When I walked into the chicken yard yesterday morning, it looked like I had arrived just in time to investigate a crime scene. Standing in the middle of the yard was Gus Gus, my 130-pound livestock guardian dog. At his feet lay Mike Crowe, my Light Brahma rooster, looking like he'd just lost an argument with a freight train. Gus was standing over him while Mike remained perfectly motionless. Since Gus has lived peacefully with the flock for years, I couldn't imagine what had happened.
I immediately scolded Gus. He lowered his head and retreated toward the tent shelter with all the confidence of a teenager who has just been caught sneaking in after curfew. I picked up Mike and carried him to the coop, where he remained limp and unresponsive for several minutes. Then one eye opened. A few minutes later he staggered to his feet, rearranged his ruffled feathers with an indignant shake, and looked around to make sure none of the hens were watching. Then he disappeared into the chick pen to recover what little dignity remained. Meanwhile, Gus watched the entire performance from the shelter.
When I scolded him a second time, Gus apparently decided the shelter wasn't far enough away. He headed for the far side of the pasture and disappeared into the trees. That struck me as odd. A dog that intentionally decides to attack chickens usually doesn't look guilty afterward. Gus looked guilty enough to plead for a reduced sentence.
As he slunk away, I couldn't help imagining the conversation.
Mike Crowe
"Gus! What did you do?"
If dogs could talk, I'm pretty sure his response would have been immediate.
"But Mom, he started it!"
At the time, I dismissed the thought as ridiculous. A few minutes later, I wasn't so sure.
As I stood there trying to make sense of the situation, I noticed Gus's breakfast still lying untouched inside the shelter. Earlier that morning I had given him a large frozen meaty bone. Since he hadn't eaten it, I decided to pick it up and put it back in the freezer for another day. As I bent down to retrieve it, I discovered something I hadn't noticed before.
A dead hen lay beneath a nearby table.
That was when the mystery began to unravel.
My best guess is that Gus had been lying beside his prized bone trying to decide whether to eat it immediately or bury it for later. Dogs seem convinced that food improves with age. One of the hens apparently noticed the unattended treasure and decided to investigate. Chickens are not burdened by concepts such as ownership, personal space, or common sense. If a chicken sees food, she assumes it belongs to her. If another chicken sees it first, she assumes it belongs to her anyway.
I suspect the hen wandered over and pecked at the bone. Gus probably responded with the canine equivalent of, "Excuse me, but that's mine." Unfortunately, chickens are surprisingly fragile creatures. What would have been a harmless warning to another dog would have had much more serious consequences for a hen. I don't believe Gus intended to kill her. In all the years he has lived with the flock, he has never shown aggression toward any of the chickens. I suspect it was simply an unfortunate accident.
The hen almost certainly voiced her opinion about the situation at maximum volume. Anyone who keeps chickens knows there is a difference between ordinary chicken chatter and a full-scale emergency broadcast. A hen in distress can produce a sound capable of bringing every chicken within hearing distance running to see what's going on. More importantly, it can bring a rooster.
Somewhere in the yard, Mike Crowe undoubtedly heard the commotion and came charging toward the scene. Now, I've been on the receiving end of Mike's temper before. Mike does not believe in backing down. Nor does he believe in carefully evaluating the odds. Mike believes that if one of his hens is in trouble, it is his responsibility to charge directly into the situation and sort out the details later.
When he arrived and found a hen down with Gus standing nearby, Mike didn't bother collecting evidence or interviewing witnesses. He took one look at the scene, appointed himself judge and jury, and transformed into Inigo Montoya.
"You killed my hen. Prepare to die."
What followed was likely less of a fight and more of a sustained military campaign. Mike attacked. Gus backed away. Mike attacked again. Gus backed away farther. Mike attacked again because the previous attacks had not adequately expressed his opinion.
Roosters are not known for diplomacy. They tend to approach conflict with the subtlety of a chainsaw.
At some point Gus probably stopped viewing Mike as one of his chickens and started viewing him as a hostile feathered predator that refused to leave him alone. Livestock guardian instincts eventually took over, bringing us to the scene I discovered: one guilty dog, one battered rooster, and a mystery waiting to be solved.
What still makes me laugh is that when I found them, Mike wasn't fighting anymore. He was lying perfectly still beneath Gus. Apparently, after discovering that attacking a 130-pound livestock guardian dog was not producing the desired results, he had switched to Plan B and decided to play dead. To his credit, the strategy worked. By the time I arrived, Gus was simply standing over him looking confused while Mike was putting on an Academy Award-worthy performance.
The more I thought about it, the more I began to suspect that Gus's defense may have contained at least a grain of truth. From his perspective, he had been minding his own business, guarding his breakfast, when a hen interfered, a rooster declared war, and somehow he ended up being the one in trouble.
Of course, the dead hen under the table weakened his argument considerably.
In the end, the scorecard was mixed. The hen was beyond caring about the outcome. Mike lost several feathers and a considerable amount of dignity. Gus lost his good standing with management and received a stern lecture about proper workplace conduct. I, however, gained valuable information.
From now on, Gus gets to finish breakfast before the chickens are released from the coop.
The funny thing is that I doubt either of the boys learned anything. Gus will still guard his food. Mike will still defend his hens. The only creature involved with enough sense to change future behavior was me.
Still, you have to admire Mike. A ten-pound rooster willingly attacked a 130-pound livestock guardian dog in defense of one of his hens. That's either courage or insanity.
With Mike, it's usually both.
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