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Sunday, June 7, 2015

Yet another sign you're no longer in the suburbs

An overheard etiquette lesson:
"Dude!  You hold the door open for a lady when she's carrying a gun."

Okay, to be fair, that particular comment was at the entrance of a sporting goods store as Caryl was leaving, rifle in hand.  But it also reflects the reality that small arms are a given when you live in the countryside.  To be sure, there are a couple of our neighbors1 who also migrated out of the city who aren't so thrilled about personal firearms, but they decidedly are the exception.

Besides seasonal hunting, in Nebraska it's entirely legal and acceptable to kill a predator that's threatening your livestock or poultry, and it's legal to hunt an animal that has killed your animals. This is essential not only for the monetary value of the livestock (and the downrange monetary value of its products) but also because of the home economic value -- if your meal plans, or wallet,  depend on eggs (or home-butchered chicken, pork, and beef) then you need to make sure it goes into your mouth and not some coyote's.  As Caryl puts it, "I'm not setting out a buffet."
And we have had our share of predatory visits.  Caryl already mentioned (and will detail later) that one of our first four pullets was taken in November, most likely by a fox.  About a week after that, a predator (probably a dog) tried very aggressively to get into the City Biddy coop during the night.  And we've had at least one fox make a recon run around the Oo-de-Lally Egghouse this spring.  So, we put electric hotwire around the old coop until the new coop was ready for poultry.  And we noted how the dog was able to get some purchase to remove part of the coop's siding, to inform some of the design decisions on the new coop.  And, yes, we have firearms.

Now if only we were allowed to hunt herbivores that threaten our crops and/or have eaten leaves off of trees.  (My poor new, baby trees now all have to live within large wire cages or behind multiple rows of electric fencing.  Tree jail, I call it. ~Caryl)
Yes, I'm looking at you, Bambi.

1Loosely defined as "Someone whose house I can see from my house."

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