A Dog and His Chicken Part Two

In A Dog and His Chicken Part One I mentioned my dog Prince…the daschund…the soccer player. He was a great dog and a true friend. After his death we had several other puppies that came and went from our home. Some of them were vagrants I found wondering helplessly on the streets. We only kept them long enough to find them a good home. One of those puppies was a doberman pincer mix. I named him Prince in honor of my daschund.

Shortly after I found my pincher puppy we moved to a bit of acreage outside of Wichita Falls. My dad and I made a large secure pen for Prince to keep him from wondering off and to keep him safe from wild animals. That summer we built a large fenced yard he could be released in during the daytime. My puppy had grown into a good sized dog that that was full of energy. Using techniques my dad had taught me I trained him on the leash and then off the leash. He became adept at voice commands as well as hand signals. He was smart, playful, and powerful.

One day Prince was in his pen and I took some left over fried chicken out for him to eat. He ate a piece of it and then started digging a hole to bury the rest of it in for later. I scolded him for his antics. He quickly retreated into his dog house. The remainder of the chicken was left on the ground just outside his dwelling. My obedient dog poked his head back out the door and lay down with his chin resting on his paws. I assumed my desire for him to not destroy his pen with holes had been understood so I went on with my chores on the farm.

Several hours later I came back to feed Prince his supper. He was still lying in the same position, chin on paws, with his nose inches away from a pile of fried chicken.  He had misunderstood me. He thought I did not want him to eat the chicken not that I didn’t want him to dig holes. I stood there in amazement that any animal could actually conquer his natural instincts in order to obey his master. He lifted his head and looked at me with his big brown eyes as to say, “Have I been a good dog? May I please eat…cause I’m starving?”

I called out to him a command to eat and immediately he was up, out of his dog house, and devouring the sun-baked fried chicken. It took him just a short time to finish it and he was then ready for supper. Between courses he danced around with joy. I praised him for being a good dog. Truth is a lot changed that day. I no longer looked at him as just a dog. He seemed to be something more than that. He had something in his being that I longed for…self-control. As strange as it may sound I looked up to that dog as some kind of a role model.

After building the pen and fencing the yard we built a chicken coop and purchased 100 baby chicks. We raised them successfully till they were grown and decided to try our hand at expanding the operation.

When we worked with the chickens we kept Prince in his pen so he would not jump the fence and destroy our profits and ruin a good dog. My dad always said that if a dog ever got the taste of chicken blood he would be no good around chickens again because he would kill everyone he could. I didn’t know if that was true but I was taking no chances because I loved Prince and I didn’t want my dad to shoot him.

Our second batch of chicks was put into raised cages. They were not large enough to be put into “general population” with the older hens because the hens would peck them to death. The floors of the cages were made of what is called hardware cloth. It is wire that forms ½ squares holes to make fencing. It keeps the chicks off the ground, away from snakes and out of their own pooh as it falls through the holes.

The day after we received the second shipment of chicks I came out to water and feed the new arrivals. I noticed one of the chicks had gotten herself into a difficult predicament. Her right foot had slipped through one of the tiny holes and in trying to extricate herself she had simply made a bad situation worse. When I found her, her entire swollen leg…all the way up to the body… was in the hole. She was barely making a sound as she was lying on her side. The other chicks were gathered around pecking at her.

I yelled for my dad who came running to see what was upsetting me. He struggled to get the chick out in one piece but her leg muscle was torn in shreds and she lay lifeless in my dad’s hand. We had a burn barrel nearby so my dad tossed her in to be burned with the rest of the trash later in the day. It appeared he was not able to save her.

Later that day I brought the household trash out to burn and I heard a soft “cheep, cheep, cheep,” coming from the burn barrel. The injured chick was struggling to set up and get her balance. It was if she was saying to the entire world, “I want to live.” I quickly scooped her up and ran to show her to my dad. He told me he didn’t think she would survive but I could try to take care of her if I wanted. I did.

Big Jim built a special cage for my chicken I called snowflake and she seemed to like it. I fed her from my hand every day. Before long she was hobbling around on her good leg…dragging her injured leg behind her. Snowflake was getting fat and seemed to enjoy having the run of the fenced backyard.

Prince seemed to take a special interest in her. He would bark in a pleading manner for me to let him out of his pen when she was in the yard. I was sure he wanted to see if raw chicken tasted as good as fried chicken. My dad encouraged me to put Prince to the test one afternoon. I put the inquisitive dog on the leash and walked him over to Snowflake. He sniffed her and then nudged her with his nose. She pecked at him and he jumped back. He let out a soft bark and she flapped her wings. Instantly he was stretching the leash to get away from this scary white creature. I let him off the leash. After a few minutes of pecking, nudging, flapping, and barking Prince and Snowflake were friends.

After a few days of controlled visits I was able to let this odd couple stay in the yard all day long together. They looked like a slapstick comedy team as Prince would chase the crippled white chicken all the way around the yard. To return the favor, Snowflake would then chase the large brown Doberman around the yard. I don’t know what she thought she would do with him if she ever caught him. My mother would watch them for the longest time and often laughed till she cried.

After they tired of this playground game Prince would lay down and Snowflake would snuggle up between his front paws. Then my gentle giant would put his head on his pet chicken and they would both go to sleep. These two friends slept this way every day for several months.

In the evening I would put Snowflake back in her cage. Prince was usually allowed to stay in the yard all night long by this point instead of penning him. One night I forgot to put Snowflake back in her cage. During the night I was awakened by a bunch of neighborhood dogs barking outside my window. In the midst of them I could hear Prince barking too. At one point it sounded like he was fighting with them but I was not concerned because I knew he could handle himself against any of these mangy curs. What I did not realize was that the helpless little Snowflake must have actually been the object of the battle.

I got up to feed Snowflake the next morning and was aghast when I discovered her cage was not closed and secured the evening before. Franticly I ran to the backyard to see Prince lying on the ground with the remains of Snowflake between his paws…his head settled gently on her. When he saw me he looked up with a pitiful look in his eyes. It looked to me as though he was crying…he had not been able to defend his pet chicken and she had died. For awhile I blamed the neighbors for letting their dogs run wild. Then I blamed the dogs for doing it. Then I blamed Prince for not being able to beat a whole pack of dogs. But ultimately it was my fault because I failed to put her back in the cage that fateful evening.

What a hard lesson to learn. This was the second animal that had died because I failed to do my job. I found it difficult to deal with. Since that time I have not been very fond of owning animals and have often resisted my family’s plea to purchase one or take in a stray or a give away. Philosophically I believe in the goodness of having family pets but emotionally the compilation of pet tragedies has left me wondering if the pain is worth the pleasure.