A while back I was criticizing people who own chickens. I mouthed off about the dopey local author and his rubber boots and fake accent. Eggs are cheap, I said. Cheep, cheep (just as funny the second time around).

Anyway, my wife got six chickens. For a couple of years I said, “No chickens.” And no chickens had we. Because I forbade it.

When I was a kid I knew many people who had chickens. Chickens are a lot of work. Chickens shit a lot. Chickens don’t obey their masters. This would be the time for a wife and obeying joke, but she may read this sometime in the future. I watched Farrah Fawcett in The Burning Bed. Being burned alive is never good. It is especially unnecessary over something as trivial as chickens.

The problem that I ran into was that when we moved here there was already a chicken coop and pen on premises. When these things exist, they take away one major obstacle to getting chickens. Under ordinary circumstances, somebody would have to build a coop and pen and that somebody would have been me. And I wouldn’t have done it. But there was no need for me to build anything because the previous owners had already ruined a very convenient obstacle. I might add here that they hadn’t owned chickens for some time. I did mention this to my wife. Apparently, she didn’t hear me.

Six chicks arrived and they are cute and all. My wife is very happy and that is a good thing. I do not begrudge her this happiness, but I understand the vicissitudes of chicken ownership. For example, chickens taste good. Of course, I won’t eat them (except in case of emergency- then break glass and wring Henny Penny’s neck). But I have restraint. Other creatures do not.

Have you ever considered what might eat a chicken? I’ll tell you. Raccoons. Hawks. Eagles. Drunken hillbillies. A roaming farm cat. Our own cats. The many turkey vultures circling overhead (it’s either me or the chickens they want). Crows. Ravens. Foxes. Coyotes. Bears. Domestic dogs. Badgers. Bullsnakes. To name but a few. And none of these potential predators cares a whit about my wife’s feelings. Why should they? They probably have their own problems. Regardless, now I have to be always one step ahead of this ravenous horde who, only a few short weeks ago, were nothing to me but curiosities.

“Look at that cool vulture circling over me again.”

“Coyotes are so cool.”

“EEK! A giant snake is in the yard!” I don’t like snakes.

So there is a raccoon that has been occasionally raiding my bird feeders. This is an irritating habit, but not a mortal sin. After all, it is not necessary to feed the birds during the summer. In fact, it is bird welfare. Get off your lazy rumps and forage for your living! Damned freeloaders.

However, now that we have chickens the raccoon has to go. Where I am from, this would probably mean death by firing squad. Brutal, but efficient. Alas, I am no longer in the forgotten reaches of the Northern forest and I must therefore conform to the rules of my pastoral Rome.

So, I have to live trap the damn thing. This sounds relatively straightforward, provided you have never live trapped an animal. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation is a bit more complex. For example, when you set a live trap you may or may not trap the animal you were looking for. If the trapee is a cute fox, it becomes a humorous anecdote to tell by fireside. On the other hand, if the trapped animal is a badger you may or may not be making a run to the emergency room. You may also trap a skunk, which is a dilemma of a different, but no less serious, sort.

But I choose to be an optimist. I believe I will trap the raccoon on the first try. And I also believe that I will be able to release this raccoon without being bitten and having to get a rabies shot.

Did I mention that I live trapped a raccoon a few years back? I set it free about six miles from our old house. It was back the next day. Needless to say, the current raccoon is going on a road trip to a mostly Republican county.

Fox News Headline: “Antifa Leaving Killer Coons for Unsuspecting Patriots.”

And that’s how I made my peace with some effing chickens. Who will probably all be dead soon.