Daisy

I had no idea that chickens could wail. I have heard all manner of clucks and crows, but never in these four years on the farm have I heard such a hopeless cry come from a chicken. Upon hearing it, Chris took off running for the stable, while I followed not so quickly behind. Entering the stable, we found our dog, Daisy, hopping about with excitement, and Rock-Star, cornered and howling in exhausted defeat.

I knew getting a dog would take some work- that we would need to work with it to teach it basic manners (not to jump or gnaw on people, to sit, etc.), but I was hoping Daisy's farm dog pedigree would make her indifferent to the chickens. Thankfully, she has no intention of ripping apart and eating the birds like the strays we caught a few months back, but she sure does like to chase them.

At first I thought she was just exercising some of her herding instincts, and would watch her chase them for a few yards before she moved on to another chicken or other distraction. It wasn't until after the incident with Rock-Star- then when I saw her chase Isadora through the yard, under the trailer, back out, then all the way around the trailer without slowing- that I really realized I needed to put a stop to this behavior.

(You'd think the chickens would be smart enough to fly up out of reach onto a fence or something, but apparently, they lose their minds in the panic and can only think to run.)

So until we can put in the time and training necessary, Daisy cannot have free reign of our entire yard. This means that we either have to keep her on a tie-out, or in the fenced area behind the stable. You would think that having a quarter acre or so to run would make a dog happy, but not Daisy. As soon as I close the gate on her, she starts to whine, then spends all her time and energy (when she's not crying like a poor, tortured soul) looking for a way out. Tie her up to the 20 foot lead on the front porch of the house, and she's as happy as a clam. But since I can't stand to see a dog tied up, I've been trying to get her used to the fenced area.

I can't count the number of times she's escaped. Time and again, I patch a hole, only to find her on the porch half an hour later. So I lead her back to her yard, play with her for a bit, then lock her behind the gate and watch to see how she gets out. The last time, she found a hole in the back fence, worked her way through some tall grass and brush, then through another hole into the calves' pasture, a squeeze through the cattle gate, back into our yard.

I've been taking her on walks around the farm. Usually, we walk the fence and tree line of Queenie's pasture: one that we are only using for hay, so that I don't have to worry about her running off to pester some animal. As I walk she'll run ahead or lag behind, stopping to sniff whatever catches her fancy. By the time we've made our way around the perimeter of the 14 acres, I am winded, but she can still run full tilt. If I keep this walk up once or twice a day through the winter, I'll be in good shape!