Chicken Bias
                                                                                       copyright © 2003 by Robert L. Blau

     It was my day to watch the chicken yard when the visitor dropped in.  Just as I was about to run him off, he extended a paw and introduced himself .
    "Reynard's the name," he said affably. "I just wanted to discuss last week's, uh, incident at the yard."
    I eyed him suspiciously.  "What's to discuss?" I asked. "A bunch of your guys ran off with two Rhode Island Reds, a Swiss Hen, and a Delaware before the DOD ran you off."
    "That's just ... What the heck's a DOD?"
    "Dog on Duty," I replied. "Right now, that's me.  And if you don't skedaddle in a hurry, I'll ..."
    He cut me off.  "See?  There you go again with your chicken bias."
    "My ... what?" I asked.
    "Just give me a moment to explain," said Reynard. "You see, you dogs are always taking the chicken's point of view."
    "Right," I said. "We're in Chicken Security.  That's our job."
    "Nonsense!" said Reynard. "You do the entire farm a disservice by your biased coverage.  Take last week's unpleasantness ..."
    "Where your guys slaughtered the chickens?"
    "First of all, they weren't 'my guys,'" said Reynard.
    "Red fur, bushy tail, beady little eyes.  Looked the same to me."
    "You see?  There you go again, lumping all foxes together.  But back to the incident.  All you report is that a bunch of foxes killed some chickens."
    "What else was there?" I asked.
    "Two of my ... I mean, those poor foxes received severe pecks from those vicious chickens.  Three others got scratched. The foxes were just strolling along, minding their own business when those foul fowl attacked them," sniffed Reynard. "You never see the other side of the story."
    "Look," I said, "if you don't get that bushy tail of yours out of here in ten seconds, I'm going to relieve you of it."
    And that was the end of it.
    Until the next day.

    The next day, my boss called me in.
    "You barked, Mr. Rover?" I asked.
    "Yes, yes," he said. "Why don't you pull up a seat, Fido?  We need to talk."
    I dropped on my haunches.  He looked at me nervously for a moment, then continued.
    "I've been getting some ... heat over our coverage of the chicken yard," he said.
    "Heat?" I asked.
    "Yes," said Mr. Rover. "Certain parties are accusing us of chicken bias."
    "Oh.  Have you been talking to that Reynard cad?"
    "It's not just him," said Mr. Rover. "The talk is all over the barn yard.  I'm hearing it from the cows, the pigs, the horses.  Even some of the chickens have picked it up."
    "Well, there's a basis for the term 'bird brain,'" I reminded him.
    "Nevertheless," said Mr. Rover, "we're going to have to be more even-handed in our coverage of the chicken yard.  Chicken Security is bringing in some new blood.  For balance."
    "New blood?" I asked suspiciously.  But not suspiciously enough, I'm afraid.

    The end of my next turn as DOD was approaching when I spotted the fox.  Dang, I thought. Just about to go home to the wife and kids, and now I have to deal with this.  I assumed a menacing stance and barked a warning.  But the fox sauntered up to me with arrogant nonchalance.
    "Stand down, brother," said the fox. "I'm here to relieve you."
    "Relieve me?" I growled incredulously. "You can relieve me by taking your posterior out of my sight."
    "No can do," said the fox. "I'm the DOD now.  My name is Redface."
    He extended a paw.
    Just as I was about to tear his throat out, Mr. Rover appeared.
    "I was afraid there might be some trouble here," said Mr. Rover, "so I came in person.  Redface is one of the new guys. They're here to address our chicken bias problem."

    I don't think "downhill" adequately describes the situation from there.  In six months, the dogs were outnumbered three to one by foxes.  And yet, the barn yard still buzzed with allegations of "chicken bias" on the part of Chicken Security.  At least, the chicken flock was easier to watch, due to its vastly reduced numbers.  In one of my last stints as DOD, Cornscratcher, one of the old hens, approached me.
    "You're one of them chicken-bias dogs, ain't you?" she clucked. "You look different from the impartial dogs.  They're all small and red."
    "Those aren't dogs," I said. "Can't you recognize a fox anymore?"
    "Should've expected a comment like that from a chicken-bias dog," she said.
    Shortly thereafter, I got another call from the boss.
    "You bark...," I began, but Mr. Rover was nowhere to be seen.  The only canine around was that sneaky fox Reynard.
    "Where's Mr. Rover?" I demanded.
    "He's ... retired," smirked Reynard. "I'm the new Chief of Chicken Security."
    "Figures," I snarled.
    "I'll get right to the point," said Reynard. "You and Goober are the only two dogs left in the organization.  We have to get rid of one, and you're it."
    "No surprise there," I said. "But ... you're keeping one?  Why keep any?"
    "We have to be even handed," purred Mr. Reynard. "Besides, how can we maintain the belief in chicken bias if there isn't at least one dog in Chicken Security?"
    "And Ol' Goober is tame.  Is that it?" I added.
    Reynard shrugged.  "Oh," he said, as if as an afterthought, "we're having a panel discussion about chicken policy this evening.  Five foxes and your Goober.  If you like, you can stay and listen before you leave.

    I'm sorry.  I have to report the discussion for posterity:

Fox 1:  Eat the chickens!
Goober:  I think that might be an extreme course of action.
Fox 2:  Extreme?  There's that chicken bias!
Goober:  Did I say extreme?  No, not extreme.  Perhaps a bit rash.
Fox 3:  Eat the chickens!
Goober:  You might want to slow down a little.
Fox 4:  Eat the chickens!
Goober:  You can't eat all the chickens.
Fox 5:  Chicken bias!
Goober:  If you eat all the chickens, what will you do then?  There won't be any left to eat.
Fox 1:  Chicken bias!
All foxes:  Eat the chickens!

    I watched with stunned fascination.  There was a pig next to me who seemed to be almost as fascinated as I.
    "Well, what did you think of that?" I asked him.
    "What do you expect from Chicken Security?" snorted the pig. "It's riddled with chicken bias."