At about 11:30 on Boxing Day there was a loud crash. Chip was washing dishes and I was talking on the phone to my sister and we all thought Papa Bob had fallen upstairs until Chip yelled “chickens!”- A hen had flown into the window and the flock was cackling, crowing and flapping in all directions. Chip ran outside and slipped on the ice and snow but caught himself. He waved his arms and hollered. I looked out the window at what appeared to be a gray dog. An Australian shepherd I did not recognize? It ignored Chip and did not move. Just stood there looking at the house. There was a chicken on the deck and so I opened the back door to grab it “get her feet, quick!” Chip shouted, and “bobcat!” Trixie shot out the door past me, and I pushed Pearl back inside with my leg and grabbed Trixie by the tail and didn’t have to tug very hard as she backed in faster than she had bolted once she saw the animal that was actually a tall, sturdy, thick coated cat. A lynx. He or she held its ground — I did not get that close a look since I was busy pulling on boots,and attaching my micro- spikes so I could run on the ice to rescue my hens. My heart raced imagining the potential carnage. Cats leap. They climb trees. My chickens are not cunning. They have been raised to believe the world is a safe place.
Once, in a very bad November years ago, before these chicks were hatched, a weasel murdered my entire flock. Blood in the snow. Blood inside and outside the coop. It was awful. Awful.
Now, Chip sort of herded the lynx across the yard. It ambled, and looked back a few times, and then walked soundlessly through the woods and onto Mud Bay Road, and up toward Mt. Riley, we guessed.
The hens and roosters were in the coop (3), the spruce trees (5), on the deck (1) and behind the woodshed (1), and all accounted for. The hen on the deck paced the railing, and let me pick her up and carry her back to the coop. Her heart beat as quickly as mine did.
I have never seen a lynx in our yard before. Or up so close for that matter anytime, even hunting when we are so silent and watching and far from people and houses. I know of lynx sightings up on the hillside above the golf course where there are many rabbits to eat. We saw one at Lutak while riding bikes one time, barely, it was there and gone.
But this was different.
It was another strange and curious event of a strange and tragic year. 2020 had so many surprises. Good– two new granddaughters were born. Lila Chip in January and Emilia Ann in March, and Papa Bob made it here in October and stayed safe.
The list of not so good is too long right now, and too close to repeat.
But a lynx? This was like a visit from another universe. Like seeing a ghost. I wished I had connected with its eyes. ( I can’t even tell you what color they were.) Lynx are supposed to bring messages, to have a kind of sight that sees inside a person and reveals truths. Is it a sign? A good omen? I think so.
It was nice as far as Lynx go. It didn’t kill my chickens, or chase the dogs. It didn’t run at Chip either. Also, it didn’t come back for a second try. I don’t know for sure what happened, exactly in that sudden encounter– why it was here, or where it came from and where it went, but I can’t help but believe it was a parting gift from 2020, and one that I won’t forget.
