Secure the survivors before anything else
The first job is not counting losses, it is closing the door. Whatever came in — fox, dog, mink, badger or rat — now knows exactly where the birds are and that it can reach them, and predators commonly return within hours of a successful raid, sometimes while the keeper is still clearing up. Move every surviving bird into the most secure housing you have, even if that means the whole flock spends the day in a shed or garage that is not their usual home. Do this calmly and quietly, because a flock that has just been attacked is a flock in shock, and frantic catching adds injury to terror. Only once every live bird is behind a door you trust should you turn to looking at what has happened.
Check every bird with your hands, not your eyes
A bird standing in a corner looking unhurt may be dying quietly. Puncture wounds from teeth hide under feathers and barely bleed, yet they infect fast, and shock itself — cold feet, fluffed stillness, a bird that does not resist handling — is a genuine emergency in poultry. Pick up each survivor in turn, part the feathers over the neck, back and under the wings, and feel for punctures, torn skin and swelling. Any bird with wounds, laboured breathing or deep shock belongs in a warm, dim, separate box with water within reach, not back in the flock where it will be jostled and pecked. Watch the apparently fine birds over the next two days as well: egg production stopping, one bird quietly dropping behind, or a wound surfacing as a swelling the next morning are all normal sequels of an attack, and the bird that declines on day two is usually one whose injury was missed on day one.
Read the scene and find the way in
Before you tidy anything, walk the attack like evidence, because the scene tells you both who came and how. A fox typically kills several birds and carries some away, entering over, under or through a weakness it has tested before. A dog often injures many birds in a frenzy and leaves them. Mink and rats take smaller numbers and squeeze through gaps that look impossibly small — a hole the width of your thumb is a doorway to a rat. Look for dug soil at the fence base, a lifted corner, a pop-hole door that no longer seats, feather trails showing the exit route, and tracks in any mud or dust. Then fix the entry point before dark, not tomorrow: block dug routes with buried mesh or slabs, close gaps, double-latch doors, and accept that one repaired hole is not proof — a predator that got in once will test the whole perimeter again.
Dead birds, hygiene and the following nights
Remove dead birds the same day, both for hygiene and because remains left in the run attract the next visitor and distress the survivors. Wash feeders and drinkers that were scattered in the attack, refresh bedding in the shelter area, and expect laying to stop or fall for a while — that is stress, not a new problem. The following week is when the response usually fails, because vigilance fades while the predator's interest has not: keep lock-up at dusk without exception, do a headcount every evening rather than trusting a glance, vary your own routine slightly if a fox is watching the yard at set times, and check fences after dark with a torch for a few nights running. That discipline is easier to keep when it is written down as someone's job: KinsLe's Care Teams lets you set the dusk lock-up and the morning inspection as assigned duties for whoever is home, each ticked off with a timestamp, so the flock's most dangerous week is covered by a roster rather than by memory.