Laughing at a funeral, a dozen eggs, and cheepers

I think it was November. Some hurried pounding on my door followed by terrifying sounds in my backyard. I hurried outside and saw a terrier mauling my adopted barred rock. There were 3 mid-aged kids chasing the dog, rushing to get to it before I could. They collected their dog, and I collected 2 very battered looking hens and put them in the coop. I left them in there for three days.

In December, the same barred rock was found, stuffed under a fence, with its head missing. The culprit was never found. We had purchased 3 barred rock pullets, one has since gone missing; culprit never found.

This weekend, the same dog was back in the yard this time mauling my chief growler, the white leghorn. My wife actually penned the dog IN THE COOP, where the chickens could fly up top to the perches and cuss the dog out. She came to get me, and explained all that had happened. I knew the dog was a menace; and it was probably responsible for my two missing hens. It clearly was not being controlled by its owner, it had been caught, and it was clearly in my hands.

I picked up a big four by four and walked over to the coop intending on ending the dogs life by crushing its neck beneath the board. But I was reminded of Cecil Frances
Alexander's poem quotes by James Herriot in the titles of his books as I saw the dog's good natured face, happily waiting to be "let out." He didn't know he had done anything wrong, and I couldn't face my kids after I killed a dog for doing what he does normally.

But I did want to tire the little sucker out... So I hooked up my heaviest chain to his collar and set out after him. Sure enough he walked straight home. I knocked on the door and came to find out that, yes, this was his home and he had killed chickens before. The kids did not diligently shut the gate and so let the dog get out.

When I returned home, with my son in tow with me, I reflected that this dog has brought my flock grief and misery, death and destruction. Yet he is their dog. He's a part of the family and a cherished part of it. It would be very mean and evil of me to kill the dog, and give that family worry about where the dog was. And what if they put up posters looking for it? And what if my son found one, and asked why I killed that dog? Could I face him? Would he ask me to go talk to the people who were missing their dog? Would I lie to him? No, I did the right thing.

2 days ago the dog's owner showed up on our door with a box. There were two little chicks, an americauna and a white leghorn. The leghorn is already showing her cluckiness, as she chirps the loudest, and the most.

Now if the dog comes back I'm takin him to the pound and sending the family a bill.

Maker of heaven and Earth
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colours,
He made their tiny wings.

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.

The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset, and the morning,
That brightens up the sky;

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden,
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
We gather every day;--

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.

-Cecil Frances Alexander