A Predator Got Sweet Little Victoria

Our sweet little Old English game hen, Victoria, was killed last night by a predator.  Not eaten, not to provide food for babies, not for any good or understandable reason.  Her battered body was still in the pen, bitten and punctured, with maybe a teaspoon full of flesh missing.  Enough damage for such a tiny body to succumb.

I am filled with rage and grief and hatred.  I understand that everything has to eat.  But I live among a veritable smorgasbord of delicacies for predators, available without digging under or tearing through fencing.  But, this skunk (most likely) only wanted to kill, then take a bite or two and leave.  That's what they do.  

Last year, I placed my newly raised ring neck pheasants and quail adolescents into a large covered aviary to mature, in preparation for release.  A skunk came in the night and killed nine of them!  All it did was eat the heads off and leave.  Two nights later, he returned. This time, my 12 gauge spoke for me. 

Last night's raid produced more than one victim.  Our little rooster, Albert, was beaten up pretty badly, bloodied and scraped and missing feathers.  His comb was heavily scabbed and his breast feathers soaked with blood.  He had tried to defend his little wife.  The pen looked like a hell of a battle had occurred, blood and feathers everywhere.  As evidence of his efforts, Victoria's body was near the hole, but not drug through and taken.  He is very excitable today, and falls asleep standing up.

The pen has been relocated to a solid base, one impervious to digging predators.  For the chickens, it means not having the grass and soil and bugs beneath their feet. 

I am waiting.  I have set a live trap baited with a dead bird.  I will humanely capture the animal, and then I will blow it's fucking head off.