When they travel: Then there were four.

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Farm duty week two day two. The attack of the raccoon continues.

Kill count four. Chicken count 10. I was missing one.

The night before was four hours of my life that I will not too soon forget. After recovering, going to bed early, I woke up to a text message from my moms' friend. "Hey, I found one of your chickens. I can bring it over now if you want." Sure, come on over. She walked over with the chicken in her arms like a cat. Apparently, she loved having her over and would miss her. Come over any time, I said. Then my brother calls, "hey the neighbors down the street see a chicken in the backyard and can't catch it for you. Go help them."

Like a ninja, got the two missing chickens, walked home feeling like a champion, and thanked my awesome neighbors for their help. They too thought the chicken was cute and wanted to keep it for a bit. "Come over anytime," I said. I go to work, inform my co-workers, they laugh, I sigh and before I know it the day was over. I stall a bit once I get home, wanting to do anything else but go outside and face the music. I properly subconsciously knew.

Two more had gone. Kill count is now four.

I couldn't believe I had to dig another hole!

I would have to wash my hair again, chores would take another hour, and the sun is out with revenge! I might have been over the trauma of seeing dead chickens, but I was so over the sweating. Boots on, shovel in hand, new spot and now I've perfected the technique. I stayed up a little later that night, heard the chickens screaming, ran outside to see if I could catch the beast. I saw the chickens on the fence yelling but couldn't find the raccoon. Parent's suggested I leave the lights on to see if that would discourage it.

Then the morning came. Day three.

Kill count six. Chicken count 8.

Well, leaving the light out didn't help. If anything it encouraged the beast. By this count, there would only be two left by Saturday. Texted dad, call me when you see this. Two hours later.

Kubby: Pae Pae (Daddy in Portuguese), you gotta call someone, we gotta do something, we are up to SIX dead chickens.
Dad: Okay, here's what I've done before. At my job, there is this cage, trap. Grab it put some meat inside, catch it, shoot it, and that should be the end of it.

Silence...

Kubby: Daddy, what makes you think I can do any of that? Can't your friend grab it for me and take care of it? Call your friend, ask someone, can I phone one of your farmer friends?
Dad: I don't think he'll understand what I'm saying if I'm not there. (Dad has a heavy accent.) Plus, if I'm not there, how are you going to kill it? I usually shoot it. You can too.
Kubby: This isn't helping...

Mom texted me later saying the guy from their church that takes care of the churches farm would cover to trap it or take the chickens until they returned. I was relieved! No more digging. Then I come home.

To be continued...

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