Chicken 911

Cute and cuddly, but don’t forget; they grow up to be CHICKENS!

Because most people in our little town know that I’m one of the crazy chicken ladies who is fighting to legally keep hens within City Limits, I got a Chicken 911 call the other morning.  It was a sweet lady asking if I could take her hens because they were a little bit more work than she had anticipated.  She knew just how to GET to me.  I used to help with Cairn Terrier rescue, and there is nothing more exciting to me than taking a little “unwanted” pet to a new home!

I explained that I couldn’t take the hens, but if she would give me a few minutes to make some calls, I was sure I could get them to new homes.  Two quick calls to family members did the trick!  My sister-in-law said she would be happy to take the three Rhode Island Reds, and my mom was thrilled to add a new little bantam to her mini-flock.

I ran home to grab some dog crates, and squealed out the door on my Chicken 911.  Because I was so excited about the rescue prospect, two of my little Cairn Terriers begged to go along on the ride.  I loaded up Brindle and Ivy, and the little brown truck was on the road to rescue the hens.

We placed the Rhode Island Reds in the wire crate in the back of the truck, and I put the little bantam hen, named Pollo, in a cardboard box in the front of the truck behind my seat.  When I arrived at my brother’s house, I discovered that I had beat him home from work.  So I wandered around their farm filled with goats, dogs, bees, and LOTS of Chickens!  The chickens were happily roaming on their pasture clucking their little chicken hearts out.  The Rhode Island Reds were a little distraught in the crate — panting and eyeballing the curious goats who wanted to get a good sniff at the new hens.  My brother and the kids came home, and took the new hens out to the pasture to meet the rest of the flock.

I spent some time visiting with my brother and the kids and checking out his bee hives.  They gave me some fresh honey, and after about 30-40 minutes, I said, “Well I’d better get back on the road and deliver the other chicken.”  I went out to the truck, and uh oh . . . there was some wild squawking coming from within the cab.

Brindle, my perfect little dog, was sitting in the driver’s seat waiting patiently for me.  Ivy my ALMOST perfect dog, had wiggled her way behind the seat and was poking her head INSIDE the box.  The hen would squeal, and Ivy would pull her head out.  When the hen quieted down, Ivy would stick her head back through the hole.  It was quite a funny (well not from the hen’s point of view) game of Peek-A-Boo — Cairn Terrier Style.

By the time we got little Pollo to my mom’s house, I think she was more than a little distressed.  She quickly jumped out of the box and joined the 7 other little bantams — as far away as she could get from that evil little dog!  Three days later, Pollo is now called Julie and has settled in just fine.  Thank goodness, no worse the wear for playing Peek-A-Boo with a terrier.