Most of the chickens on our farm are Dorkings, an ancient and beautiful breed. We also have a few Norwegian Jaerhons. Our most recent chicken acquisition are a group of day old Silkies, who are growing into ridiculous powder puffs. There is one other chicken on our farm who doesn’t fit into any of these groups, a Leghorn rooster named Foghorn (what else could we have named him?).
Leghorn chickens are also an ancient breed of chickens, originating from southern Europe in the middle ages. However, their main claim to “fame” is that they are now the most popular group of laying birds in industrial, factory style agriculture. Leghorn hens are kept in inhumane layer cages in most of the egg producing facilities in the United States. Foghorn is a rarity amongst Leghorns, simply because he is a rooster. Most chicken hatcheries kill most of the male chicks of laying breeds when they are a day old. If you are interested in finding out more about chicken welfare, visit
United Poultry Concerns. Another issue surrounding the Leghorn chicken is that since the vast majority of the laying chickens in the US are Leghorns, US chickens have a very small gene pool making them less adaptable and more susceptible to disease. There are literally hundreds of other types of chickens, and many of them are in danger of becoming extinct breeds. To put it simply, the fewer breeds of an animal you have, the shallower the gene pool is, and the more likely disease can decimate a population. The genetic diversity of all species is important, and critical to their adaptability. If you are interested in rare breeds of farm animals, visit the
American Livestock Breeds Conservancy.
Foghorn was given to us with a little Rhode Island Red hen who we named Rosie. Some friends of ours, Robert and Debra Raab, were keeping chickens as a hobby. Unfortunately, someone dumped a pregnant pit bull in their neck of the woods. She had a big litter, and the pups grew up feral. They spent their time raiding the farms in the area. Unfortunately, one place they ransacked was Robert and Debra’s chicken house. Robert and Debra thought that all the chickens had been killed. A few weeks later, Rosie and Foghorn returned from hiding, and they were given to Mark and I for safekeeping. Unfortunately, a few weeks later, Rosie was found dead in the pasture, seemingly from a hawk or fox attack. Foghorn has been enjoying his free ranging life amongst the Dorkings since then.
When I first met him, I was worried that Foghorn would be aggressive. He had the longest spurs I’d ever seen on a chicken. They were over 2 inches long and very sharp. Roosters use their spurs as weapons during their constant daily battle for supremacy of the barnyard. I was concerned that he would injure my beautiful Dorkings, but I need not have worried. Foghorn is the largest rooster in my flock, but he is hefty. He is so heavily built that he does not move very quickly. His feet are huge, and he seems to have some degree of stiffness or even pain while walking. The Dorkings are heavy bodied, but they are athletic. They flap, run and forage constantly. Foghorn loves exploring, but since he can’t fly, and isn’t very fast, his range is limited. He isn’t aggressive at all, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be able to catch a Dorking.
Foghorn’s life proceeded peacefully until two days ago. I was shifting sheep and dogs around the pasture, and somehow I didn’t latch the back gate as securely as I should have. Our two Great Pyrenees dogs, Odin and Scout, ran out into the back pasture, and somehow worked their way around to the back yard. I didn’t notice anything amiss until too late. I was sitting at my desk, working on my computer. It was dusk. I heard a chicken calling the “Someone’s laying eggs” cluck right outside the window. I thought, “Hmm, that’s strange.” Normally, they only lay eggs in the chicken house during the day. I went outside to investigate. Immediately, 100 pound puppy Scout bounds up to me. My immediate thought was “oooooh @#$%”. I grabbed him, and drug him up to the pasture. The back gate was open. I groaned, knowing that Odin was probably in the next county by now. (That’s not an exaggeration, we live right near the county line!). The sheep immediately ran into the small pasture to see me, hoping to get food. Scout ran out the back gate. I shut the gate, assuming I could deal with him later. I headed to the house to get the car keys.
Seconds later, I exited the back door of my house, only to see Odin in the creek, covered with mud. I sighed in relief, because I didn’t fancy a cross country chase at night. I called him. He immediately came to me. When he emerged, I noticed that he had been shielding a sodden, prone, bundle of feathers. I drug him to the pasture and let him go, praying the whole time that the chicken was not dead. This dog has been around chickens constantly for a year, and he has never killed one. He had caught a hen recently and was sniffing and licking her, but he did not harm her. Great Pyrenees are not supposed to have a strong prey drive which is part of what makes them successful livestock guardians, so it completely surprised me that he had hurt this chicken.
Once the dog was safely contained, I went down into the creek bed. The chicken was panting, so at least he was still alive. I knew immediately that it was Foghorn, because he is our only solid creamy white colored chicken. He looked terrible. He was utterly soaked in Great Pyrenees saliva. Every feather he had looked like it had been stripped of its fluff.
Luckily, Mark came home right at that minute, so I yelled at him, and he helped me get the bird out of the creek safely. Foghorn was gasping for breath and limp. I didn’t want to stress him any more, so I didn’t do much of a physical examination. I didn’t notice any blood or gaping wounds. We quickly put him in a pet carrier with a heating panel designed for parrots aimed right at him. Birds can die easily from stress and shock so I wanted to make sure that he was put in a warm and quiet area as soon as possible.
Wet, greasy feathers are deadly for a bird, because they have a difficult time regulating their own body heat without the insulative feathers. If a bird gets wet in plain water, the feathers will dry quickly, but this wasn’t water, it was crusty, nasty dog saliva. Odin must have licked him for an hour to get him this soaked. What was amazing was that Odin obviously did not intend to hurt this chicken. If he had, Foghorn would have been long dead. Instead, he just wanted to lick and lick and lick... It was an “Of Mice and Men” moment. It made us feel better that our “Guardian” dog hadn’t gone over to the chicken slaughtering dark side.
Foghorn looked terrible, but he didn’t seem hopeless. Initially, he was limp and lay on his chest, but he soon started to hold up his head. By bed time, he was standing. He had a glazed over look in his eyes, and he was panting heavily, but he seemed to be recovering.
The next day, he was lying down again, but he was still alive. I couldn’t tell if he was eating or drinking in the carrier, or if he’d just knocked the food around a bit. A stressed animal might not eat or drink, and that could be fatal as easily as an injury. I decided to see what would happen if he had the chance to be with the other chickens. As soon as the carrier door was open, he immediately walked out. The other roosters looked at him inquisitively. He was still a sorry mess, with all of his feathers disheveled and plucked. One of the roosters tried to attack him, but Foghorn bravely defended himself and won the challenge. He stiffly started flapping his wings and crowed over and over again, as if to say “Look out World, I’m Back!!”. Hopefully, he’ll be the big old man of the barn yard for a long time to come, and stay away from overly affectionate dogs.
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