Why I'm dubious about keeping chickens

I reckon it’s about time to do a straight-up pandering post for Emma Dog’s innumerable fans (do I know how to draw eyes to the site, or what?)

So after I delivered the ever-problematic contracts for The Dinosaur Lords to UPS to go back to Tor, we hit the ditch that runs from behind Lee Acres out along the north side of Los Poblanos Open Space for a nice early-autumn afternoon walk.

And nice it was: a kind of day I really enjoy – cloudy, cool, lightly breezy. There were smells both of freshly-cut hay and still-growing things. While the leaves are still green (although I did see my first small swatch of ones that had turned yellow) some have started to dry, and in the breeze give that distinctive autumn rattle. It turns out to really evoke for me the fact that it’s the outset of my very favorite time of the year.

As we were walking back to the car I heard some chickens squawking from a back yard we passed. And it reminded me I’d discussed the issue recently with some friends. I’d like to keep some myself – there’s just something about keeping a resource around where bugs and weeds go in and food comes out. But I’m concerned how Emma would react.

“Oh,” they said knowingly. “You’re afraid she’d have chicken for dinner.”

No. It’s possible – I don’t know until I try, or at least expose her to chickens. But I doubt it. I already know how she generally responds to largish birds, and it’s not to be aggressive. As such.

What I fear is some variant of the following dialogue – in which only half is actually spoken in words, but in which the other half is scarcely less explicitly clear:

Emma: See what I brought Daddy! I brought Daddy gift. Emma good dog!

Me: It’s a hen, Emma.

Emma: Yes! Is hen! Is nice hen I give to you!

Me: Emma, it’s my hen.

Emma: Yes! Because I give you it!

Me: It was already my hen. It was my hen this morning. It was my hen yesterday. It was my hen the last time you captured the poor damned bird and brought it to me. THE LAST TEN TIMES!

Emma (showing how the stage lost a great tragedian when she was born a dog): Emma not good dog?

And so on.

It’s interesting to speculate about the gene-engineered drives behind Emma’s impulses. As I’ve said before, she’s what I call a Black Sharpie: half black Lab, half Shar pei. Which I have to admit I still consider a pretty ridiculous combination, although I can’t argue with the results.

Labs were originally bred, I was astonished to discover, to retrieve fishing nets off Newfoundland. Apparently this is true – it’s not just Wikipedia that says so, but the AKC site as well.

As for Shar pei, as Chinese guard dogs, you wouldn’t expect them to bring you much, except for maybe dead burglars, and Jet Li’s character from Hero.

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