Gertrude: Mole Killer

The chicken seems quite insistent that I blog about her. Please, let me indulge my chicken...

Last night about 8ish Isabel went outside to complete the task Matt & Dan have termed "chicken wrangling". Apparently Gertrude is not easy to catch if she doesn't know you. While Izzy & I have little problem and Zoli simply has to appear outside and the chicken is drawn to him like a feathery magnet; It seems that Whilst they were in charge, at various time this summer; Matt and poor Dan (my "good" college age son) had a hell of a time bringing her poultry ass back in at night. She apparently has no fear of raccoons or coyotes, both of which we know full well are in close proximity, and she prefers to "hide" and laugh at the silly humans trying their best to protect her. So, last night was a perfectly ordinary Weds. night and starting to get darker and Iz took it upon herself to "tuck in" her beloved chicken.

About five minutes into the expected routine (it usually takes a second to find her) we hear Isabel's voice has gone up an octave or two and has that tense tone--"Daaaaad" her voice cuts in through the dining room window. "I need somebody tall." The alarm in her voice roused us all from our DVR/Daily Show haze and we quickly emerged onto the back porch. The chicken has been known to chide Izzy (or myself) in our tardy habits by ensconcing herself on the cushioned furniture of the back porch if she feels it is time to bed down for the night. After we wander around the yard clucking and "here chicken-ing" somebody will notice she is sitting there, smugly snuggled on the bench or nestled into a chair cushion. The world's most spoiled chicken. HOWEVER! last night she was not perched on the rail (in order to peek in the windows), nor was she contentedly snoozing on the lawn chair--no dear one, Gertrude had in fact perched herself on the banner of fairy flags, (similar to Tibetan prayer flags) we have strung across the back porch. There she was swinging like grade schooler at recess, perfectly happy--except Iz couldn't reach her and Isabel was pretty sure Gertrude was going to fall. I was laughing so hard, and quite sure that if I took the time to swap out the lens I would miss the moment--but I did get some shots, blurry tho they are-- Zoli was adamant that I blog about it immediately. But I am not about to be told what to do by a 13 year old nor a chicken. I ignored that advice...

Until today...

When- as I was unloading groceries, I noticed Gertrude was quite busy flipping something floppy around the yard. Now generally she is all over largeish bugs, fat bumblebees and grasshoppers etc, and that seems quite normal. You may recall our adventure with the tomato worm that recently attacked me-- and you might if you are a true believer; you will certainly remember the day she got her FIRST Toad. She has since gotten several toads, but this afternoon she has branched out into the mammalian realm and had indeed procured herself a tiny mole! NOW we have something to write about! It was about three inches long and missing most of its entrails. My vicious mole killing chicken. Free range has a whole new meaning!