Queen Claire, our Pyrenees, is the ruler of our land. I nominated her and voted for her at election time as she is more wise than I. She is more calm and patient than I. She is prettier and more fairer over all the land than I. She is gentle, soft and frosty.
I can’t begin to compete with the gloriousness of her tongue. Most of all, the most content being I have met. I aspire to be Claire.
Claire was met with our other Pyrenees, Francis, when we moved our goats and Francis over to Claire’s palace. Claire kindly welcomed her and has been putting up with Francis’ immaturity ever since. Although Francis is beginning to get that she is a Pyr now and that work is first and foremost.
Great Pyrenees have an impressive history as Livestock Guard Dogs. Roaming the slopes of the Pyrenees mountains of France and Spain, they can maintain in the most frigid of temperatures. Which is fortunate for us this week.
It is unfortunate that the rescue scene for this breed has grown quite large because at first site they are fluffy, cute, white puppies. What is not known about them is they are not domesticated dogs. Their instinct to work is still bred strong. As a result, their behavior can be off-putting by humans. The main complaint is that they start barking at dusk and wind down at dawn patrolling their pasture perimeter in order to protect their flock.
They are aloof. And an invisible fence can not keep them from the distance and effort they risk to keep their flock safe. We knew all that going in. To watch them ward off hawks and other predators is nothing short of spectacular. I was feeding Francis a few weeks back. She was all hunkered down at her bowl ready to devour her hard-earned kiblits and out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of shadow on the ground. She knew immediately that danger was present. She went tearing off to shelter and protect. I looked up and there was a Red-Tailed Hawk swooping back and forth over the pasture. Good job, Francis.
The territory is at risk of a take over while I digress.
When you order day old chicks from a hatchery, they come via the good ol’ USPS. They call you when they arrive at the post office and you run your little buns over to pick them up fast, fast, fast, before the little critters fail. They are sexed at birth and I always order hens. That makes the most sense since I’m in the market for eggs. Every once in a while a mistake is made and a rooster is thrown in there. It is not to be revealed until they are 3 months of age when you begin to hear a strange throaty sound coming out of one of them. We have one that has just been revealed. When he realizes that he is a he…..well…. watch out world cause there will be an overthrow attempt. Every time I visit the pasture he lets me know that he is NOW in charge of all with his puffed up chest.
Now some of these chickens have not been in the same room with a gentleman rooster for over three years. These last couple of weeks have been traumatic to say the least for the lowly hens. It has been survival of the fittest to be sure.
Some hens stand frozen with their beaks to the wall hoping if they stand still long enough and they can’t see HIM, just maybe he can’t see THEM and will leave them alone. And might I add that….well… some would simply rather die than to be subjected to the goings on that he brings into our Chickondo. Three to be exact. My farmer friend who spends time here once a week, Mr. Shady, said he would take him off my hands. He is good at doing that. Thank you, Mr. Shady. I may take you up on that.
In the meantime, maybe Mr. Rooster will freeze his little…………….never mind..
Have a super weekend.