I am embarrassed to admit it, but our second round of chicks are gone. Frankly I am baffled. How could an animal with no advanced degrees, wi-fi or financial backing outsmart the collective wisdom of Zack, the twins, You Tube, myriad consultants and me? I dropped two hundred bucks on this coop, and Zack sweat for three weekends. Yet some masked bandit shows up at midnight, rips the chicken wire out of the trench and away from the frame, then methodically nabs eight defenseless birds frozen in terror and yanks them two by two through the rent. I almost want to install a surveillance camera to see how he did it. Of course I would stay up to watch and rescue them before the pounce. That is if I can muster the nerve to try again. 

 

It is demoralizing as well as sad. No cheeping little fluff balls to watch as they scuttle around looking for bugs. No scurry of chicks at my feet when I bring out the compost. No hope of eggs this summer. 

 

One of the flaws in my thinking was that I did not take the threat of predators seriously. I have never seen a raccoon or a fox on my property, so why would they show up now? 

 

Uh, because I have chickens. 

 

One time I invited a woman whose marriage had ended in adultery to speak to a room full of college students. 

 

"I was a good girl. Senior class president, popular, honors student, happy family. I loved my husband too. But the affair blind sided me. I did not protect my marriage against it because it never occurred to me I was in danger. Don't make that mistake. Keep your promise safe."

 

I was moved by her story and her willingness to share it. The memory has spurred me to read books like Close Calls, and Not Just Friends. Scott Haltzman recently published one called The Secrets of Surviving Infidelity. The ink is still wet but I ordered it. 

 

No masked bandit is going to steal my marriage.