One (Or Maybe Four) More

Tri-City Tales Issue No. 32

In mid-May, someone called animal control after finding a box of abandoned chicks in a parking lot. There were four of them, a fast-growing breed, likely feed store purchased. Based on the timing, the staff suspected the animals had been part of someone’s Easter basket surprise—now unwanted with the holiday passed.

Tri-City Animal Shelter doesn’t have the means to keep chickens indefinitely, so shelter director Tammy Miller called Pam and Michael Petty. She knew the Pettys tend a flock of well-pampered backyard hens-- birds accustomed to watermelon snacks on hot summer afternoons, a heated coop in winter, evening enrichment strolls across the front lawn, and daily treats of freeze-dried fly larvae (yum!). Miller sent a text asking if they might have room for an extra four. Yes, the Pettys said. When you already have a couple dozen, what’s a few more?

When Pam and Mike came to pick up the chicks, Miller mentioned a dog that had been found that day in Duncanville. In addition to being chicken magnets, the Pettys have a way of attracting dogs, especially mutts with sad origin stories. (“Anything that looks like it needs a bit of a jump start,” says Mike.) They are up to seven rescues, enough to require a special multi-pet permit with the City of Cedar Hill. While each dog has a designated bed, five of them prefer snuggling at night with their humans. The way the dogs see it, that’s what a king-sized mattress is for.

Before the Pettys left with the chickens, they met the new arrival. His hair was overgrown from his time on the streets; it was hard to tell one end from the other. Underneath the dirty, tangled mass, he appeared to be a teacup poodle. They thought for a moment. He seemed like a sweet guy who had been alone far too long. When you already have seven dogs, what’s one more?

But to stay, Waldo, as they named him, would have to blend with the rest of the Petty pack. They brought him home a week later. He instantly fit in with his new companions, and after about a week, he was trailing Pam and Mike around. He now has his own bed, but as with the other dogs, has figured out that true comfort lies with the furniture.

Along with Waldo, the new chicks are also adapting to a life of luxury. They appear to be broiler hens, not laying hens, but on Petty Farm the poultry dies only of old age. The Pettys now vow they are at maximum capacity for dogs and chickens. Who knows, though—when the next stray comes along they may think: What’s one more?