Hi there all persons who have lizards eating their eggs!!
I have a naughty goanna who visits every day or so to make his collection when I am not home. I am not happy!! My hens won't go broody while he is frightening the daylights out of them and eating their potential babies! I must paint you a funny picture of this morning...
I happened to be home as its Sunday here is Australia. The snakes visit infrequently and are quite scared of my flock of 11. They usually only come to drink water -which I don't deny them. We all need water and some days, its scarce.
My fluffy Sussex are housed in coops with runs but have a fenced playpen (yard) on the grass (used to be that is; lasted 2 days this time around) under the shade of 4 gumtrees. Its dappled shade, but better than nothing in the hot sun. Why the playpen? Well, the coops + run are a bit small on their own and paddock free-ranging leaves them vulnerable to eagles, which I found out the hard way. In this situation, at least they would duck for cover and slide in their little entry doors and the eagles are too big to follow. Eagles seem to prefer open paddocks to dive bomb. Chickens get stupid and erratic when under attack. They need shelter close by.
So most of the time they all live happily together including 2 brother roosters but for... the goanna. She is grey/brown, big with a smooth head and a grey-yellow defiant steely eye. She is scared of me, but not that scared.
IF I am home, I hear the rucous. So here I am relaxing on my bed, meditating on The Glorious Mysteries and praying happily away when I hear the alarm calls of my flock. I yell out the bedroom window (like Juliet gone from happy to mad in a split second), "Is that the goanna?!" in a very cranky voice, a tone deeper than usual while physically on high alert. "Yep" says my husband over his glasses from the garage where he's reading news on the phone.
Stomp, stomp. stomp, jump down the stairs goes 50 year old me and patter, patter. patter, slide down the hill to the paddcok gate. Creak, clang as it opens and bangs. Swoosh, ting as the coop-run gate slides on the dust hanging by a wire or two.
War cry as I enter the playpen and look wildly around, big stick in hand. He is in the bottom of the double storey tin palace, having not quite made it to the ramp. Goanna tries to whip around and see what I will do. Yep, she is after me, he thinks.
But he is at the back and down the bottom where I can't reach and I don't want him 'upstairs'. My poor hen dropped a hot egg and ran. So I run to the back, bend down and start banging and growling- very dignified like, of course. He barely moves so I poke the stick through while making lots of noise like a Yowee.
"She is crazy wild", thinks goanna, "Completely cuckoo! Who knows what she will do with that stick?"
Who knows indeed?! He moves like lightning -but with pauses - and I gain ground as he heads to the chook wire side which looks like an exit, but is not. There is a gum tree behind.
At this point, my chooks are standing nearby in fear and admiration at my ferociousness while my husband watches in amusement from the top of the hill- as always. I hit him (the goanna not my husband) on the tail a few times iwth the stick while continuing to growl, yell and holler. Goanna panics and tries hard to scramble out and over but not fast enough for my liking. Cops a few more whacks before escaping.
I stand still; shaking a little, panting, heart racing like a pounding racehorse that can't slow down. The adrenalin is crazy but I feel triumphant and justified. My chooks are impressed- and calm down way quicker than me. I hang out and squat for a rest. My Sigma rooster comes over to stand beside my knee respectfully and picks a single speck off my warrior skirt.
Egg saved.
Later, while slashing the paddock, hubby found a plastic egg he tried to eat last time. Hope he likes sand.
I have a naughty goanna who visits every day or so to make his collection when I am not home. I am not happy!! My hens won't go broody while he is frightening the daylights out of them and eating their potential babies! I must paint you a funny picture of this morning...
I happened to be home as its Sunday here is Australia. The snakes visit infrequently and are quite scared of my flock of 11. They usually only come to drink water -which I don't deny them. We all need water and some days, its scarce.
My fluffy Sussex are housed in coops with runs but have a fenced playpen (yard) on the grass (used to be that is; lasted 2 days this time around) under the shade of 4 gumtrees. Its dappled shade, but better than nothing in the hot sun. Why the playpen? Well, the coops + run are a bit small on their own and paddock free-ranging leaves them vulnerable to eagles, which I found out the hard way. In this situation, at least they would duck for cover and slide in their little entry doors and the eagles are too big to follow. Eagles seem to prefer open paddocks to dive bomb. Chickens get stupid and erratic when under attack. They need shelter close by.
So most of the time they all live happily together including 2 brother roosters but for... the goanna. She is grey/brown, big with a smooth head and a grey-yellow defiant steely eye. She is scared of me, but not that scared.
IF I am home, I hear the rucous. So here I am relaxing on my bed, meditating on The Glorious Mysteries and praying happily away when I hear the alarm calls of my flock. I yell out the bedroom window (like Juliet gone from happy to mad in a split second), "Is that the goanna?!" in a very cranky voice, a tone deeper than usual while physically on high alert. "Yep" says my husband over his glasses from the garage where he's reading news on the phone.
Stomp, stomp. stomp, jump down the stairs goes 50 year old me and patter, patter. patter, slide down the hill to the paddcok gate. Creak, clang as it opens and bangs. Swoosh, ting as the coop-run gate slides on the dust hanging by a wire or two.
War cry as I enter the playpen and look wildly around, big stick in hand. He is in the bottom of the double storey tin palace, having not quite made it to the ramp. Goanna tries to whip around and see what I will do. Yep, she is after me, he thinks.
But he is at the back and down the bottom where I can't reach and I don't want him 'upstairs'. My poor hen dropped a hot egg and ran. So I run to the back, bend down and start banging and growling- very dignified like, of course. He barely moves so I poke the stick through while making lots of noise like a Yowee.
"She is crazy wild", thinks goanna, "Completely cuckoo! Who knows what she will do with that stick?"
Who knows indeed?! He moves like lightning -but with pauses - and I gain ground as he heads to the chook wire side which looks like an exit, but is not. There is a gum tree behind.
At this point, my chooks are standing nearby in fear and admiration at my ferociousness while my husband watches in amusement from the top of the hill- as always. I hit him (the goanna not my husband) on the tail a few times iwth the stick while continuing to growl, yell and holler. Goanna panics and tries hard to scramble out and over but not fast enough for my liking. Cops a few more whacks before escaping.
I stand still; shaking a little, panting, heart racing like a pounding racehorse that can't slow down. The adrenalin is crazy but I feel triumphant and justified. My chooks are impressed- and calm down way quicker than me. I hang out and squat for a rest. My Sigma rooster comes over to stand beside my knee respectfully and picks a single speck off my warrior skirt.
Egg saved.
Later, while slashing the paddock, hubby found a plastic egg he tried to eat last time. Hope he likes sand.
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