Massacre at Spurgeon Meadows

It could be a headline...
Except it won't be.
There was a massacre in my back yard last night.
A bloodbath.
I heard something early in the morning....
Was I dreaming?
It sounds like birds...
"Heather, what is that?"
"Mmmm...I don't know"....
I must be dreaming...
The sounds stopped.....
The sounds began again...
I tossed and turned...not thinking what I heard was odd.
What an annoying noise!
Then I woke up because I realized it was dark and I was hearing birds!
I ran downstairs and flipped on the porch light.
A raccoon ran from my chicken tractor.
It opened the door and helped itself.
I didn't realize they could do that.
There were five teenaged chicks in my tractor when I went to bed.
There are two left.
Two frightened chicks who witnessed the murder of three of their friends.
They were frantic.
There was a headless body by the door...
Feathers strewn about outside the tractor.
The scene of a crime.
My heart broke.
How could I have slept so soundly?
I gathered up the two remaining chicks and put them into the coop with Aretha and Gladys,
Named for their beautiful black feathers and their prolific chatter...
And explained that the little ones had been through a traumatic experience and now is the time to step up to the plate and be nice.
They just sat on the roosting pole scowling about the early wake-up call...
The ruckus hadn't awakened THEM...
I was hoping they would put their feathered wings around the two little traumatized pullets and help them to feel secure.
Nope.
The first sign of scratch and it was all about survival of the biggest.
I'm disappointed in them...but I understand...
They're chickens after all.
And if I've learned anything from being a chicken farmer.
Chickens are not very bright.
So today I'll be a coop monitor...
So far, so good...the little ones are cautious.
The big ones somewhat oblivious.
I can't wait until Aretha starts crowing like a rooster...
Can you imagine?
A traumatic night and then that?
They'll think they're in an episode of the twilight zone.
poor things...
So I'll clean up the crime scene later...after a nap...
gross.
And hopefully, hens don't have the memory of an elephant...
Hopefully they forget things easily.
Like how their farmer slept through a massacre...
Where three of their friends were breakfast for a raccoon.
RIP.