He died a hero. No, not the dog.
Rocky the Rock Barred Rooster.
Some critter, most likely a coyote, discovered the smorgasbord of Argghhh! - also known as free-ranging chickens and guinea fowl.
Rocky was an ass, but then, many heroes are. I miss his crow in the morning.
But Rocky has a sideparty in Phasianidae Valhalla, to march in chains across the Rainbow Bridge, his servant in the afterlife.
Yesterday, while SWWBO and Right Girl were out making money at the Farmer's Market, Bug (Right Girl's gay chihuahua), plus Kiki and Gunner were out keeping an eye out for interlopers, as the birds wended their easily-distracted ways to the coop for the night.
The Predator usually strikes between 5:30 and 7:00PM. Too early for the possums and raccoons - besides, all that's usually left is a few feathers. This killer is big enough to take away the whole bird.
Me and my posse are all just sitting around the tree that overlooks the barn, coop, and paddock. The goats are munching away, the horses are munching away, and the birds are... munching away. Bug is being a chihuahua. Kiki is sitting at my feet, Gunner has his head up, alert.
We're about to see who is made of what, this evening.
Suddenly Gunner pops upright, peering intently at the brush north of the barn - a site of several avian murders. Coming to full alert, he takes off like a flash.
Kiki stands up, her bloodhound nose aquiver.
Bug? Well, Bug... vibrates.
Suddenly wild yipping and barking breaks out from the grass where Gunner sped. Kiki lets out a classic hound-like howl and bounds off into the brush.
Bug vibrates.
The birds... munch. The goats... munch. The horses... munch. Because they know that rough men and rough dogs stand ready. Well, dog, anyway.
I head for the house.
Bug follows me. Vibrating.
The yipping, barking and howling continue down into the swale of the creek below the house, and then moves up-branch into the impact area laying directly behind the house, where many a criminal piece of paper has been executed by firing squad.
I go into the house. Bug - runs off, vibrating like the chihuahua he is.
The sound of mortal combat intensifies. That or a meeting of the Security Council. I come out of the house. Carrying the O.R.C., tapping the magazine to ensure it's seated, and flipping the filters up on the Tru-Glo sight.
I lock and load, safety on, trigger finger laying alongside the receiver, rifle cradled at the ready.
Kiki comes bounding back upslope, revealing her inner Frenchness. She barks sternly at the fighting going on in the brush, like an impotent UN diplomat in front of a camera.
And looks to me to do something. Heh. Typical.
Somewhere, off in the distance, Bug is vibrating. I can just tell. I just hope he's not vibrating near any coyotes.
The sound of the skirmishing has moved upstream and is now climbing up out of the rocky tree-lined valley into the old pasture to the west of the house - I can finally see the combatants. Gunner is indeed harrying a coyote.
Kiki is demanding a cease fire, with peace keepers and condoms for everyone!
Bug is vibrating, somewhere.
The rifle comes up, I settle into a good cheek weld, both eyes open in the gathering red-tinged gloom of a cloudy Kansas dusk.
I switch to green dot from red cross.
There they are... safety off... tracking, tracking, tracking, - break contact little brother - tracking, lead, lead, lead, the green dot rests on the tip of the coyote's breast as he makes his break to crest the hill and escape... squeeze, gentle buck, a reminder to next time remember the damn shooting muffs, and the interloper tumbles into the brush, Gunner following.
Kiki still bellows sternly at everyone, demanding that everyone return to pre-conflict borders.
The goats, startled by the shot, look up, and go back to munching. The horses trot over to the far side of the paddock. The horses across the street, in the south pasture, given that the flow of battle was headed their way, break into a run for the low ground in the east by the dam. The birds don't notice a thing. They aren't deaf, but they sure don't give a hoot about gunfire.
Somewhere, Bug is vibrating.
Safety on, I trot laboriously into the overgrown grass of the as yet unmown pasture. I marvel that I'm finally able to move at all, much less trot, given the damn gout.
Gunner stands guard over the body of his fallen foe. The foe that he flushed, and ran to ground. Gunner is a goofball, but he's a brave little bugger. Once I'm there to secure the scene, the UN diplomat Kiki arrives to take questions from the press and credit for the cease-fire, followed by a vibrating chihuahua named Bug.
I'm glad to see Bug. I would hate to have had to tell Wendy I used him for bait and that it didn't quite go as planned. There would have been weeping and wailing, and I would have been crushed with guilt over my part in the death of Bug.
The coyote? Not so much. Leave my tribe alone, canis latrans...
And Gunner? Gunner now knows what it sounds like, when the bullets are headed your way, sorta. He's a combat veteran.
RG
Grumpy
And a grey wolf teamed up with a Lab-Shepherd mix will flat clean the clocks of a pack of six.
Heh. My little sis doesn't *need* a bang-stick...
poodleshooterblack rifle?RG
One little thing, though: dunno if Right Girl wants to be known as the woman who owns a vibrating chihuahua.
I'm just sayin'...
Besides, it was the best tool for the job, all things considered. Second choice would have been the M1A, but I didn't have any 7.62x51 open, it was all still in battlepacks, but I did have an open case of charger-loaded 5.56mm...
Sorry to hear 'bout Rocco. He was a proud bird. Who will fill his spurs now that he's gone. Sachmo is much a pretty boy for that.
His M1A is his Springfield Armory M14 clone...
We could use you around here. We have a coyote who regularly beds down in our backyard--about 15 feet from my bedroom window, max. I'm not joking.
Heh. Can you imagine the fuss your rifle would create in this semi-tony SoCal neighborhood? ROFLMAO
FbL, what semi-tony part of SoCal are you in, 'cuz in Irvine, they would go balistic for the mere ownership, much less use of such a weapon...
The coyotes have had too many babies this year, because it has been a cool, rainy summer, with lot's of food available to them. So there is an over population of coyotes. I intend to kill any coyote, fox, racoon, wild cat, bob cat or other vamint that tries to take away my right to raise my egg laying chickens by stealing them and eating them and leaving my hens defenseless.
The coyotes have no more rights to live than my birds, and do little but spread disease and fleas.
As to my location, it's the tonier PART of a standard SoCal city (kinda an upscale suburb--where our 1500 sq ft is considered a "cottage," the neighbor is a glamorous wedding planner who meets clients in her home, and "immigrant" groundskeepers are everywhere). I don't know what the gun ownership laws are here, but I think they're not unusually restrictive for CA. However, I get the impression that most people around here count on electric rather than ballistic security systems. ;)
I'm a Nazi. Want a kiss?
Regards,
Roy
If you are ever in Halifax County, VA, my wife and I will be glad to let you shoot our Glocks, Bushmasters, Springfields, Colts, Smith & Wessons, Rugers, Steyrs, M1 Carbines, Remingtons, Kel-Tecs, Kimbers, Tauri, Mausers, Glenfields, Winchesters, Marlins, and anything else in our small armory. We will also take souvenir photographs to hang on your walls to impress / outrage your neighbors.
Alan, I must disagree. little wolf is not a hypocrite, he is a liberal.
First, he believes that humans should "share [the world] with the rest of God's creatures." Apparently this includes allowing feral carnivores the free run of Beth's little domestic friends, in the interest of "fairness."
Second, he believes (from context) that predators are "person[s]" who have a "right to exist." I wonder if little wolf has ethically pursued this concept to the logical conclusion that a predator has the right to eat him in order to pursue it's right to exist.
It also follows that, if a real human being type-person assaults little wolf, in order that the assailant may pursue his own "right to exist," little wolf has no right to self-defense. This follows from his apparent belief that the Donovans have no right to defend their little friends from assault and death.
I'm sorry, what's that? little wolf may defend himself, as that is also another unalienable right? Ok, fair enough. But the li'l pup should at least concede that his position negates the idea of coordinate defense; that is, defending those close to you. Therefore, the manky wolflet may defend himself, but may not defend others important to him. So much for your wife, sons, or daughters.
Ah, but scrappy-wolf responds that those people are family, hence defensible. And who's to say that Rocky, Pebble, and Brownie aren't family to Beth and John? Didn't scrofulous canis minimus just say that animals are people, too?
Sorry, li'l wolfie, but I prefer John's primitive approach to your, ah, more nuanced concepts.
"Do not mess with me, or mine, else you suffer the consequences."
So, what's your beef with John's defense of *his* living creatures' right to exist?
Oooooh -- beef. Lunchtime...
Leave my tribe alone, canis latrans...
Apparently, war has been declared. There was another avian casualty last night.
Heh. Little does the coyote know... I have night vision sights, and since television so universally blows... plenty of available time.
Kinda of an oxymoronic statement there, don'cha think. ;P
I don't doubt there are ethically consistent liberals out there, but sometimes you have to examine the actual ethos involved.
My grandpa lived on the same farm all of his 99 years. But, I forgot to ask how do you dispose of a coyote carcass. I even forgot to ask him how he disposed of the skunks around the barn.
In July, atop Monarch Pass in Colorado, the tram operator said he shot coyotes on his days off because they killed the rancher's calves. He turned them in for the bounty.
If it goes like roadkill, before today is out, it will only be skin and bone left, and not much of that.
I've not had to kill anything else, but we live in a very rural area with lots of woods. Out here, nature's recycling process is pretty efficient.
If I have to start really culling this pack, I'll probably call the state and ask 'em what I need to do to claim the bounty - but I'm guessing the state doesn't want me bringing in whole carcasses - which *they* would then have to dispose of.
The situation is different out here than in the city, where there are fewer scavengers, and a lot less room
Here in Virginia, we turn in the tongue to the VDGIF. (VA Dept. of Game and Inland Fisheries.) We get a $50 bounty.