Our Canine Visitors

These little guys may look cute, they may even act playful, but they are chicken chasers beneath those puppy dog eyes.

I was working on the computer the other day and I heard the tinkle of one of the cat's bells. I reached down to pet her and felt rough fur -- it wasn't a cat. A dog had wandered into our kitchen! I dragged her outside just in time to see her mate chasing Norrin through the yard at top speed. Norrin had a good lead and zig-zagged through the field to keep the dog away. He finally sprinted high up into a tree with the dog jumping at him down below.

While Norrin was running, Trevor and I grabbed garden stakes and the hose to separate the two in case the dog caught up with him. We set up Miss Chicken's wire cage and grabbed the slower, female dog and put her inside. By this time, the male dog was chasing chickens around the yard with much flapping and screeching.

We grabbed the second dog and put him in as well. Once in the cage, both dogs just sat quietly. We moved them into the shade, gave them a dish of water, then set about finding all of our terrified animals. Norrin wouldn't come down out of the tree, until he was absolutely sure the dogs were gone. Ten of the chickens were cowering in their coop, but three were nowhere to be found. While we were searching the yard, one snuck back into the coop. Who knows where he was? We found one under the house and the third, Pam, was hidden so well between the barns that I didn't even find her when I searched there. I saw her timidly sneak back out a couple of hours later.

On our way to St. Albans, (and with all of the animals put away), we decided to let the dogs out so they could wander homeon their own. After all, they wandered here alone. Bad move. These dogs were clearly not used to living near a road. They immediately ran full-speed into Main Street, toward biking tourists and oncoming cars. People who saw them leave our yard were yelling at us to get our dogs. I don't think anyone believed it when we said they weren't ours, so we gave up and penned them again.

At St. Albans we bought them a small bag of food. And when we got back they ate up the huge plate I poured out, then scoured the grass for dropped pieces. We emailed our neighborhood and managed to find the owner in about 30 minutes. They live down the driveway that's so long you need a car to wait at the bus stop in the morning -- no wonder they were clueless about traffic.

Dogs, chickens and cats clearly do not mix.

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