? Where is the litter playing in the spring sunshine? Where is that first litter I was promised? 

Wikipedia promised me. The internet promised me.

I was a little disappointed.

Until this morning as I passed by the old barns to let the sheep out.

Hands free.

Phone charged.  

And lookie there, it's not even mama fox, it's babies! At least three different kits.

In the spring sunshine.

Sparing you the worst of the phone photos, here are a few of one kit. You gotta look close at the last couple to see the tiny little guy.

Snow foxes

I only wish I had a picture.

There are only two things I like about snow.

1) A snow covered ground makes it easy to see where I'm walking at night and 2) a snow covered ground makes it easy to see where others have been walking as well.

We've had very few days or nights of true snow cover this year. In general I'm happy about that, since with the snow usually comes bitter cold and lots of other unpleasantness.

But I have missed the snowlit nights.

That's why I was pleased when, on my way back to the house from feeding the ponies tonight, I realized I could see all the way back to the sheep barn behind the house. Behind the pony barn I could see all three of the old farmstead barns and all the yards around them. The dark shapes of the barns loomed out against the white snow. The distances were all foreshortened and a low ceiling of clouds made everything glow. It felt like being inside a lightbox.

And that's why I couldn't resist sneaking back to the sheep barn just to peek in the barnyard and see if anybody was still up and about. I could see one dark lump standing in the feeder. It turned out to be Brianna, bless her hungry little half-Lincoln heart. She was out in the yard all by herself cleaning up scraps from dinner. I hovered around for a while trying to get a picture of her in the dark with my phone, but she didn't much appreciate my intrusion and after a few minutes declared she didn't really want an audience and hopped down and away.

I turned to go, not quickly mind you, but fast compared to hovering I guess. My movement startled something out by the old barns. Something that started to run. I caught the movement in the corner of my eye, just in time to look up and catch the sight of not one, but two foxes racing back to the big barn.

Not one, but two foxes.

I'd suspected the fox I'd been hearing had moved into the old barn. I've seen tracks. Lots of tracks. Even tracks into and out of the sheep yard. The other morning, I saw the actual fox, not just her tracks, dart around the corner of the old barn and disappear inside it while I was feeding. And I've seen her trotting across the back field at dusk and dawn. Coming and going from hunts I assume. But, I hadn't realized there were two of them. I suppose there will be even more in a few weeks.

If we are lucky, and very careful and watchful, maybe we will see the kits.

And if we are very lucky, and very careful, and very watchful, maybe they will leave the sheep and the lambs that are coming, very much alone. I pray so.

And I need to get a picture.

Fox Scream

So, about that coyote footprint.

The dogs were acting weird this morning during their pre-dawn backyard break. Weird enough that I went outside to see what the deal was. They were lined up at the fence facing the paddocks behind the pony barn, staring into the dark. And from the dark came the creepiest sound I've ever heard. Silence, punctuated by a scream, every 10 or 15 seconds.

Made my heart stop.

There were no other sounds, which just contributed to the freakishness. No skirmishing, no tramping through the leaves or branches, no sheep baaing, or ponies stomping. Just this bizarre scream.

Pictures of coyotes marauding through the alpaca pen came unbidden to mind. Alpacas can make some pretty odd sounds, so I had to cram on my boots and run out to check on the poor guys.

Of course, the pacas were fine, if a little spooked to see me in the predawn dark, so I went back to the house and forgot about it.

Later I happened to mention it to my friend across the street.

She immediately asked, "Did it sound like a girl screaming?"

"Why yes. Yes it did. It sounded JUST like a girl screaming. Did you hear it?"

Turns out she heard it coming from behind her barn a couple of days ago.

It wasn't a coyote.

It was a red fox!

I feel so much better. Of course the tracks up the drive and by the house MUST have been a fox. Not a coyote.

I'm pretty sure a fox is not going to kill my sheep or alpacas.

But now I really want a night cam.

Something's not quite right

I was going to do a lightheaded light-um-HEARTED post (edited -- maybe I'm a bit tired as well) called Raining Bambies today. Both because the recent rains go way past mere cats and dogs, and because ANOTHER baby deer showed up by the barn yesterday. The first baby is still hanging out in the paddock and seems to be doing well. The second baby, sadly, died overnight. I found her in the hay garage this morning. So, no lightheartedness. Just sad.

I'm kicking myself about the second baby. We had a chance to help her and didn't.

When I first noticed her yesterday morning, she was wobbling across the driveway in front of the barn. At first, I assumed the original baby had finally managed to jump the fence and this was she. Something about her wobble though made me approach to check her out.

Well, she was so tiny and bony and so obviously weak -- so much tinier, skinner, and weaker than I had thought she was from a distance -- that one thing led to another and she ended up in a stall in the barn with a bottle of milk replacer, me beating up myself for having left her unaided all these weeks (what is it, three weeks now? more? I've lost track.)

Of course, right about the same moment we're giving her the bottle, I look up and spot, wait, what's that? Oh, look, a baby deer in the paddock. The first baby deer obviously. The one in the paddock is much bigger than the one we've now got in the stall. And the one in the paddock looks fine - big, healthy, munching away.

So, this new one is what? Closer to a newborn? Maybe just a normal skinny, wobbly week-old fawn?

Ok, time to rethink. Except we've already called the game warden, cause I was hoping if the original baby was now dying on me, somebody would come take it to a rehab center.

Once we figured out it was an entirely different fawn, we knew perfectly well that the game warden was going to say put her back outside so her mom can find her. 

So I went ahead and did just that. And, in point of fact, the game warden did eventually call and say put her back outside so her mom can find her. 

She hung around a little during the afternoon. At one point I found her checking out the chickens in the new chicken coop. Beautiful little fawn.

Then she wandered off. I'd hoped she'd found her mom. Or that her mom had found her.

But, not so. First thing I saw this morning when I went out to feed the chickens, was the little girl stretched out on the floor in the hay. I think she probably starved.

I know I know I know we're not supposed to interfere with the deer, but the next time I find a starving fawn, I'm interfering.

And by the way, why is it raining Bambies at my house?!

Making herself at home

By all appearances, baby is perfectly happy right where she is, in the paddock between the barn and the creek.  I don't think everyone feels the same though. Thyme didn't appreciate her company at dinnertime.

Whatchya guys eating? 

Not a hoof closer, Bambi.

Ok ok, I'm going. 

Move along little Bambi

I'm just gonna pretend I haven't been awol for the past two months. Working hard on the farm. Real progress being made. Finally getting more fencing in place. Etc. Etc.

But what's this? 

Yes, that's an itty bitty fawn standing at the base of the oak tree inside what used to be the goat pen (look close) and is now part of a quarter acre paddock by the pony barn. Yes, she is INSIDE the paddock. 

Best we can figure, she must have been there when the fencing guy closed the paddock with wire nearly two weeks ago now. She's too small to jump the fence to get out.

I only discovered she was there three or four days ago. 

Her mother is NOT with her, though I see Mom in other spots around the property every day. Baby hides in the long grass and thickets when she's not grazing. 

When we discovered her, we opened up the fence where the gate eventually will go, thinking Mom would come take her out over night. But that was three or four days ago and she's still there. Mom checks on her through the fence, but has not figured out how to get her out. I have considered chasing baby out, but I'm afraid I'll chase her away when Mom isn't around and she'll get permanently separated. At least this way, Mom knows where she is. 

Baby can't stay though. Around here, if the wildlife people discover a tamed deer, they confiscate and kill it. I don't want to go there, so cute as she is, she needs to leave. The sooner the better. 

Plus, the poor goats need their paddock back. 

Are you my mommy?

A big, hungry cowbird baby waiting for food from its tiny chipping sparrow mom.

From the archives for Wild Bird Wednesday.

Spring housing market shows signs of rebound

It must be spring - the robins are busy.  

The other day I spotted a robin flying in and out of the garage/hay shed.

In and out. In and out.

I went to explore and found this thrown together on a narrow ledge just inside the open doorway. 

 This struck me as a sub-optimal place to raise a family. A narrow, unprotected ledge next to an exposed doorway. A mess on the ground below for fledgings to get tangled in. Also a major raccoon, possum and feral cat highway. 

But nobody asked for my opinion. 

A few days later, I went back and saw the ledge was clear. Thought maybe mom and dad recognized their poor choice and took their efforts elsewhere. 

Then I saw robins flying in and out of the open doorway. 

In and out. In and out. 

Hmmm.

On a third peek, I noticed an extremely large pile of grass and twig debris on the floor below the empty ledge. Silly birds. Rookie builders apparently. 

I decided to offer them a hand. I nailed a hard piece of a plasticized packing material up against their ledge, to form a lip of sorts and help hold their efforts in place. 

I interrupted their work to do this. Somebody, mom or dad, sat on the tree in the driveway scolding me. 

Later, I went back to see if they had accepted the help or moved on to more private accommodations. They decided to stay. Determined little things. 

This morning I popped in to check their progress.

Nice job rookies!

I'm going to have to clean up the building site for them. 

ps. Annotated photograph idea totally ripped off from inspired by the7msnranch.com.

Natural defenses

Storm Virgil may be messing with us now, but Saturday could not have been more beautiful. And Friday wasn't so bad either.

Not to squander the opportunity, I spent the two day winter respite in a marathon of yard work. I felt the pain Sunday, but it felt good to make some progress on the spring to do list.

First up, clearing the downed trees in one of the new pastures. When we built the barn last fall, we probably cut down 15 trees in the near vicinity. One or two, a beautiful mature pine and a nice tulip poplar, had to go because they were smack dab in the way. But the rest were sacrificed for safety reasons -- wild cherries (poisonous), a black walnut (can cause founder), some honey locusts (the thorns from hell). (Not to worry, we still have dozens of each left. Sigh.) We didn't get them all cleared away before winter hit. Three cherries still lay in the new pasture. I managed to clear two completely. One remains.

In addition to clearing the downed trees, I was able to prune an ancient apple tree and two old peach trees. I think the peaches will have to go, there just wasn't much to save on either tree, but the apple tree is huge, healthy, and produced very tasty apples last year. I also took another stab at shearing the thorns of one of the honey locusts out in the pasture. The thorns came off like a dream with my new pruning saw, but created quite the nasty pile on the ground that I haven't cleaned up yet.

Those thorns on the honey locust are just frightening. When I was researching ways to deal with them, I read a theory that the tree evolved the thorns to keep wooly mammoths and other tall prehistoric creatures from eating them.  Apparently the thorns don't appear any higher than 15 feet or so, even on a 40 foot tree. So the theory goes. As I wound up my work, with the evening settling around me, I checked out my trees, trying to decide if I believed that theory. I discovered this.


It's a squirrel's nest, buried in the middle of the thorns about 10 feet off the ground. Truly this has got to be the Fort Knox of squirrels' nests. I would never have recognized it under all the bristle, save for catching the gleam of one small squirrel eye, watching me as I worked. Unfortunately, my iPhone doesn't capture that detail.

The squirrel was frozen in place while I scrabbled around the tree and at first I thought maybe it was some ancient petrified remains like I find every so often around here -- somehow impaled or imprisoned in the tree. How on earth could it have gotten up that scary trunk and into that hidey hole?

I found out soon enough. When I walked away, the poor squirrel, feeling stalked maybe, dashed up the trunk, across the high, thornless branches, into a neighboring tree and down to the ground as fast as he could. I watched him go. He eventually evicted a downey woodpecker from a hole high in a smooth-barked silver maple behind the house.

Apparently Fort Knox wasn't his taste. He preferred a penthouse suite.

And then the skunk died...

RIP little guy.

A bit of a stink

We're in a bit of a bind here at Tyche's Run.

A few days ago --3 to be exact, and it turns out to matter -- I stumbled on this creature wandering around the back field. A hawk flew away as I approached.

At first I thought it was a cat, but, um, obviously not. I had my new camera with me, so it seemed a good chance to take shots I wouldn't normally get, else I might have just steered clear and not thought any more about it. As it was, the more I watched, the more concerned I became. My first thought was that it suffered lingering shock from a hawk attack, and that if left unmolested, it would recover and run off into the brush. In fact, while I watched, its breathing slowed and it started to move around. But I watched for close to an hour and it never ran off, just wandered listlessly around in circles. Periodically it would stop, curl up in a ball and rest. Rabies? Distemper? Maybe starving to death?