Posted by Lady Bird | Posted in Past Posts 2011 | Posted on Mon,07-11-2011
I know I am mentioned briefly on this site’s “Critters” page but I am hardly mentioned anywhere else, so let me introduce myself: I am Lady Bird The World’s Best Farm Dog EVER.
Jennifer drones on in her blog about all the hard work her and Harry do and all the perils and fun of farming. Blah, blah, blah. Well what they’re not telling you about is who actually does most of the dirty work – me. I sleep out in the pasture every night (Harry and Jennifer alternate nights) and I corral coop escapees that free range too far and I help move the birds during coop moving time so no one gets run over and I clean up spilt feed and eat any dead chickens to prevent predators. Whew. It’s no wonder I have to try to grab a nap everyday.
Even still I hear Harry and Jennifer talk about getting a “livestock dog.” A what? I did some research on-line and visited some other farms and found out there are specific breeds of what is called a Livestock Guardian Dog (LGD). Mainly there are Anatolian Sheppard and Great Pyrenees around these parts. My friends Ward and Jill Taylor of Taylor’s Farm have a Great Pyrenees, Frank, that they’re training to watch the chickens. Please. Who do you think a predator would fear being on the teeth-end of more? Me, a beagle (hello, hunting dog)/dachshund (hunting dog, again) mixed for hybrid vigor, or Frank, a pure bred over grown cotton ball?
Who would you fear? . . . That’s what I thought.
I’ve never spoken to any predators that have crossed Frank’s path but I know the chicken eating armadillo that came up in my pasture two nights ago didn’t want any part of this chicken dog right here. That’s right; armadillos, skunks, raccoons, cats, squirrels, rabbits, moose, bear (grizzly and black), coyote, grey wolves, red wolves, and fox of all colors fear me. A lot of predators have crossed my path in my tenure as a farm dog and all have known to tuck tail and run.
Sure, I try to eat live chickens on occasion if the coop runs one over part way and a leg or something is sticking out. And, sometimes, when trailing a chicken I’ll get bored and start picking its feathers. Hey, it’s going to die sooner or later – I might as well start the plucking now. On the rare occasion that I am too full to eat an entire chicken that has passed from natural causes, I’ll eat what I can, piece out the rest and then carry it off and bury it in a variety of hiding places. This way I can finish it later but the cat, that darn wiener dog Milo Mingus, and other predators can’t find the remains and, therefore, are not drawn to the live chickens. Also, I roll on any smelly dead chickens to cover my scent thus allowing me to sneak up on predators.
So, next time you hear Jennifer or Harry going on about how hard they’re working, you remember who is behind the scenes. I’ll be out in the pasture while they’re in the AC and I never get a portion of the chicken sales, instead I do all this out of loyalty. Well, speaking of work, it’s time for me to do the afternoon feed, water, and predator check. Man, I hope there’s a bear out there this time – I’ve always wanted a bed made from bearskin.