Gabe, The Mother Hen!

Gabriel—Gabe to his friends—is our 120-pound Great Pyrenees livestock guardian dog. He’s a big, lumbering, majestic puff of white fur who’s supposed to keep predators at bay and patrol the property with stoic determination.

But somewhere along the way, Gabe missed the memo and decided he’d rather raise chickens Especially chicks. Gabe loves chicks.

We’ve found him curled up in the brooder more times than I can count, flat on his side like a big fluffy polar bear with tiny fluffballs hopping over him like he’s the world's warmest jungle gym. If he thinks they’re cold, he’ll gently nose them under the heat lamp. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t fuss. He just supervises, babysits, and occasionally sighs like he’s disappointed no one brought him a juice box for his efforts.

Now, our other livestock guardian, Remi, is a little more… straightforward. When a chicken dies, we toss it to the dogs—circle of life and all that. Remi eats hers right away and gets on with her day.

Gabe? Not so much.

Gabe will carry his dearly departed chicken around like a fragile relic. He won’t eat it. He won’t bury it. He just walks the yard with it in his mouth like he’s trying to protect it from further harm—or maybe give it a proper sendoff. We’ve never been entirely sure if he ever eats it or just reluctantly sets it down when hunger finally reminds him he’s still a dog.

But what we found yesterday? That topped everything.

Gabe was laying in the corner of the barn and wouldn’t move. At all. Which isn’t all that unusual—he’s not exactly a high-performance machine. He actually pretty laid back, except when a predator is near. After some persistent calling and bribery failed, DH finally walked over and gave his giant, fuzzy backside a push.

And that’s when we saw it.

There, tucked underneath him like he was the proudest hen in the flock, was a nest.

A real nest. With real eggs. Several of them. Hidden behind the wheelbarrow by a few sneaky hens—and Gabe, bless his fluffy heart, had taken it upon himself to sit on them. Just casually, like this was his job now. Like he had accepted the call to motherhood and wasn't about to let those eggs go un-incubated on his watch.

So yes—while the other dogs are doing things like barking at raccoons or patrolling the fence line, Gabe has appointed himself… surrogate hen.

I guess every farm needs a Mother Hen. But sometimes, they come with paws, patience, and very, very confusing instincts.

And honestly? We wouldn’t change a thing.

Good grief, don't let him into the chicken coop. He could never fit into one of the nest boxes!!!!

Gabe: "Hey, they took away my eggs. I loved those eggs. Not fair!"

Remi: "Did someone say eggs? Eggs are yummy! Is it snack time?"

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