Red wants nothing to do with chickens, he doesn’t want to eat them, chase them, sit near them or acknowledge their existence, and he keeps looking at me balefully when I called him into the food police brigade to quell some disturbances we are having between aggressive chickens, a hungry Lab (is there any other kind?)  and the cats and their food bowls. I explained to Red that he is a farm dog, he doesn’t get to choose his work assignments. Life is not just about chasing cheep in pretty meadows, preening for adoring crowds, I said. This is a farm with animals, and he has work to do that isn’t always pretty.

This morning’s strategy: I put Red right in front of the cat bowls and told him to stay put and keep the chickens “off” – he knows that command from herding. The chickens came up, halted, went under the chairs to confer. Red stood his ground. Unfortunately, when the chickens came up behind him and headed for the cat food, he just stood his ground, didn’t have any idea what to do, and unlike the sheep, the chickens were not the least bit impressed with him.

I charged at the chickens waving my arms, tripped on the stone steps and went sprawling into the garden (I made sure the camera fell on me.). The cats got most of their food, but I’d have to give this one to the chickens. Plan B, distract the chickens with mealworms and feed the cats in the barn. Red is disgusted with me.