An Open Letter To My Foe/s

To whom it may concern,

I have tried to be respectful of your space and your needs.  I understand, although I don’t like it, when the deer eat my tomatoes. When the skunks come up and eat the cat food, I do realize that I should have brought it in at night.  Raccoons, you look cute, but I know you have a mean streak as you growl at me from a tree top and then you use my rooftop for your unsightly fecal habits. Possums, you are sneaky, very, very sneaky. Mr. Red-Tail Fox, I saw you in my driveway staring at where my dear chicks were brooding. Neighborhood ferocious dog that hates adult females with dark hair, I know your owners are just too stupid to figure out how to keep you behind a fence. Yes, Mountain Lion, I know the neighbors down the street have seen you twice up in a tree in the early morning.  Why do you think I bring out 2 flashlights while constantly scanning the treetops at night when our puppy  says “take me to Pottyland so I can chew up a sock  and NOT go potty.” (By the way Mountain Lion, I hope you might still consider eating alive the thieves up the street.  They continue to roam the streets of our town without fear of consequences.) Finally, Hawks, I see you lingering on the top of  the tall pine tree across the street pretending not to be staring in the direction of my chicks –  which I am now so heavily invested in that I might have to postpone my retirement for years to come.

I have prepared for all of your selfish behaviors by buying and fortifying the best chicken coop I could find.  I even dug deeply around the coop to bury expensive 1/4 inch hardware cloth so that you unethical rascals might not dig under the coop, even though the coop has a very well built wooden floor. I have read every book I could get my hands on in order to prepare for that big day when the chicks become chickens and move from the brooder box in the garage to  the $800 chicken palace. I had decided this weekend was the time.

Last night, however, you escalated our little game called Chicken Survival. You invited the big boy to the party in a brazen attempt to humiliate me.  You told  him, “Go into their trash can and spread a week’s worth of rotting garbage all over his place.” Ok, I will give you credit. Well played. The neighbors all watched as I dug through Easter’s rotting garbage. Embarrassing. You won Round One.

Let me tell you something though. While your species spent all their time plotting how to kill chickens, my people have invented things such as electricity and flush toilets.  Hah, you can do these things when you have opposable thumbs. Don’t ask me how; we specialize in things. I am not sure how electricity really works or how 100 ton steel ships float on water for that matter. I do know, from reading –  oh yeah, we can also read and write although we prefer Facebook and Netfix – that an electrical wire around the chicken coop will hurt, but not harm you, and it produces an associated fear. You see we also invented operant conditioning…thank you B.F. Skinner. He was one of us, but he wouldn’t admit it.

So bring it on. Go ahead , send that big ass bear to right below my bedroom window in the middle of the night. Let him stroll by our Toyota Prius -that gets gets 55 miles to the gallon – like he is the king of the jungle. You ever hear of Tarzan, my friends?  I am way in front of you.  I will defeat you.  You will be humbled. This is not the Zoo. No, I promise you that Round 2 will be much different.

Yours truly,


p.s. It just dawned on me, you probably can’t read a letter.