Beware of attack chicken

We have, residing here on the Unfarm, an attack chicken. This attack chicken's name is Gretchen and he (yes, you read that right - he) is our rooster. We named him as a chick when we were told that he was a she and the name just stuck. If you ask either my mom or I our opinion on said rooster you would be told that he is a fearsome defender of (almost) all of his lady hens but otherwise he is relatively harmless and even somewhat comical at times - performing his sidestepping shuffle dance for us in an attempt to either add us to his harem or show who is in charge, depending upon which theory you ascribe to. According to Dad, however, Gretchen is a "mean rooster" who attacks both frequently and without remorse. 

In looking at various threads on the backyardchickens.com website the main consensus seems to be that Gretchen's behavior is dominance based and that he should be culled from the flock. Well, that's just not how we roll around here - Gretchen is family and we just don't go around killing our family members. We just don't. And besides, it's not like Gretchen isn't good for anything. He does protect most of the ladies. Penny is the notable exception - we're not sure if it's because she is older than the rest of the chickens and so didn't grow up with Gretchen and his crew or if it is because she is sporting spurs on her legs - but whatever the reason, Penny is definitely lowest down in the pecking order and frequently gets picked on or chased by Gretchen and several of the other hens. 

Aside from his lack of protective instincts towards Penny, Gretchen is quite protective of all the other hens and no one is too big for Gretchen to go up against when it comes to someone bothering his ladies. Axel, the largest of the three dogs, grew up with chickens and cows on a farm somewhere before we rescued him from the shelter so he generally leaves the chickens alone. Scout and Molly, however, are another story. Scout thinks that the chickens are endlessly fascinating toys of some sort and they only want for the proper persuasion to get them to join in a rousing game of chase. Molly will chase almost anything that a) moves and b) is smaller than her. Being a chihuahua mix not many things fall under category b, although she will join Scout if he decides to chase the chickens. The chickens, for their part, squawk and flap their wings and tear around the yard in a highly disorganized manner that often leads them back into the path of the dogs. Hearing this commotion, Gretchen races to the rescue. He flies into the dog run and heads straight for whatever dog is closest and slams into their side, effectively drawing the attention away from the hens in order to give them time to make their escape from the dog run. The party is generally over at that point. The hens are gone and none of the dogs wants to tangle with Gretchen the attack chicken so for now the good outweighs the bad and Gretchen is staying where he is, "mean" or not.

Gretchen, our attack chicken

The nightly routine

It is no secret that dogs like to eat and that their palate is somewhat less sophisticated than ours with a taste for, among other things: cat poop, bunny poop, chicken poop... basically anyone's poop, liver, cat food, and fish oil. Along with their own food they also have a taste for duck food, which leads me to the nightly routine. After the dogs get their dinner the chickens get put away in the coop for the night and the ducks are brought in. Before bringing the ducks inside for the night we feed them dinner on the back deck: a bowl of water and a bowl of Purina duck chow. The dogs know this and wait impatiently at the kitchen door for me to bring the ducks inside. This is not because of some great love for the ducks and a strong desire to see them again after being separated all day. No, this is purely selfish on the part of the dogs. 

After I put the diapers on the ducks I scoop them up while they furiously paddle their little feet and we head to the back door. As soon as I get the door open six inches or so the dogs will force the door open the rest of the way and then I just stay out of the way as all three dogs burst through onto the back deck. They run right past the ducks and I as if we weren't even there and make a beeline for the duck bowls. Were Scout and Axel after the same thing we might have a problem but they complement each other perfectly because Axel heads straight to the water bowl and starts drinking while Scout grabs the food bowl and takes off. Scout picks up the bowl by the rim without tipping anything out and takes it across the deck to eat the water soaked duck chow in peace. Molly is left to clean up the scraps that fall onto the deck boards. Having eaten less than an hour ago I know for a fact that the dogs are not starving, they simply like the taste of watered down duck food. Go figure. I guess there's no accounting for taste.

Another one bites the dust

The population of Scout's toy box is steadily declining. Stuffed animals, frisbees, and rope toys have all become endangered species around here. Apparently, the most entertaining part of a toy is not shaking it or chasing after it but actually pulling the stuffing out of it to reach the squeaker inside. Watching the toy box progressively get emptier I grew concerned that our puppy would become bored and move on to the destruction of less appropriate things like, say, the couch. Knowing that if that were to take place Scout himself would become the endangered species I came up with what I thought was a genius solution. I bought a package of tube socks and a bag of stuffing and stuffed each sock with the stuffing and a squeaker and then sewed the top closed. Voila! A bunch of new toys. This should last him a while. Right?

It took Scout all of an hour to figure out that these new toys were perfect for tug of war. As soon as he could convince Axel to play with him the two of them were squared off, each trying to rip the sock away from the other. More than winning the sock, the real appeal of this game appears to be the sound of the sock ripping open and the sight of the stuffing falling all over the living room floor. Now not only is the toy box population still decreasing, but we are cleaning the living room daily of fluff and squeakers and ripped up socks. I think that I am going to have to break down and buy new toys made of tougher stuff or risk finding pieces of the couch strewn about the living room.

Hello my name is Scout

In the several months that we have lived with Scout we have discovered several things:

1. Puppies are absolutely adorable but they don't stay that way for long. Pretty soon the little six pound, eight week old pup that was the picture of cuteness when he gently mouthed your slippers or jumped up to see you when you got home is a forty pound teenager who destroys your shoes in five minutes and pulls you down the street as he gasps and chokes at the end of the leash, making you look anything but in control (and let's face it - you're not.) On the plus side, he pees outside most of the time now so let's celebrate the small victories.

2. The grass is always greener. Scout has come to the decision that any treat any other dog has is better than the one he's got and will complain bitterly about the injustice of life having served him up a treat (bone, rawhide chew, peanut butter filled Kong, etc) that is clearly sub par to the one that Axel and/or Molly have. After about five minutes of his incessant barking in the particular tone that we have come to learn can be translated as, "I want what they have! My treat isn't nearly as good as their treat and if I only had their treat I would be completely satisfied for the rest of my life!!" we will either take all the treats away or we will switch treats with Molly who generally couldn't care less what treat she has, so long as she has one. Scout is perfectly happy for about two minutes until he realizes that Molly now has his former treat and suddenly that treat is the best one and the process starts all over again. For Scout, the grass is always greener on the other side, or the other treat is always better than the one he's got.

Scout has been jealous of the other dogs treats from the beginning

3. Toys are awesome and toys with squeakers are even more so. Scout loves toys, the noisier the better. Apparently, the purpose of toys is to either A) interrupt dinner with the loudest squeaky toy in his arsenal by running in circles around the dining room table merrily squeaking away, or B) cover the living room floor with the stuffing from whatever toy has fallen victim to Scout's ruthlessness, leaving the sad, empty shell of the toy lying forgotten on the floor amid it's own innards.

4. The purpose of life. The purpose of life, according to Scout, is to eat treats. And he's not picky about our treats either - treats can, and do, include traditional dog treats: food, bones, Zuke's treats, cookies, rawhide chews, homemade dog treats, and any assortment of items found in the aisles of both Petsmart and Petco. But let's not overlook the benefit of nontraditional treats - peanut butter straight from the jar on the counter, regular butter from the [now broken] butter dish, cat food, pre-digested cat food (otherwise known as sand cookies around here on the Unfarm), duck food, chicken poo, duck poo, rabbit bunny berries (do you detect a pattern here? if it came out of any animal other than a dog it's fair game), plastic of any kind (water bottles and milk jugs are a particular favorite), and food of variety that gets left out on the counter.

5. Life is full of obstacles - it's how you deal with them that matters. Nontraditional treat inaccessible? Use your surroundings: Scout will crawl, climb, jump, and stand on tiptoes to get to what he wants.

Scout stands on my desk to look for treats

Scout searches for bunny berries in Jojo's hutch

6. Make yourself at home. Scout will turn almost any object into a chance to relax; the world is his pillow. Literally. He will sit on just about anything: beds, couches, rugs, carpets, Molly, Mom, Dad, me (especially when I am trying to get my shoes on for a walk), and - believe it or not - actual pillows. 

Life on the Unfarm: an illustrated account

In all fairness, when I started writing this post, it was still Monday. And it would have been posted by Monday if the internet hadn't crashed, sending my post into the black hole where all things lost on the internet end up. So here we go again.

Last week I the blog took a hiatus while I worked on a pincushion for a Mother's day gift, with bee pins that turned out pretty cute (although mine is probably not an unbiased opinion); biked around the town and to work on account of the fact that my car was out of gas; worked on some art; and impaled my leg on a metal garden fence. Not to worry though, the prongs between the gate were large enough to get my calf wedged through, but not small enough to break the skin on both sides. As it was I escaped with a cut on only one side of my leg and L-shaped bruises on both sides, where the fence went on, and where I had to rip it back off again.

At any rate, it is Monday (sort of) and time for another photo from the Unfarm.

Today I managed to catch the ducks sleeping under the lilac tree, in a patch of lily of the valley. Unfortunately, Axel walked past and set off Maggie's protective instincts, causing him to tear out of the flowers and chase Axel off until Maggie determined that Axel was now at a safe enough distance from Minna. Maggie takes his job as Minna's bodyguard very seriously. So the picture I had intended to get - of both ducks sleeping with their beaks tucked under their wings - ended up becoming a photo of Maggie returning to Minna, quacking his "qua-qua-qua-qua-qua-qua-qua" chatter that he uses to reassure Minna and calm her down.