How Could You Have?

Though Ellie Mae did a bad thing when she killed eight HappyDay Farms chickens a week ago today, she is not a bad dog; she is a sweet, lovable pooch, who responded to a primal urge. It’s not good-it’s not bad; it simply is. 

Furthermore, recent historical context on this very farm, would insist that no discussion about killing chickens would be complete without introducing the names of Savannah Mae, the catahoula, Emma the Great Dane mix, Large Marge and-heart don’t stop-Dozer, the revered bulldog.

I wrote and posted a piece on Mark’s Work, as far backs October of 2011, 

( http://markyswrite.blogspot.com/2011/10/poor-tulip.html ) that detailed an account of poor Tulip the hen, who was one of Gluten-Free Mama’s favorite girls, getting whacked by Savannah. It was gruesome.

The demands of the farm were such in 2011, that Savannah’s owners were unable to devote the time and attention needed to at least attempt to correct the behavior, and we were fortunate to relocate her to a venue in Washington State, one with no chickens.

I am convinced that Ellie Mae escapes
because she wants to play with Emma.

Emma, aka Chicken, as a direct result of her indiscretions when it came to pulling a Colonel Sanders on the poor flock, learned the old school, hard way, not to mess with the Clucks. BossLady fastened one of the dead birds to Emma’s collar, and for the next three days she hauled around a reminder that it’s not nice to kill the livestock.

Margie also got into the act, her arrival coinciding with Emma’s sudden interest in Buffalo wings. As a result, so much time, attention and motivation was put into play, along with fortifying the home base of the feathered denizens of the farm, that we have never had a repeat chapter from Margie.

Finally, so inconceivable that I had managed to repress the memory, Gluten-Free Mama reminded me that she had to rescue poor Gretchen from the jaws of the stubborn one, Dozer the bulldog, even though he had restrained himself from actually closing those mandibles all the way.

Gretchen survived to cackle her story for many a day.

Additionally, there is more to Ellie Mae’s story than immediately leaps to mind. Her relocation to our home took place two days after Thanksgiving Day, just as the household was settling into official Holiday mode. There was the soothing Christmas music, there were the eight jigsaw puzzles (the eighth still under construction), there were the seasonal films and there was a sense of peace and contentment.

Consider it the calm before the storm.

In this very space I have been chronicling the refurbishment of the Wreck of Hesperus, otherwise known as a bath/laundry room remodel. In place of soothing music and constant companionship, either next to me or at my feet, Ellie Mae has been subjected to not only losing me, but having me replaced with belt sanders, Skil Saws and auger bits, grinding their way through 35-year-old fir. 

In construction lingo, that’s better known as petrified wood.

Because I have been grinding along with these tools to the tune of sixteen hours a day, Ellie Mae must have felt dazed and confused. In the middle of all the chaos, she decided to take that feeling and run with it. When she escaped from the yard for the first time in five weeks, and was gone for at least an hour, I was worried.

But she came back and everything seemed good. Later the same day, however, obviously having figured out a new method of egress from the fenced-in yard, Ellie split again. This time after being gone even longer, she was brought back on a leash by none other than BossLady herself.

Oh, Ellie Mae, how could you have?

She did, I’m not tying a dead chicken around her neck, and what’s more, if anyone should have a dead chicken tied around his neck, it is I. Common sense says it’s not OK to blame the dog. I am the human who is supposed to be in charge of keeping Ellie Mae inside her yard, and furthermore, I am the human who is designated her teacher.

The quilt slipped down on top of Ellie Mae from
above, making it seem as though she had
provided her own blankie...

“Leave it” is a teachable concept and Ellie Mae is a teachable dog. There will be appropriate follow-through in all areas, including the installation of a wire around the fence, that in conjunction with a collar, will gently shock Ellie if she tries to dig under the fence again.

I don’t much care if this technique seems cruel to some folks, because eight chickens have paid the premium price to see that further carnage does not occur. Ellie is a quick study and it won’t take many shocks to convey the message that dogs belong inside the fence.

Besides, it beats having a dead chicken tied around your neck for three days.