These fluffy chicks, with unusual sticky-out plumage, arrived last week–the gift of our friend and neighbor Flo.
Four of them–five weeks old; a possible cockerel (the little red cockscomb is the give away, it seems) which we’d return if confirmed–and three females. They busied themselves immediately–casing the joint; in and out of the abundant foliage which is growing like mad–there’s been so much rain.
Chuck-chucking round the courtyard they went, checking for bugs and other goodies in this new environment–content to forage and let the morrow look after itself.
Oh dear..!
We had a job herding them into the little hen house for the night–why don’t they know it’s for their own good!
Chased them round and round the courtyard–a comic carousel–until the bright idea of backing them into little hall area of the dependence (side building) occurred.
One by one, we cornered them–me holding out the light long handled fishing net used to catch mice and relocate them! Meredith grabbing them and after much squeaking–poor terrified creatures–folding them gently but firmly through the door of the henhouse–why don’t they know it’s for their own good!
Down went the flap on the last one and we sighed with relief. Safe for the night.
Oh dear..!
An appointment in Toulouse means an early departure the next morning.
Meredith takes out a bowl of food just before we leave.
Silence…
I follow her out to see how the little chickadees are doing.
They’re dead!
Dead?
All four!
And indeed there they were lying inert in the fresh hay.
We had the whole day in Toulouse to wonder how in the world..!?
Meredith started itching. Little mites had colonized her since she handled the chicks. Could they have done for them? Were they fatally traumatised by our efforts to coral them into the henhouse? Had they eaten something poisonous in the courtyard? Was the henhouse itself infected with a virus? Seemed unlikely.
By the time we arrived home, Flo’s husband Thierry had come by to take them away.
Flo came up with the more convincing answer the next day.
A fouine (stone marten) attack.
a pretty little stone marten–pretty but lethal!
Our friend Jean-Phillippe–here for seasonal box hedge clipping–confirmed this theory.
Dramatically he held up his pen, saying the little predator is able to get through a hole as small as the circumference of a pen.
The marten then goes for the jugular and turns into Dracula!
This explains the almost unharmed look of the chicks as they lay dead on the floor of their short lived new home.
Oh dear…
A sad tale from the Tarn.
Does it mean perhaps that no more little hens can safely inhabit the courtyard of Saint Martin for fear of the deadly night rambler–the unseen Stone Marten?
Robin Ellis 
hmmm…where were the cats? Time to get a dog to guard the hen house?
Not only do I love your recipes but thoroughly enjoy hearing about your escapades taking place at your wonderful paradise in France. This was a sad ending but none the less interesting. Having never been to France it is really fun to see pictures of your country home. I almost feel like one of your welcome visitors. I look forward to more recipes and further adventures!
No cats on guard duty?
I enjoy your tales so much. Wish I had some wisdom to add to the story of the chicks and the stone marten. Ah.
Happy Spring days ahead!
Frankie
Hello dear Robin,Watch out for the cats, they atack also cats.Hughs.
It took care of the rooster problem
Oh pauvre petites, so sad. Why didn’t the stone martin eat them then? He’d already done the the dirty deed ?
😦
Nature red in tooth and claw…my condolences, what a nasty shock for animal lovers early in the morning.
I know just how you feel — I lost my flock, one by one, to sneaky predators years ago, despite all our attempts to foil the murderers. I’m sure there must be a wealth of information on varmint-proof chicken coops on the web. I’m hoping to rehab my own poultry palace this summer so I can start a new flock next year. Don’t give up — nothing surpasses a newly laid egg on your breakfast plate!
Aww, poor little things! That’s so sad. Weasels do the same thing around here: they sneak in & kill all the chickens (usually disgustingly decapitating them), then leave the bodies. Rarely will they carry one away. Happened to my sister’s chickens–one by one (despite their dog!) and once a baby bird that we so carefully nursed & rescued. The latter was in broad daylight.
Best the cats were in the house & didn’t tangle with a predator like that. Don’t want them to become part of the food chain!
Not sure what you can do until the bugger moves on… 😦 Is there a wildlife rehabilitator or specialist in your area who might know how to discourage him? They are beautiful, though. Once saw a weasel hopping along our stone wall one year, blending in with the white. He moved in a sliding, ferret-like way…really neat, but deadly for our little rodent population, I’m sure.
Where are your adult chickens, right now? Or were your little roosters the last of the flock?
What a horrid end to a seemingly comic tale! If you decide to add writing children’s books to your accomplishments, you could create quite a few nightmares (ala Neil Gaiman) with the Tale of the Four Little Chicks.
Oh, my dears! What a terrible loss and a heartache to you! I’m truly sorry to hear about this because I know myself what it means to lose a bird to a preditor. This fouine or stone marten is somebody’s property – a pet. It’s very similar to our ferrets.Where could he have come from? You have kept birds very successfully in the past. It’s a mystery just like those lost sunflowers a few months ago…
On Mon, May 20, 2013 at 12:39 AM, Robin Ellis
Arrrrrr.Poor babies.:-((
Oh the joys of animal ownership, there is an old Devon Farming saying ” if you have livestock eventually you have dead stock”. Sounds harsh but very true if its not bagers or foxes eating young stock,it’s just nature red in tooth and claw. Don’t give up Robin get some mature hens they are more likely to survive your little killer.
All best
Roly and Jane Willett
Thanks for the encouraging words, Jane!
So very sorry to hear about these chicks. Our friend Martin, had something similar with an attack by a fox. So very sorry, must have been a terrible shock. All you can say is that you did your very best to protect them. It is so upsetting for you both. Bless you both. Hope this doesn’t happen again.
Best wishes
Bev
Sorry to hear about the chicks–we have Australian possums and also stoats here in New Zealand, and it is so devastating the way they are killing the native birds & their little ones. Back in Alaska we have had to trap some critters, and there are live traps so you can remove them to another area–although they’ll just keep on their killing/raiding ways, no matter where they are. If you have some sort of group that controls wildlife in your area (like fish & wildlife officers in the USA), they may be able to give you some ideas & possible help. Good luck! I agree with some of the others–nothing beats a fresh egg. 🙂
Robin:
I am so very sorry! This is really ironic because I have a friend who had new chicks and ducks and she and her husband came outside on Mother’s day morning to CARNAGE! Only one duck survived, he lost an eye- and she is nursing him back to health, and 2 chickens survived out of about 7! I met the chicks about a month ago and I even got eggs to take home. My friend treats them with love- like pets. Her husband was showing me how one of them loved to be petted I got a tour of the chicken coop and it looked pretty good to me (of course, I know nothing about chicken coops) but it looked like it protected them.
My friend was so upset about this she was sick. She posted it on FB and I just assumed it was a fox.
Another one of our friends figured out it was a racoon, because foxes can’t climb up and over the coop. Now the friend (who is a sharpshooter) is coming over to kill the coons- Darn,I think racoons are cute! He even gave our chicken lady friend a recipe for “crockpot racoon!” We were on Face Book laughing about it but I honestly think he may be serious! LOL.
I had a cat who loved to kill ANYTHING (even a possum that was bigger than he was! I had to call dead animal removal after he brought it up to the back porch!) just for the sake of being a predator. But he was a very sweet cat. This is life and the food chain. I am very sorry and hope you get new chicks soon and find a way to keep the predators out. I am so glad that you realized what it was that killed them. That certainly is a major part of preventing it. Good luck! I always loved your chicken stories!
Judy
So sad to hear this story. I am truly attached to my “girls” here in Boerne, Texas. Sometimes nature just seems so cruel. We had lost several hens to feral cats (they look like housecats, but they are NOT) and raccoons. So to protect the chickens, we built what I call “the fortress.” Of course, you can’t stop everything, but the hens have been safe for 18 months or so. All thirteen of them. Don’t give up on the idea of keeping chickens! On a lighter and better note, I have the “red peppers with tomato and chevre” in the oven right now and it smells wonderful. Thanks. Best of luck with further chicken love.
It’s too sad… to see the lovely photo & to find that shortly after they were dead.
I’m so sorry
Didn’t know there were stone martens in France. Our neighbours found their 4 ducks killed by foxes last week—
Here in Virginia, we lost 9 guineas in one night to a bobcat, and THEY were our watchdogs! Have had many a chicken turn up with their insides tidily removed, as well…beastly possums. It’s a dirty business, but do keep at it. Fresh eggs, stimulating conversations and high drama all generously supplied by a personal poultry yard…and it’s true, with age comes wisdom…ours put themselves up at night, and it’s early to bed, too…all we have to do is pin the latch.
Nature is so lovely and so brutal at the same time. It is one thing when animals kill to survive, but this seemed almost gratuitous, the little sod.
My mother had a stone marten stole when I was a child. It was a bargain basement version of a mink stole, all that my twenty-something father could afford at the time, all dangly feet and tails, with a sharp, dead little mouth for a clasp. As it went out of style it became a a prominent addition to my daughters’ dress up box. They loved playing with what they called Granny’s weasels. lol
I am sorry for your sad loss. 😦 Hopefully there will be more luck with future additions.
wonderful all captain tales.