My maternal grandfather raised chickens in his retirement, and the passion to raise poultry seems to have been passed on to me. When we lived in Round Rock, TX, a friend gave a chicken coop to me to house some chicks I’d bought for the children in the spring of 2002. We’d also acquired a wonderful puppy that same spring; so the birds and dog grew up together. The dog was named Ivy because of her habit of playing and sleeping in a patch of english ivy adjacent to the back porch of our house.
Mothering came naturally to our mixed breed, shepherd/terrier dog. She loved children and pretty much any other young creature. Ivy would gently sniff at the week old chicks and try to herd them with a push of her snout. At night the dog would fiercely guard the chick from the numerous varmints that would hunt along the stream-fed greenbelt that ran through our backyard.
When we moved from Round Rock to Longview in 2009, Ivy came with us, but the chickens went to live on Brush Creek Ranch with the Ellerbeck family. We started a new flock at our house near Macedonia. At first things went well. We bought all new poultry: newly hatched chickens, geese, ducks, quail and turkeys. The flock did fairly well in our back yard and was nearly mature enough to begin egg laying when tragedy struck. Ivy would bark furiously at night as some predator would attempt to catch birds or two. It would often happen late at night, and I’d rush out of bed, grab my rifle and dash out side, waving a flashlight around. The varmint would quickly disappear into a pile of brush on the next lot.
We had to go to Austin every other weekend, and I’d usually take Ivy with me. On such weekends we’d return to discover a bird or two missing. So, I ended up having to leave the dog on guard duty with extra food and water while we were away. A helpful neighbor checked on her as well. All the geese and ducks had disappeared when we finally caught the thief. Early one morning the animals sounded the alarm again, and once more I dashed from the house. But this time strategy prevailed. Instead of heading straight for the source of commotion, I cut through the field and placed myself before the brush pile that was sanctuary for the beast. Sure enough, Ivy drove the murderer straight to me.
It was a skunk!
The cornered skunk was too desperate to make a stand and I was too angry to care that it could spray me with mercaptans http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thiol. I charged it and drove the creature out into an open field. Before it could turn about, Ivy leaped on it and tore it to pieces with the trademark shaking that Terriers are known for. It was a she-skunk and easily the fattest one I had ever seen. This was understandable considering it had eaten at least three ducks, half a dozen quail and two full-size geese. Optimistic that we could begin again, I bought more young birds. I thought the ordeal was over, but then things became worse.
I returned home from work one day and found Ivy lying dead in the ditch before our house. The sight deeply troubled me and I felt loss at the death of our dear companion of seven years. Apparently, some yahoo in a maroon pickup had hit and killed her. (They drove by later and apologized, but obviously didn't appreciate the harm they'd done.) I made a plain wooden coffin and buried her in the flowerbed on the east side of the house and marked the spot with a simple wooden cross. That was only the beginning of our troubles. For I hated to keep the poultry caged and let them roam freely about our property. (The county here is free range, in contrast to Round Rock – another good story for later: “Raccoons Did It.”)
With no dog to guard the poultry and only a low chicken wire fence to protect them, the birds were vulnerable to attacks by varmints. While I worked in my spare time to build a shed to keep the birds in, the emboldened varmints moved in at night and began picking off the birds. We obviously needed another dog, and my daughter thought she’d found the answer. She adopted a stray the neighborhood children incongruously named “Cupcake”. The huge dog was pregnant, and my daughter enthusiastically promised she’d care for the dog and find homes for any puppies she’d bear we didn’t want to keep. I agreed on the terms that it was all her responsibility.
Well, Cupcake was a terrible guard dog. She ran from the varmints, barked in fear nearly all night long when they approached, and she ate poultry, especially quail, with sincere canine enthusiasm. Then things became worse.
My daughter was sure her newly adopted dog would have a reasonable litter of two or three puppies from which we could choose a new guard dog. Well, about 3 a.m. on the cold, rainy night of 10/10/09. Cupcake gave birth to not a few, but 11 puppies! 10 of which lived. I had asked my class at church to pray for a dog to replace Ivy. At our next meeting I sincerely requested that prayer be significantly scaled back now that our canine resources had increased by an order of magnitude.
Our property is a wonderful place to be a dog, and the pack grew and developed rapidly. Again, optimistically, I purchased 25 turkey chicks for a 4H project for my daughter. Unlike Ivy, these mutts had no great affection for our poultry. Rather they viewed them as a highly desirable source of nourishment and sport. I had abandon the project and give away the last few birds to a friend because the pack attacked them at every opportunity. It amazed me how puppies at only a few weeks could climb a chicken wire fence and en-mass take down half grown turkeys in a matter of minutes.
We eventually found homes for all but two of the puppies and their mother. (This required me to learned entirely new and alien salesmanship skills as I placed the majority of the dogs.) We kept a singularly fuzzy one we called “Baby Bear” and her sister Oreo (due to her black coat and white chest. Sadly, a coyote came by one night and attacked the puppies that lived in the back yard (due to a constraint from out landlord that no dogs inhabit the house). We rescued Oreo with the help of brave little Baby Bear, but the damage was done. Oreo died at the local veterinarian’s office later that night from a punctured lung. Again, I fashioned another coffin and buried her next to Ivy. The coyote returned the following weekend and ate out last turkey – a magnificent Tom that had learned to escape to the hood of my car where he was safe from most varmints. (And thereby destroying the finish of the car with his claws and droppings.)
Down to one bird eating dog and no birds, I was ready to despair.
Then an old colleague of mine from work came by one day with a Golden Retriever puppy. I was delighted and promptly adopted her with the name Goldilocks. She was a wonderful loving dog with good manners and self-restraint. She was already big enough to fend off coyotes, and immediately became best friends with Baby Bear. They played together amicably during the weeks I was busy finishing the new shed.
Despite setbacks created when a tornado came through and damaged the shed, we soon were back in business. At last with a solid shed and a good guard dog, we were ready to start another poultry flock. For good measure I added a horse and sheep. So we were well on our way to becoming a mini-farm when I had a couple calls from the owners of some chickens that they needed a good home. We gladly agreed and adopted fourteen new birds of various breeds. I’d like to say it was all smooth sailing from there, but rather the adventure continued.
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