Okay, so for those of you who read my last blog “Jail Time”, under “I Eat Stuff”, you would know that my super rude dog, Dude, ate one of my beloved 8-week-old chicks, Betty. If you haven’t read that blog yet, go read it and then come back because this story will not have the intended, bewildered effect on you if you aren’t caught up on what events are goin’ down in the coop lately. You gotta be in the coop loop to get the scoop.
So, as I was saying, poor Betty, dead as an 8-track player, there in my yard. I was certain, CERTAIN, that Betty’s counter part and partner in crime, Petri, had bit the dust as well. I chalked both of them up to a loss that day. Well, later that same day, I was talking to my fiance about said events. As I was talking he stopped me and asked “what chickens did you say that Dude killed?” I told him that Betty and Petri were goners. He got quiet for a second and he asked me to identify what Petri looked like (Clint hasn’t readily bonded with the chickens yet). I told him and he informed me that Petri was currently alive and well, just bee-boppin’ around the coop like nothing happened at all.
‘Wait, what?’ I thought. ‘She’s dead. She has to be. I saw her beautiful feathers scattered across the yard like a bunch of drunk teenage girls had a pillow fight, right there on my lawn.’
I wanted to tell him that it was probably the ghost of Petri, seeking revenge on Dude: the homicidal Australian Shepherd (I thought he was seeing a random bird in our yard). Nonetheless, I made Clint Facetime me so that I could see this sorcery for myself. So he did.
Now, what happened next remains a mystery here at the Split Creek Ranch, and probably will, forever more. Petri, the other 8-week-old chick, was prancing around the coop like she was Queen of Sheba. She was locked out of the coop that day because upon realizing that she was more than likely dead and traveling through Dude’s intestinal canal, I shut the big girls up in the coop to avoid further trauma. I could not believe my eyes when Clint Facetimed me. Petri wasn’t missing a feather, wasn’t skiddish, wasn’t freaking out, she was just standing outside of the coop, like “hey, you forgot me this morning, asshole. I’m thirsty.”
As it turns out, the feathers I mistook for Petri’s were actually my roosters feathers, scattered across the yard like the aftermath of a vicious fastball thrown by Randy Johnson. I guess Dude went after the rooster that morning too but couldn’t keep him down. I can’t explain this phenomenon. And I know I said I’d name her Houdini if I ever found out she was alive, and I will stick to my word. From now on, Petri, the Easter Egger chick, will be referred to as Petri “The Houdini” Martin. As for Dude, well, he’s still on my list. I keep a watchful eye on him at all times.
Gus, on the other hand, was depressed to see Betty go. Apparently Gus thought Petri could use some cheering up because when Clint offered him a chicken nugget that day and he kindly accepted said gift, walked over to the coop, and tried to get in to give it to Petri, maybe as some sort of “sorry-my-brother-doesn’t-know-how-to-act-right-but-I-still-love-you” gift. Once Gus realized he couldn’t get into the coop without human assistance, he proceeded to walk back into the front yard, still holding said nugget in his mouth, and then he laid down and slowly ate it, ya know, in memory of Betty and stuff. Kinda like pouring out a spot of champagne for the fallen homies.
I’m not the only one who has my eye on Dude, the killer, though. Gus wasn’t happy with him either. They fought like Junior High cheerleaders that day. Any time Dude even approached the coop at all, Gus whooped on him. He’s gotta learn though, so I didn’t intervene.
Things have been somewhat smoother since the small massacre. Dude will lay on the porch as soon as I let the chickens out. If he tries to get up, Gus will be the first to give him that look that says “chickens are friends, not food.”
Baby steps, ya’ll. Baby steps.