Foiling a varmint and enjoying my chicks

Let me just say that I appreciate the things Cliff does for me.  Of course, he wants fresh tomatoes too, but I don't think he would have gone to all the work he's done today just for his own benefit.  Tomatoes are the main thing I want from my garden.  If all else fails, that's fine, but I want home-grown tomatoes.  Some pesky varmint (or varmints, plural) has been eating green tomatoes every single night:  Pulling them off the plant, eating 1/4 of each one, and getting another.  

I really hope it's possums rather than raccoons, because possums don't bother sweet corn; coons do.  Someone figured as how it couldn't be a raccoon because they like water with their food.  Listen, if you camp out in any state park in Missouri, you will soon learn that those evil creatures will eat anything they can get their paws on.  One time when the oldest grandson and I were in our popup camper at Watkins Mill State Park, he woke me up:  "Grandma, Grandma," he called as quietly as he could and still wake me up.  "Shine the flashlight over here."  
A raccoon was IN the camper with us, eating a loaf of bread.  Nothing to drink, just the bread.  So there you have it.  They will also open your ice chests if you don't secure them and dig out hot dogs and other goodies.  The only animal that has done more damage to Missouri state parks would be geese:  Watkins Mill used to have the nicest, sandy beach at the lake there.  Then the geese took over, and last time we went, you pretty much were swimming in goose poop if you dared swim at all.  

  Anyway, here's the plan:

It's low to the ground and all the way around the garden.  Cliff was going to plug it in directly to 110, but realized that might kill the cats, as well as varmints.  So we'll get back the fencer we loaned to the daughter.  I hope her dogs have learned their lesson by now about digging under the fence.  

I am really enjoying my hen and chicks.  It's been a long time since I've had them around, and once I go outside, I can't stay away.  I thought I only put twelve eggs under that hen, but there are thirteen chicks.  I guess I wanted one for good measure.  

Cliff thought I would be letting Mama hen and her babies out during the day to roam free, but I reminded him of the brazen fox that trots around here in broad daylight, showing no fear of us at all.  Not to mention hawks.  Nope, until they outgrow this little coop the chicks stay there.  I will probably remove their mom when they are three or four weeks old and get her back in the egg-laying business.