Yesterday Bravo had a terrible day.
You have seen pictures of him, but there are a few things you don't know. The first thing is that he is a very sensitive dog. His feelings are easily hurt, and he has strong opinions about right and wrong. At the top of his "wrong" list, he does not like anyone to step on his tail feathers. Even if no pulling happens, he anticipates that it might and becomes seriously affronted. If he is lying somewhere and a human foot comes anywhere near his tail feathers, he leaps up, looking mortified. Side note: all bets are off with his Pug pal, Opal. She can bite and chew on his tail fluff, and even shake it like an old rag, or be towed about, hanging on by her tiny teeth, and Bravo looks on fondly, never correcting her, even when she pulls out horrifying large mouthfuls of long, white tail hair.
Yesterday Bravo happily put his front feet up on the grooming table to greet his Spanish Water Dog friend, Nocci. He was smiling and wagging voluptuously as he said hello to his pal. Somehow, when he put four on the floor again, his tail feathers got caught in the hydraulic mechanism of the grooming stool that was there. What happened next was a bit of a blur, but apparently, he felt the tug of his tangled hair and jumped in horror. Sadly, the stool "jumped" with him.
Here is a picture of the offending stool, with a tell-tale remnant of Bravo's fur dangling from where it became tangled.
The feeling of a large object attached to his tail made him take a dead run down the length of the grooming studio.
The stool swung wildly as he ran, catching every piece of furniture and making a horrible racket. Poor Bravo was unabashedly terrified. When he reached the end of the room, he spun and headed back, and mercifully the stool let go and stopped chasing him. He came to me, his heart beating wildly, panting in terror. His worst fears had been realized... something got his beautiful, floofy tail and hung on. It was a bad day for Bravo.
Meanwhile, we have had a little chicken drama. I mentioned in an earlier post that one of my large laying hens had brooded and hatched a chick in the tiny Silky chicken house. This was ok because the birds are only in the coop from dusk until dawn during the summer. They spend all the daylight hours out scratching around in the meadow in fine weather, only returning to the house to sleep. Now that the days are shorter and the weather cold (with snow coming soon!), the hens spend much time inside their coops. The large birds are not terribly friendly to the old, tiny Silkie's, and the Silky enclosure is too small for them to spend much time in.
The hen and chick had stayed in the small coop, but it was really time for them to move back in with the big birds. Last week, Chris and I waited until dusk when they were asleep, lifted them from their roost, carried them across the yard to the big coop, and tucked them in, side by side, on a perch there. I made sure to get up before dawn the next day to ensure no one was picking on the (almost full-grown) chick. All was peaceful. That night the chick went back to the small coop, and her mother remained with her clan in the big enclosure. I've tried several times to catch the babe and try moving her to the big coop again, but it's awkward to crawl in the small space and catch a bird that does not want to be caught. I tried again tonight, feeling gritty and determined. I waited until it was good and dark (chickens do not see well in the dark) and wedged my voluptuous self into the tiny coop. The bird was on to me and tucked herself in the furthest corner. I crawled deeper, my knees coated in shavings, and grabbed her. She screamed as if I were killing her, which, of course, she thought I was. I tucked her under my arm and backed out of the coop. She went dead still, clutched against me. Bravo gave her a good sniffing, and I carried her to the big hen house. I popped her onto a roost, and she squawked then settled, blending seamlessly in with the rest of the flock.
Mission accomplished. Bravo survived his difficult day; the pullet is with her flock. All is well at FairWinds.
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