Crazy Chicken Chasing Dog

I knew it would happen eventually, and last week it did. For the first time since we moved, Libby got loose, and it was nearly fatal for a wandering chicken. With temperatures in the high 90’s and heat indices reaching 120 degrees, we have been bringing the dogs inside during the heat of the day. One day, we had some errands to run, so we crated Meeko, and shutting all the bedroom doors, left Libby inside as well.

When we got home, the first thing I noticed was our bedroom door, which is situated right inside the front door, was open. Ed, following me into the house, went into the bedroom to check for damage. Katherine, bringing up the rear, passed the bedroom door, and continued into the house, calling for Libby. She left the front door open. Libby, who was actually still in the bedroom with Ed, snuck past him, and ran right out the front door. I saw her, but was too far away to stop her. I got outside just in time to see her realize there were chickens in the road. Our landlord’s chickens often escape their fence and come visiting. Since I am quite sure she had never seen chickens until we moved here, I wasn’t sure what she would do if she had the opportunity. Now I know.

With Ed and I both close behind, she barreled down the hill to the street. The chickens scattered, with most of them returning to their yard. One poor hen wasn’t so lucky. Libby chased her down the road, around the corner of the landlord’s fence and back, snapping all the way. She did manage to come away with a mouthful of tail feathers before she saw Ed, and thought it best to go the other way. The chicken was able to escape, but I continued to follow Libby down the road, my mind on the two horses in a field just a few hundred yards away. Fortunately, she never got that far, being distracted by a dog in another yard. She turned back toward the house, where we were finally able to catch her. Ed went to tie her out muttering something under his breath about a crazy chicken chasing dog.

In the meanwhile, Katherine had released Meeko from the crate, and for a split second, I thought there might be another chicken chase, but she had him on the leash. I couldn’t help but notice what seemed like an awful lot of chicken feathers in the road, but Ed assured me that the chicken was fine. Our landlord confirmed that assessment the next day.

Something else I learned this week was that Meeko has definitely inherited a Lab’s love of water. Of course, we have water buckets both inside and out for the dogs, so that they always have access to water. The buckets are good quality, heavy rubber. One is about two gallons and other about three, I think. The other night, however, Meeko decided he wanted more than a drink. The larger of the two buckets was in the house, next to Libby’s food bowl. He put his head in to drink, then he put both front legs in, then he started to splash by what only could be described as running in place. The whole incident sent Katherine into gales of hysterical laughter. I have to admit, it was pretty funny. What was not funny was having to mop up all the water. I may have to figure a way to rig him a wading pool.

The heat, or at least a combination of heat and old age did claim a life this week. Blue Eyes, a white American Shorthair cat with, of course, blue eyes, belonged to my grandparents. Even when Grandma died and Grandpa moved in with his new wife a few hours away in Joplin, Blue Eyes stayed at the house, preferring the barn to any human company. Mom, who lives down the street, always made sure she had food and water. Although she would sometimes come out of hiding and let Mom pet her, she was not a friendly cat by any means. Even when my sister and her two young daughters moved in, Blue Eyes stuck to the barn, making an appearance whenever she was good and ready. With this excessive heat, everyone was concerned for her. Mom saw her from a distance, drinking the water left for her, but noticed she didn’t look well. The next day, one of my nieces found her dead. According to the veterinarian’s records, Blue Eyes was twenty one years old!

Deja Vu

I've done this before, and I didn't like it the first time. When my oldest son, James, was 16 a stray Lab, who we called Sarge, "followed him home". Shortly after Sarge came into our lives, James' Bi Polar disorder erupted, along with a previously hidden felonious streak and he was sent to a county "reform school". Guess who got responsibility for Sarge? Yep. Me. Sarge is no longer with us, and looking back I wouldn't trade that time with him, but its not something I want to repeat.

Move foreward seven years. Nineteen year old Kyle (who has never been in trouble in his life)claims Meeko. Two weeks later, out of the blue, he is arrested and charged with a crime, leaving the rest of us scrambling to try and clear his name and get him released. Guess who got responsibility for Meeko? Yep. Me. Sarge was an adult dog who spent most of his time outdoors. Meeko is a puppy, who badly needs housebreaking, among other things.

To her credit, Libby was easily house broken. (One less thing). We used crate training which worked beautifully. She was, however, a little older than Meeko when we began. Additionally, we have other issues that we did not have before.

Although he complains a little, Meeko has become used to being in the crate at night. We normally give him about an hour of play time with Libby in the evening, which wears them both out, so they both sleep most of the night. He does not relieve himself in the crate. In the morning, he makes a beeline for the front door. I open the door, he goes out and pees for days. I praise him and all is right with the world.

Day time is another matter. The crate is in Kyle's room, which is joined to our room by a door. Ed works nights so he must sleep during the day. Confining Meeko to the crate even for short periods during those days is difficult because his barking and whining keep Ed awake.

Even on those days, I work from home, and the computer is in our bedroom (remember I said much smaller house). If I go in to work, Meeko whines and scratches at the door, once again waking Ed. Additionally, I don't want to leave him unsupervised in the house. I need to make sure he gets outside to go, although the connection that has obvioulsy been made between leaving the crate and going outside, has not been made about going outside in general. He may go outside, wonder around, come back in and go on the carpet. He may also go out side, go, come back in and go on the carpet. We're pulling our hair out.

She's no more purebred Lab than I am

Thats just what I thought when I first saw her a little over two years ago. My sister had called and told me her boyfriend's friend had a four month old pure bred lab female that really needed a new home. We had lost our Lab, Sarge, a few months before, so I wanted to talk it over with the kids first. Although they had both been devastated at the loss of Sarge, Sixteen year old Kyle and 7 year old Katherine both
immediately jumped at the idea of a new puppy. Big hearts, my kids.
When my sister's boyfriend brought her over the next day, and this black tangle of legs tail and tongue that they called Libby Lou, accosted me on my front porch, I thought to myself what I have already said. She's no more lab than I am. Yes, she's black and she's going to be good sized, but no way she's lab with that head. To be honest, the shape of her head and her ears suggested Jack Russell Terrier to me, but I couldn't quite grasp how that could happen. I still don't, but I'm convinced that some how it did. Libby is no prue bred Lab. The veternarian agrees, but can't quite put his finger on what she might be either. I describe her as a Jack Russell in a Lab body. Think all that energy in a big dog. Yeah, my life has never been the same.