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My family moved into a farming comunity in the far north of B.C. People all around us were stoping to offer their best wishes and of course their best suggestions on running a successful farm. One suggestion was repeated over and over, "Get a dog".

My father had purchased about 150 chickens and was losing one chicken almost nightly, to creatures of the night. My father and mother decided to search out the perfect pet, companion, creature killing, guard dog they could find. My parents could not agree on the type, size, or breed that this dog would be. One night while in town, my parents decided to go to the local tavern to tip a few brew. A man had overheard my parents talking heatedly about this perfect dog they were searching for. The man told my parents he was moving and had this award winning pet, companion, creature killing, guard dog they were searching for.The man ordered more brew and my parents became very intoxicatedly interested in this man's offer. The next day, this man showed up at the place we were staying to drop off this dog. My parents just hapened to not be there and us kids were more than happy to take this dog. When my parents arrived back from their outing, they were speachless and the looks on their faces were scary. This dog was at least 80 lbs and could easily be mistaken for a small moose. Anyway, as the time went on the dog was extremely expensive to feed, not to mention the vet bills. My mother always told my dad that the dog would pay for itself.

As time went on, the dog was everything we wanted, except the dog wanted no part of sleeping outside. The dog barked every time it wanted out and brought his dish when hungry. One night my parents were awakened by the sound of rustling chickens. My dad tried to get the dog to go see what was happening but it was cold outside and the dog wasn't going out. My father was angry at the dog. My father got down his double-barreled shotgun, put on his boots and started for the chicken coop. My father snuck up to the coop oh so quietly. My dad cocked both barrels of the gun and bent down to stick the gun into the chicken run. My father was wearing a two piece pair of pajamas which came apart as he bent down. My dad never did notice that the dog had followed him outside and was watching his every move. It was at that same moment, everything quiet, almost pitch dark, my dad bent down straining his eyes to see what was in the chicken coop, that the dog touched his cold nose on my dad's back. My father let out a scream and pulled both triggers of the gun and shot about 30 chickens. The dog yelped, started barking, and ran into the house. My mother, now awake because of the commotion. The kids thought that dad shot the dog. The neighbours thought something had happened to the family and showed up. My dad was angry at the dog. When everything calmed down the kids went back to bed relieved to see the dog. The neighbours went back home shaking their heads, and my mother livid because my father shot the chickens.

Everything was fine on the farm after that. My mother is still in search for some way to keep my father away from the chickens. The creatures of the night can stay; they cost the least.

Learn more about this author, Ken Turner.
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