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| Taking our chicken to bed after dark |
We all let things into our lives knowing that one day, they
will leave us. And maybe if it’s just not your day, they leave you before you
leave them. And if it’s REALLY not your day, they get eaten by the next door
neighbor’s dog that is not on a leash, like, ever. Wait, okay. These chickens
bring out the philosopher in me some days, but most days they make me worry
about their tail feathers. Here’s the story behind my latest heart palpitation
and why Keith told me, “This is why I never wanted to get these birds!” (Which
we all know was spoken in pure “heat of the moment” and worried for my own
feelings. He loves those hens. HE DOES!)
It has turned winter overnight here it seems and with it, cold
temperatures and lots of rain. Thursday started off kind of dreary so we went
for a nice run, Taylor, Tater and I and then turned in for a nice restful
afternoon. After Taylor woke up it was so nice at 3pm we got bundled up and
went outside to play, which I normally wouldn't do, but it was sunny, so I felt
we should take advantage of it while we could. Pushing Taylor on the swing, singing songs, yelling
at Tater to stop being barking at the cows and then that sound of a chicken being attacked.
You might think you don’t know what that sounds like because you've never had
chickens, but you know what it is as soon as you hear it. And when I did I knew
what was happening.
Time OUT: A little background for you that don’t know: We
live in what some call the “donut hole” of Pasco or as the city has renamed it,
“the island.” Whatever it’s called, it means we live in a weird section in the middle
of the city that is still the county. So with that brings different laws and an
extra charge to have my garbage taken from our house. The leash law is one of
those rules and my neighbors, who are nice but beside the point, have two dogs
that wander up and down our street. You’d think it would be nice to take walk
along our “country” road some days, but with the risk of being attacked by a
dog (or my dog pulling me by the leash to bite fight it) and the risk of stupid
cars driving 45 miles per hour down our street, we don’t walk. We deal with it,
but I’ve also had some friendly conversations with other neighbors about how
the Sherriff has been called on those dogs. And it’s not the dogs’ fault! They
want to guard their home, I get it. What I don’t get is why you would let your
dog wander around the ‘hood and not only risk it getting hit by a car (which
has happened to the young German Shepard, which is why it walks with a limp),
but the risk it attacking someone. Well that limp did not stop that German
Shepard from getting ahold of one of my girls and doing bad things. Back to my
story…
So I heard this sound and turn around certain of what I am
about to see and my eyes do not disappoint. The girls have a bad habit of
following Romeo to the other neighbor’s pasture and mingling with his chickens
and cows. He’s cool with it, so we let it happen and it’s fine. Country life at
its finest: Mi Pollo, es su Pollo. What I see starts stream of obscenities: the
dog has a chicken under its paw and it’s going at it and the hen is screaming.
I’m screaming and throwing rocks at the dog and there’s poor Taylor, just
swinging in the swing staring at me. I get the dog to stop and that’s when I
get a rage inside of me! I pull Taylor out of the swing, try to get Tater to
get into the house (who, by the way, is so freaked out she rolls over and makes
me pick her up to get her inside) and with Taylor in the stroller, I RUN down
the street while texting Keith some rapid texts about what I’m about to do to
that dog. Poor Keith. He was in a very important meeting and here is his crazy
wife running down the road, screaming and sobbing, threatening to kill the
neighbor’s dog while his son is being pushed down the road in a red stroller.
He just had to wait it out…and carry on with his meeting. Okay, so I get to the
neighbor’s house and bang on the door. A younger girl answers and I, as calm as
I can, say/yell
“can you call your dog IT’S EATING MY CHICKEN!”
She calls the
dog and that’s when I get Taylor out of the stroller (because I don’t want him
bit by those dogs) and walk to the corner of my chicken-friendly neighbor’s pasture.
A pile of feathers. GREAT. GRRRRRRREAT! I’m sure the dog has killed the chicken
and eaten the whole body, leaving a pile of black and white feathers. I’m livid
at this point and leave for home, sobbing. I don’t know if to call the Sherriff,
who will probably laugh at me, or what to do. If you don’t know, once a dog gets
a taste for chicken, all birds have an expiration date.
I decide it’s the risk
of having free range birds and just chalk it up to that. I head up to Lowe’s to
fix the holes in the fence and just figure we’ll continue on our way, thankful
that at least I know why I will only be locking up 6 chickens tonight. Then
after I have a nice Mexican beer with a lime, I make dinner and watch the rest
of my girls come back through the fence in the one hole I left. Then I count
them, just out of habit. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Wait. What? 1, 2,…3, 4, 5, 6..7?
WHAT? I run outside and see them-ALL 7!!!
They’re all alive. One beer does not make me miscount and/or see
chickens that are not there, so I call Keith and tell him the good news. The
chicken was attacked and the pile of feathers I found was from her neck and
tail. When I threw the rock at the dog and yelled at it, it must have stopped
just for a long enough moment for the hen to run away. Thank goodness we went
for a swing that afternoon. These damn chickens…
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| Her Name is Lucky. |
This might make you laugh and
think, “Wow, this is what her life is like now,” and yes, I think that too. An hour
before the “chicken problem” commenced, I was crying, no, sobbing at the Katie
Show listening to a family who had lost their little boy to cancer. So yes,
chickens are not that big of a deal, but I can’t help but love them.
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| Lucky, minus some feathers on her tail and neck. |
In other news, we put an addition on the chicken coop and
they hate it. So now I have 3 chickens I have to put back in at night. And what’s
even more terrible/awesome is my other very kind neighbor agrees to lock up my
birds when we are out of town and carries my girls to bed when we are not
there. Now that is a good friend/neighbor!
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| "Take us to bed, please." |
The chickens still go in the pasture and the neighbor’s dog
is in a kennel. I don’t blame anyone really. My grandma always told me that was
the way farm life goes, the loss of animals and such, but dang. When you let
anything into your life, you risk losing it. And yes, these “things” are
feathered, they make a mess all over the yard (their poops are bigger than dog
turds, NOT JOKING!), but they are so much fun.
Here are some more pictures of our birds…
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| "Girl, I told you if you laid another egg in my nesting box I was going to teach you a lesson!" |
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| "Hey, look up here...I've got a present for you..." |
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