Once I was about 5 years outdated, my dad and mom moved our household from the San Francisco Bay space to a rural farming space about an hour out of town. Virtually all of our neighbors have been farmers; there have been just a few small properties like ours that weren’t a part of a farm. Each of my dad and mom and all of my siblings favored canine, and this was the Sixties – earlier than widespread spay/neuter campaigns – so in very quick order, we had a complete pack of pet canine. Quickly sufficient, my siblings engaged in 4-H golf equipment, and regardless of each of my dad and mom understanding completely nothing by any means about caring for animals, we acquired a pony and a horse to journey, a steer and a lamb (ostensibly to be raised for meat), and many chickens that we raised for eggs.
We have been fortunate in that solely one of many dozen or so canine that I can identify who lived with our household throughout that point had an urge for food for chickens. Sam was a purebred Outdated English Sheepdog who got here to our household after getting banned from his unique San Francisco household (associates of my dad and mom) for biting the neighbors’ youngsters. (He could have been hustled out below cowl of darkness; there was some urgency to his arrival at our home.) However as soon as Sam found that biting chickens was much more pleasurable than biting kids, our flock slowly diminished.
My naïve mom requested the native farmers what they might do with a canine who killed chickens. One way or the other, the idea of locking up the canine in a pen was by no means urged. As a substitute, a horrific prescription was made: Tie one of many lifeless chickens to the canine’s collar and make him drag it round for days. The thought was imagined to be that the canine would quickly tire of the scent and burden, and would affiliate this punishment with the sight of any future potential hen meals. My mom recruited my 12-year-old brother and a few of his 12-year-old associates to perform the duty of tying one in every of Sam’s victims to the canine’s collar. The undertaking stunk, actually and metaphorically, and did nothing to dissuade Sam from snacking on the lifeless hen as he went about his day. I’m certain the farmer who made this suggestion to my mom laughed as they witnessed the large canine working via their fields and orchards with the stinking partial corpse of a hen flying behind him.
In the event that they did snort, they stopped as soon as Sam moved on to preying on their chickens. Quickly, nobody who lived inside a mile of us had chickens. After which Sam disappeared.
My dad and mom advised us that due to Sam’s chicken-killing, that they had discovered him a house on a sheep ranch that we may see from Freeway 80 each time we drove from our rural house again to San Francisco for gatherings with our aunts and uncles and cousins. They defined, “He’s a sheep canine! He wanted to stay with sheep to herd!” and they’d encourage us to “Search for Sam!” as we drove by the farm at 70 miles per hour on the freeway. As a result of the big wooly canine resembled a sheep himself, virtually at all times one in every of us 4 youngsters could be satisfied we had seen Sam among the many sheep. My dad at all times drove quick, however because the youngest little one within the household, it took years for me to comprehend that he appeared to drive notably quick previous the sheep ranch.
(Humorous/not comic story: Once I was an grownup and my son was about 4 years outdated, we had an enormous household gathering for Easter. One way or the other, the subject of canine got here up on the dinner desk, and one in every of our visitors mentioned one thing about their childhood canine being disappeared to – and right here she made double air-quotes together with her fingers – “a farm within the nation.” Everybody chuckled sympathetically, however then my oldest sister chirped, “However once we have been youngsters, my dad and mom actually DID ship one in every of our canine to stay on a farm – a sheep farm! We used to see him from the freeway once we drove by!” I seemed down the lengthy desk at my dad and mom, who have been seated side-by-side at one finish. Each have been very busy with their meals, trying down at their plates. The laughter on the desk grew louder, accompanied by numerous choking sounds, as my dad and mom pointedly saved up the pretense of not listening to the dialogue and having fun with their meals, and my 40-year-old sister’s voice pitched greater because the final vestiges of her childhood innocence have been destroyed. “Wait! What? He did go to that farm, didn’t he? Mother? Dad? What? Sam? Actually?”)
Anyway, all that was going via my head once I introduced my canine Otto house from the shelter a little bit greater than 14 years in the past, as a result of it mentioned, proper there on his cage card on the shelter pen, “Kills hen.” That typo has amused me for a few years now. Did they imply “kills hens” or that he “killed a hen? I’ll by no means know. However at any fee, I knew I must handle my new 7-month-old canine round my three pet laying hens as a way to stop carnage.
Maybe as a result of the pen my chickens have been in was fairly safe, or as a result of I fastidiously supervised Otto always within the first few months I had him, or just because the previous stray canine was now well-fed, all I needed to do was to take Otto to the hen pen on a leash and inform him “Go away it!” when he checked out them, and provides him treats when he seemed away. He acquired it proper on day one, and in 14 years, has by no means harmed any of their poultry successors (although when I launched him to some newly hatched child chicks, he did lick his lips a bit hungrily). A lot for the “kills hen” warning.
My middle-aged canine, Woody, has at all times had a loving, paternal response to any small or younger creatures. When he’s launched to chickens, younger or grownup, his first response is at all times a tender, completely happy wag; then he desires to lick them, and particularly their nether ends, like a mom canine cleansing her puppies. When my cranky older hens take it upon themselves to run towards him, shooing him away from no matter they’re consuming, he at all times shoos, trying unhappy and puzzled as to why they’ll’t be associates.
And I’ve been fortunate with Boone, at the very least thus far; my 10-month-old pet appears to be solely in consuming hen poop, not the chickens themselves, despite the fact that I enable my present 4 hens to wander round my property for hours through the daytime. I feel that he’s principally taken his cues from the older canine – however he’s additionally by no means left with a chance to get into bother. Once I’m not house or unable to oversee him (like once I’m within the bathe), he’s at all times contained within the out of doors canine pen, my workplace, or the home. If he’s outside with minimal supervision (say, once I’m in the home however cooking), the chickens are safely locked up of their pen.
I’m unsure why my dad and mom discovered this so tough!
