I’m gonna get those chookens

You have to remember that I have ratter DNA. We Westies were bred to track down rats in the barns in Scotland. Nasty critters. We would catch them even if we had to climb up to the rafters and then deliver them to our owner. Drop a rat at his feet and we would be rewarded with a pat on the head. We were also trained to go down rabbit holes and ferret out ferrets in the undergrowth.

So it’s in me to chase and catch vermin and other critters. Like chookens.

My half brother, Bertie, and I stayed in a house with a chook pen. I'd never seen a chooken before. Bertie has so he wasn't taking much notice of them.

Round brown bundles of feathers. Peck, peck, pecking at the ground. That can’t be good for the ground. Ahh, I thought, my human mum will love me even more if I catch a chooken and bring it to her and lay it at her feet.

But how to get to them? Their chook pen was completely covered in a wire mesh with diamond shaped holes which were big enough to push my nose through but not the rest of my body.

One of them came up and pecked me on the nose. Well, then it was on for young and old. I have to get to those chookens. Me on one side and them on the other. To make it worse, they didn't seem to be very interested in me. They strutted off the the other end. No fun at all. I do not like being ignored.

I pushed against the gate and tried to squeeze under it. I pawed at the gap between the gate and the fence but it wouldn’t get any bigger.

I don't want to kill them. We are fellow creatures. I certainly don't want to eat them. Blah! A mouthful of feathers is not my idea of a gourmet meal.

I just want to prove my ratter prowess.

Alas, it was not to be. Diamond wire stood between me and the chookens.