The thing I didn't think possible happened last night. Fort Fox was breached and all the chickens slaughtered. I salvaged the bodies of the three young ones and spent the morning plucking, cleaning and eviscerating. Woglinde's first egg of the season came out intact (see below). The shell of Flosshilde's was too soft and it got scrambled in the poop chute. All that's left is a big pot of Brunhilde soup, a meal of Flosshilde au Vin and Woglinde is in the ice box for a later date. So tragic. We must rethink our defenses before getting more.