Robin's Outdoors

I took my rifle and a handful of bullets, left the dog in the house and went to the barn. Standing in the barn door was fruitless. I couldn’t see the back side of the wood pile where the cat was. I carefully walked from the barn door to the old apple tree at the edge of the pasture. There it was, behind the tarp that covered the back tier of the firewood. The tarp moved as the cat ate my rooster. I waited. Steve would be home in a few minutes. I’d hand the situation over to him unless I could get a clean shot before then. For that to happen the cat would have to leave the wood pile and head for either the pond to my right or the woods behind me. If it went for the woods I’d have to take the hen house into consideration before pulling the trigger. For a few seconds I thought I’d have a chance. I clicked off the safety, brought the rifle up and firmly set it against my shoulder. I was ready. I’d never fired this particular rifle at a living, moving target. I started to shake a little. My blood pressure was so high I could hear it pounding in my ears…

I hesitated. This wasn’t the right thing to do. Legally, if I caught the cat threatening my livestock or poultry I could shoot it. There wasn’t a threat right now. It worked hard for my rooster. I kind of felt like it deserved its meal. Still, this had to end. The Bangor Daily News ran a story a few days before this telling about a bobcat hanging from the throat of a goat when the farmer shot it. My does were ready to start kidding. This animal was desperate. It had to go…illegal at the moment. It had to go…sympathy for the cat. It had to go. I lowered the gun but didn’t click the safety on, just in case. I left the cat alone to its meal and waited for Steve.

Steve gets excited easily in a farming emergency. A half dozens solutions will run through his mind in a matter of moments. He’d had 30 minutes to think about this while he drove home. He made a few phone calls and had a solution. Call the warder and have it trapped. Ok, I agreed to this, but it had to be driven off. I couldn’t let three dogs out with the cat here. One has a nose that can smell voles in tunnels under the snow. Blood on the snow would be a breeze. The other two would attack. I couldn’t let Taylor wait for the bus without me, or play outside to her slide off the roof of the old rabbitry, down the snowbank and across the driveway. Yes, the roof. Our weathers Buddy and Pal walked up the snowbank to the peak of the roof and stood there. They stopped a few passing cars. The health of the livestock was a big concern. The horses snorted and stomped constantly. The unfriendly Dexter cow shifted and the goats were nervous. I didn’t want to leave them tied up and locked in stalls for the days it could take to trap this cat. Steve went to the house to get a gun and I went into the barn to calm the horses. An extra flake of hay each and time being groomed would take their minds off the situation for a little while.