Every evening, just before I lock up the chickens, Gus makes a beeline for the coop. He slips inside, circles a couple of times, and settles himself in the far corner beneath the poop board for the night. I leave through the door into the main barn and lock it behind me.
Now, before anyone starts questioning his credentials as a livestock guardian dog, let me assure you that Gus weighs about 130 pounds and takes his job very seriously. Coyotes? Bring 'em on. Foxes? No problem. Bears? He'll stand at the fence barking until either the bear leaves or the sun comes up... whichever happens first.
But let the faintest rumble of thunder drift over the mountain and this fearless guardian of chickens, this knight in fluffy white armor, suddenly decides the safest place on earth is under a flock of laying hens. He has a perfectly good dog house outside, yet every evening he heads straight for the coop. I'm beginning to suspect the chickens aren't his flock—he's their dog. Or perhaps they're simply his emotional support chickens.
For the past week I've been hearing Gus barking frantically in the middle of the night. Every morning there was fresh evidence that something had been visiting my barn. The large barrel where I keep the dog food was open, its screw-on lid lying on the floor. One morning I found the entire barrel had been dragged nearly four feet from where I'd left it. Clearly, something was helping itself to the kibble. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn't read the "No Free Samples" policy.
I never actually caught the culprit in the act, but I had a pretty good suspect. Not many animals are clever enough to unscrew a lid, and raccoons have those little hands that seem capable of earning an engineering degree. So I moved the dog food into my farm store, set a live trap, and baited it with a handful of kibble.
The next morning, I headed out to let Gus out of the coop. As soon as I stepped into the main barn, I found one thoroughly irritated midnight burglar waiting for me in the trap, looking less than pleased with his complimentary accommodations.
No wonder Gus had been raising such a fuss every night. The poor guy had been locked safely inside with his emotional support chickens while some masked burglar was enjoying an all-you-can-eat kibble buffet.
It's probably a good thing Mr. Coon never figured out how to open the coop door. Thunder may send Gus running for cover, but I suspect even the bravest raccoon would lose an argument with a 130-pound livestock guardian dog if it laid a paw on one of his hens.
Enjoyed this tale from the barnyard?
Don’t miss the next round of critter chaos — to get new stories by email,
just send a note to sandydavis@aol.com
or follow on Facebook.
🐑 If you liked this story, please click one of the small share buttons below instead of copy-paste—it helps folks find their way back here for more tales from the farm.🐓
©2026 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm
No comments:
Post a Comment