The fuzzy image above is a FaceTime screenshot, taken by someone who informed me of a marauder who has laid a gristly swathe through my hens.

This is why we can’t have good things.

While I understand the need for a mother raccoon to provide for her (large) brood of kits, I’d argue that my hens are not the appropriate venue for feeding them.

So, rotten bastards, I think. These lousy beasts have left the wreckage of my layers all over my yard and the neighbor’s yard as well.

We summoned the pest control fella, and that resulted in exactly nothing. Apparently, he grabbed Mama, and she put up a fight. She won. The pest control fella did not. Zero raccoons were captured; seven hens were dead.

Denizens of the lovely land down under, I feel your pain re: possums. However, be advised. We have ‘coons, you do not. Be glad! While funny and pretty in their own way, they can be a real menace. I’m prone to live and let live, but this means war.

Seriously.