And Other Heroic Animals

A slight break from the narrative of my backyard flock.

Today is Armistice Day across the world. This year is particularly significant, as it marks the 100th anniversary of the day that the guns went silent ending the fighting of the Great War.

The peace treaty was eventually signed and my own great grandfather came home in one piece.

However, my humble little blog focuses on my chickens, today I will take a break from that to honor two heroic "veterans" of the Great War.

The first is Cher Ami. The most decorated pigeon un history. Cher Ami braved artillery shells and gun fire, was horribly wounded, and still made it back to her cote to deliver a crucial message that saved the lives of many during the last German offensive of the Great War. She was crucial to the survival of the besieged Lost Battalion as they were mistakenly being shelled by their own artillery.

Here is the link to Cher Ami's story: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cher_Ami

Also, I am honoring Sgt. Stubby. The most decorated canine in American history. A stray pup from Connecticut, he was smuggled aboard a troop ship bound for France. During his time in the trenches, he suffered a gas attack, became an early warning system for the troops for gas attacks and incoming shells, and even captured a German spy. Sgt. Stubby was highly decorated by bith the United States and France.

Here is Sgt. Stubby's story: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sergeant_Stubby

Although my own Coq Au Vin would probably make a good account of himself if he were ever called to war, I'm going to keep him down on the farm!

Pumpkin Flavored Everything.

For some reason, we in the United States like to gear up for a holiday months in advance to the point that by the time the actual holiday arrives, everyone is sick to death of all of the trappings of it and feel a sense of relief when it is over.

Over the last decade or so, Hallowe'en has been rivaling Christmas in terms of retail and overall holiday ridiculousness. It begins, I'd say, around midnight on the Monday night of labor day once everyone has cleaned up from their backyard barbecues or returned from their long weekend at the beach, or what have you.

Pumpkin flavored everything hits the shelves. From pumpkin flavored pasta sauce to pumpkin flavored Clorox bleach (okay, that last one might be made up).

Not to be outdone by the Jones's, I rushed out this past mid October to pick up …

… wait for it …

Pumpkin flavored pumpkins!

Of course, my intent was more 'traditional'. I carved them for a bit of Hallowe'en decoration as well as a ready ward for the house for the night of Samhain.

Tired from work of the evening of the 30th, herself set to our task with adequate results and just a bit of blood from a minor cut or two along the way.

Here they are slowly roasting from the inside with a wee candle in each.


Well, they did their job. The added a little light to our dark driveway to welcome the wee ones seeking treats, would've been a good disposable target for young miscreants wanting to play tricks rather than having them target something more dear to us, and a good guardian to scare away wandering spirits who may have been up to no good. No miscreants, I'm pleased to say, any wandering spirits must have wandered to other parts, and the wee ones that did brave the overall creepiness where rewarded well for their efforts.

After the dawn on Nov. 1st. The flock was rewarded with a treat of their own. Pumpkins with lightly roasted inner lids.

To be quite frank, they don't fancy pumpkins. Never mind … if we have to suffer through pumpkin flavored everything, they can live with one day's feast of pumpkins. It's once a year, and the variation in their diet is good for them. Whether they fancy pumpkins or not, they did clean out those husks to the edge of the outer skin.

The Long Dark Breakfast Time of the Soul

What? No eggs? Strike is back in full swing. They have good feed, good treats, no sign of disease, clean coop, so honestly I am at a loss!

Yes, they are older now, and yes I expect one or more to have stopped laying, but all of them and all at once?

Something's up, and for some reason I can't put my finger on it. No matter. I love my flock whether I get eggs or not.

Most Sunday mornings I cook breakfast for herself and I. This morning I am faced with the prospect that I might have to use …

Store bought eggs.

*sigh*

In other news, I came home the other day to a most disturbing post on my facetubes. My neighbor down the street, who has kept a few chickens for years before I ever moved in, posted a photo to my account. The photo was of a little black hen in a carrier with words asking if I was missing a hen! I obsess over my flock and felt pretty damn sure that mine were accounted for, but never the less, the photo sent my flying out door to take a beak count!

"Outta my way, Not-My-Cat!" I shouted as I passed the beggar on my porch. Out to the run in a flash, stooping down to spy all of my dark biddies milling about, and with a great sigh of relief, all were safe and sound.

Coq Au strode up to my vantage point and glared from the other side of the fence.

"Well?" He asked.

"Well WHAT?" I enquired back.

"Well, you're out here. Make with the treats."

"Make with the treats??? How about you talk to the girls about making with the eggs, and toot sweet!" I replied in my frustration and heightened sense of anxiety (quickly fading, as I confirmed that my hens were all safe).

"Fine." I said, and distributed some dried soldier flies and other tasty morsels.

"Here's your treats, but I'd like to remind you that not only do I love my chickens, but I love 'chicken' if you catch my drift."

It was an empty threat and he knew it. My comment went ignored as he pecked away at the treats as the girls swarmed around to collect their due as well.

So, back to the house with a calm demeanor, I replied to my neighbor's inquiry that we were all present and accounted for. Back and forth posting, she and I tried to sus out where the hen came from. Mine were fine, hers were fine, the neighbor one street over was fine … I tagged a person or two from a few streets in the opposite direction that I either knew, or suspected had a few backyard poultry, and nothing. Chickens don't range all that far, even when lost, so it does lead me to wonder just where it came from!

It also dawned on my me just how many people in the area keep at least a couple of hens!

Anyway, I offered to adopt her if her owner can't be found, but as it turns out, I reckon I'd be about third in line, so regardless, the hen won't be homeless. Although she'd be a welcome addition over here, integration of a new hen right at the onset of winter could be tricky. Regardless, I am glad that whatever her outcome, she will have a safe home.

Chasing Chickens and The Last Mow.

This time of year it's the dark of the morn' that the flock gets its treats. This morning they drifted out in the darkness as they sometimes do for their warm oatmeal and vegetable. This morning there was a left over slice of pizza for them to chaw on (a VERY rare treat, indeed, and certainly not something they should have with any frequency!)

This is the morning that I've decided to do my last mow of the season and also let the flock out for some mid autumn foraging.

They had been demanding more 'out' time and the lack thereof may have contributed to their early autumn egg strike.

Out into the yard they gratefully went and spread themselves liberally over the lawn in the early sunlight of a late October day.

Samhain is the last harvest, and dear reader, you may recall my last 'mowing' post where I made mention of having left some sections of grass to go to seed. My timing paid off well, the grass has dropped its seed, and the chickens were delighted to benefit for scratching around on their own late season harvest.

By now their quite 'use to' the sound of the mower and show no direct fear, so as I started with the edges, they kept right on pecking and scratching away to their great content. As I drifted ever inward, Coq Au began to become concerned and led the bulk of the flock to the front and safer environs of the knotweed.

Hermione, Myrtle, and Petunia were completely at ease right where they were, thank you very much, and stayed in the general area of my mowing. Following their hearts delight, they drifted over to the neighbor's yard and not wanting to interrupt my own task, I was obliged to push that mower in their general direction. I can't recall herding chickens with the mower before, but it turns out that it works.

As the mower drew nearer with its roaring engine, Petunia and Myrtle began to scurry away while the unflappable Hermione defiantly stood her ground. A few mere feet before I was becoming concerned that she might let me bump into her with mower, if I were inclined to do so but of course would do no such thing, she finally took the hint and with waddling gait that make her appear like she's wearing feathery bloomers, she joined Petunia and Myrtle. Coq Au emerged from the knot weed to scold the strays and collect them back to the safety of the rest of the flock.

A few tasks, hook up the heat lamp, and my autumn chores will be done for the day.

Trade Agreement Reached!

Well, after some hard negotiations concerning feed rations, treats, more outside time while weather allows, we finally have movement on the production front!

I came home to find not one, but TWO eggs! From there we will rebuild our MIGHTY MIGHTY egg empire!

Judging from the size, I'd say Lily laid the upper one in the picture, and one of the more reliable Australorps laid the other. Been so long, hard to tell which girl laid which!

Soon enough, we eat well again. Medals and honors all around!

Coop Cleaning Day and Other Doings.

Today is coop cleaning day and finally some great weather for it! I'm currently gathering my strength for a good shovel-out of the summer straw and getting the place winterized. Will be a good day out scratching around the yard for the flock and both of these things are badly needed.

I'm sure by now, I described the task in excruciating detail, so I won't go into it again, but it will be a messy job.

In other news, there is a new kid in town. If my ears are still as sharp as ever, I'd say that one street over is a young rooster who has just come into his maturity making his presence known. His crow is a little higher pitched, so either he has just started, or is possibly a bantam. Perhaps both.

Coq Au will crow through out the day, and much to my neighbors' "delight" will sometimes issue a crow or two at four A.M. for no particular reason, and this has the effect of causing the 'Johnny-come-lately' a block over to sound his replies. I am not sure which neighbor over there is keeping chickens, but I am sure the rest of the neighborhood is thoroughly thrilled with the additional sounds.

In other news, the egg embargo is in full swing. Zero eggs. They've shut down in the fall before for an extended time, but it is still always disconcerting and I may even have to buy some eggs. Oh the shame! The absolute shame!

As for individuals, I went into the run yesterday to change the water. We've had a lot of rain lately, so the run was a bit muddy. I spread the scratch around and the flock gathered to greedily pick at their favorite morsels except for Hortense. She kept close to me and wondered if I would let her slip through the gate for some 'me time' that she so loves, but I was disinclined to do so. I feared that she might even miss out on the treats that the others were enjoying, but with all of the rain, a great congregation of worms had collected underneath their water font, so when I lifted it to give it a cleaning and refill, Hortense was the sole benefactor of a private feast!

Not My Cat still comes by from time to time but always seems more interested in garnering a free meal rather than the quest to soil the reputation of our 'daughter' Osha.

Well, that's the exciting life of enjoying simplicity. No 'high drama' to report and that suits me fibe!

The Gathering Darkness.

The equinox is just around the corner. Temps are still summerlike, but the days are definitely shorter. I've noticed, but just in case I haven't, to flock sure has.

The sudden shift has caused several girls to molt and even Coq Au has lost some of his proud tailfeathers to the seasonal change. Egg production is low.

In a fit of compassion, I've taken off my beard. My 'molt' will end quickly, and it has had zero effect on *my* egg production!

The break from full swing production is good for their aging bodies and the timing is completely in the control of the layers' union with no input from myself, upper management, nor Coq Au is regarded in the least.

Well, the feathers will grow back just in time for the cold weather to set in and egg production will go back up a little, but will still be more limited through the winter.

At their age, some hens will stop laying altogether. I hope this is not the case yet, as they are still young enough to keep going and some hens will lay at least a little for most of their lives. No matter. Laying or not, my flock is my flock and unlike folks that need to earn a living on such ventures, my 'retired' layers will continue to live out their natural lives with as much peace and comfort as I can supply.

The cycle of the year is heavy upon us, the cycle of life takes its slower course.

Serving Size.

Last night I made a no carb dinner for herself and I. Ground turkey served in large tomatoes sliced open into "sixths". A little cheese, a lot of lettuce, blah blah blah, you get the idea.

The recipe called for four large tomatoes and a pound of chopped meat an noted that it "serves four". Well, diet or no, we're Americans, damn it, and we've never encountered a 'serving size' that is satisfying, so I made the four servings for the two of us.

Okay, one serving would not have satisfied us, but two servings each was well enough plus plenty left over.

So with us, nothing is wasted. The flock got the full benefit of a full serving's worth and maybe a half more. A lot of tomato, a little turkey, a little cheese, some nice lettuce and such. I wonder what the 'serving size' should be on a meal like this for chickens?

Also, as I've written about several times before, they get warm oatmeal with vegetables in the morning. Last several days I've been 'watering' the oatmeal with some leftover oxtail soup. No oxtail left in it, but plenty of broth with vegetables and a bit of meat fat. As the season gets cooler, a little extra fat is good to winterize them.

To be clear, the mainstay of their diet is their feed. These things are extra, sometimes, occasional treats. But nothing is wasted and it is to the benefit of the whole household.

Just watching the flock stumble over one another to pick at the treats to find the choicest bits is a simple pleasure that can not be described. To be able to create a home with all of the little elements of relaxation and pleasure goes a long way to make it a haven away from the stresses of the world.

Happy chickens, happy spouse happy household, makes happy me! I'm a simple man who adores my small place on this wide and wonderful world.  I love the life herself and I have built with one another.

The Harginger of Change

So this is Labor Day weekend in the states. Many folks take that as the end of summer and it is a big beach weekend for many to soak up the last summer rays. School is about to start again, folks going away for vacations draw down, and … of course … the ubiquitous "pumpkin-spice flavored everything" appears.

With temps next week threatening to be in the 90's, I tend to wait for the equinox as the 'end of summer'.

But yesterday morning, I went out to feed the flock their morning treats as usual and I heard the tell-tale "THWANK" of a falling acorn hitting my car.

Kinda early for these parts, I reckon. So, I went over to the spot and heard a few more of the softer "Shrasht" of another couple of acorn falling through the leaves and hitting the ground. I found one of the acorns. It was small and half eaten. They're not ripe yet, but some squirrel was tasting to the late summer fare, was displeased, and was contemptuously chucking away the remains.

Still, this is an early harbinger for me. Not even merely the acorns, but also the squirrels actively starting their quest to hoard and put in winter weight. This is a little early, so I fear it may also be a harbinger of hard winter.

Never the less, my thoughts turned to acorns! Been a couple of years since I had a decent harvest from my meagre two or three oaks, so while the rest of the east coast is dreaming of pumpkin spice everything, I am already thinking on acorn bread! If there is a decent harvest to be had, and if I can beat the squirrels to some choice nuts, I figure I can collect in earnest in about a week, or more likely two.

I think I've shared this recipe before, but just in case I haven't, here it is again:

Processing raw acorns is a task in itself … but an easy one. Perfect for those of us that fit into the "poor and bored" category of life. If anyone wants notes on how to do this, comment below.

Also, if you're wondering what acorn bread tastes like, it is similar to the texture of corn bread, but less 'sweet' and more of a mild nutty taste. Goes down great with a dab of butter and honey.

Additionally, acorns are one of the healthiest nuts there are. For the scientifically/nutritionally minded, here is a Wikipedia link to the specifics:

About acorns on Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acorn

Laziest Mower In The World

Much to the consternation of the neighborhood, not only do I keep a rooster who crows incessantly, but also I avoid mowing the lawn as much as possible.

Limited time, more rain than usual, and a general contempt for the act has caused my grass to not only grow past knee high, but actually go to seed. My lawn doesn't need to be 'mowed', it needs to be 'harvested'!

Well, yesterday was one of those days that was made for living! The sky was clear, the sun was shining, it was not overly hot, so I fired up the mower AND let the flock out! With the grass at this level, there is no way to do the entire lawn in one shot. So, I concentrated on the parts that face the roadside and the part shared with the neighbors. The chickens are not overly afraid of the mower, but neither do they love it. So, they found other more serene places to be whilst I set about the task at hand.

I don't obsess over the state of my lawn (obviously!) But moreover, I rather delight in the wildflowers that grow within and the multi-levels that lawn achieves. It becomes downright a 'meadow' when it is particularly out of hand. I love it. Everyone else, not so much. So … I'll mow.

It pains me to mow through the cornflowers, lady's thumb, clover, wild strawberry, thistle, goldenrod, dandelions, plantain, etc. just in the name of having flat, even green. As I mow, the crickets make way, the moths and butterflies alike take flight, and I have disturbed their manner of life. Yet, mow I do. The chickens don't like the grass when it is overly long either, so for their sake and for the sake of neighborhood 'beautification' I'll do the task.

Hard to tell from the photo, but here is a section that I mowed against the sheer length of the grass gone to seed. I am of the mind to leave even a small patch of the seeded grass to replenish the lawn naturally. Birds, bugs, and other critters might make off with some of the seed, the good earth will take the rest and hopefully life will be renewed once again.



On such a glorious day, the flock enjoys the freshly mowed patches as they scratch around for tasty greens and insects. There are somes that love the sunshine.

And then again, there are somes that love the shade.

Lawn clippings are deposited in the run so the flock can continue scratching away once they are obliged to go back inside.

And, at the end of the day, herself will come home a hard day's work to a wee 'vase' of wildflowers from our own yard to decorate the table in a very simple, homespun way. 

Eight Little Chicken Heads.

Well, the flock is aging but still living up to the Layers' Union negotiated contract of three or more eggs a day in exchange for appropriate treats with the right percentage of mealworms.

Mealworms and cracked corn mixed are tossed in and the hens stand stone still watching where the treats land and then scurry off, toppling over one another in order to be first to the choicest bits.

The other day I found myself in the unenviable position of being OUT of both mealworms AND cracked corn! Uh oh. This might be trouble.

Undaunted, I thought to 'trick' them by tossing in a handful of feed.

I tossed the feed into the air just like with the cracked corn/mealworms and eight chicken bodies stood still as eight little chicken heads rotated in perfect synch, tracking the trajectory. Eight little chicken heads followed the path all the way until the feed hit the ground, and then eight little chicken snapped back to my direction with complete understanding of just what I had done.

They stood still once again. They glared at me with absolutely no expression in the way that only judgmental hens can and the growing feeling in the pit of my stomach brought to mind the words of Quint from the film Jaws.

"Y'know the thing about a shark, he's got... lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes."

Beaten down with guilt, I trod with slumped shoulders into the house. Chickens will eat almost anything, so I scanned our larders for something to sacrifice to our little contemptuous egg goddesses.

The following is a list of leftovers I came up with. Please note that A) NO leftovers given to chickens should be rotten or moldy! And B) These treats are fine, but not everyday ... only on rare occasions.

Left over corn.

Left over bread.

An odd tomato that wasn't enough for a proper salad.

Left over sliced deli ham that was only just enough for a sandwich.

It's been a great while since they had a ham sandwich, even if it is in a broken apart form, so I tore the bread into crumbles, sliced the tomato into largish pieces, and tore the slices of ham into four or six largish pieces each.

Back to the run and I laid out the fare, but QUICKLY turned away to check their regular feed and water rather than face their judgmental gaze in case they disapproved of the substitute.

A long time reader of this blog who is possessed of attention to minutia may remember Myrtle, with the bent toe. As a BRIEF reminder to the rest of everyone, Myrtles toe became bent when she was just a week old and herself and I fretted whether or not she might be debilitated. Quickly we discovered that she could stand, perch, walk, and run just fine! In time, we also discovered that she was the queen of the fast-dash grab-and-go with treats. She would be first in with a surgical strike, and off again with her prize to enjoy in peace.

Thus ... and remember, this was in an instant ... as I turned to regard the feed and water, Myrtle DASHED between my legs as quick as a flash, the largest piece of ham clenched in her beak, flapping and dragging behind her.

The substitute treats were accepted, the Layers' Union mollified, and peace was restored once again.

The Lords of All We Survey.

August is upon us and it is a time of plenty and easy living. There are always chores to do, but the lawn doesn't need mowing as often, spring cleaning has made the house a little bit more manageable, and we can all sit back and breathe a little easier for a spell.

Herself works on Saturdays, so as a surprise, I took the time to get the kitchen and bathroom into some kind of shape and even cooked a fine dinner for her to come home to of Lemon Pepper Chicken (no, not from one of our own) and a cold Blue Moon in a frosted glass with a wedge of orange (as is the style). I am a terrible cook, but she was well pleased with the results and managed not to wretch or come down with any form of food poisoning.

So here we are. The lords of all we survey.

Not-My-Cat lazing on our potting table (couldn't get a picture, he got up and took to begging for a free meal as soon as I stepped outside).

Coq Au Vin strutting around on the front boards as a literal vision of the "cock of the walk".

And humble me. Sitting on my porch, mildly sweated up from summer heat and morning chores, contemplating the majesty of all of creation. King or pawn, I am just so well pleased with everything that is.

Hoisted by His Own Petard.

Sunday brings another round of "to do's" around the house and some of that involved puttering around the chicken run doing this or that.

Today, it was time to go into the run and change out the fly trap. Also, a good time to remove the swing that had been hanging in the run for the chickens. The 'swing' was a two foot length of 2x4 suspended by nylon cord. Strong though that it had been, after hanging for a few years the cords had given up the ghost and the swing had come down.

I could've gone through the trouble of rehanging the swing, but at no point have any of the chickens taken any enjoyment out of it! So, time to remove it.

Warm day. Shorts on.  Scattered some meal worms to keep the flock bust and out from under foot while I set about these minor tasks. I reached up and took down the full, nasty, and somewhat smelly fly trap. Coq Au took notice. I hung the new fly trap and Coq Au became agitated. I removed the remnants of the fallen swing and Coq Au strode over. I removed their near empty water font to fill it and Coq Au hit his limit.

Upon returning with the freshly filled water font he had about enough of my intrusions into his day and he squared off to strike. My bare legs be damned, he was going to go for blood.

Oddly enough, this encounter did not require a sound kick from my flip flopped feet, nor did it result in bloodied legs on my part. The coincidence of our relative positions to each other found me holding the heavy water font fairly high and, though it was unintentional, hovering just above his head.

He leapt upward into his attack. His head made direct and profound contact with the unyielding underside of the water font. He leap was cut short and he was momentarily stunned. Thwarted by the 'rock' that was the power of his own energy meeting the proverbial 'hard place' of the font.

He staggered off, more embarrassed with himself than injured.

Font in place, doings in the run complete. A few more mealworms. And thus off I was to complete the next round of chores elsewhere ... Whistling a merry tune as I went.

Bratty Lil Pig

For those of you contemplating getting a pet pig be forewarned! They are smart. Smarter than dogs. Also, they are just smart enough to act like bratty toddlers at times, and they can be moody if they don't get their way!

I love our pet pig Ruby. Like pigs, she is smart, loveable (to us!), she has learned to turn around on command, blow kisses when she's feeling affectionate, and at times to be bratty!

She goes in a large little box filled with pine shavings rather than ... Well ... Cat litter. But lately she's been having an issue where when she goes in, her back end is still facing out and the pee runs over the floor! We don't 'yell' at her, but she can hear the disappointment in our voices and tries to do better. When herself and I hear her going into her box, we jump up, and tell her she's a good girl if she's facing the right way, or tell her to 'turn around' when she's not. If she does well, there are more praises and a carrot for her! Just about have her corrected and there's not been any pee on the floor.

Until yesterday. I had just cleaned the kitchen and she was wanting to come in ... Likely to beg for a treat. I gently backed out of the doorway, singing her praises, and closed the French door. Through the glass, she glared at me briefly and then made up her mind that NOW was a good time to go into the litter box. Hearing her go in, I peeked in and told her to 'turn around'. She would not. Then she let out a hot stream onto the floor while I was watching her.

Okay, I thought maybe t was innocent, and with a disappointed tone I set to cleaning the mess. That miserable little bitch turned around in her box and blew a kiss at me! I knew se wasn't feeling very affectionate at that moment, so this pig literally blew a 'sarcastic kiss' at me!

Fine.

No carrot for you, and you're STILL not coming into the kitchen!

As she lays here in a sunbeam she looks almost innocent!

Trying to do a Hard Job.

Flock was out enjoying the summer sun yesterday.

But after just a couple of hours, I peered out to see Coq Au by the neighbors bush. He was chattering away and I figured I needed to go chase the flock out from under the bush. I put together some treats and put them in the run to coax them back in. Inside the coop was a broody hen, so that's one down!

Rake in hand I marched over to the bush to flush out the girls.

"Coq Au, what the hell is going on over here?"

"You tell me! I've been trying to get them out from under there for a good fifteen minutes!"

Okay, clearly he, himself was not under the bush and gently scolding the girls within.

I chased out three girls and herded them and Coq Au back to the run. With the girls in the coop, that's five down, I closed the run's door to keep them contained while I went off on the hunt.

Naturally, three of them were squeezed deep into that old planting box on the front porch as pretty as you please having their early afternoon dirt bath, and the last girl was milling about nearby.

Coq Au, isolated from them behind the run's fencing was LOSING HIS MIND that he couldn't get out to come and collect them himself.

I physically pulled the girls out of the dirt, since they were utterly disinclined to arise by themselves from their repose, and set them on course for home. As we got closer, I jumped ahead and allowed Coq Au out. He immediately had a lot to say to them. They paid him about the same amount of attention as they did to me as they dashed in to get some treats of their own.

Bless his heart, he was trying to do his job, I was trying to do mine, and for once we were on the 'same side' of things (more or less).

Broccoli or Blueberries

Sometimes my flock acts like they're four years old.

(in chicken years).

Sometimes they act like they're four years old.

(in people years).

Yesterday the weather was absolutely gorgeous. I let the flock out into the yard and tossed some nice broccoli heads into a shady spot for them to enjoy. Upon spying me toss something over, the entire flock hurried en masse to the spot to check out the fine treats I had given out. Traveling in great haste, they were practically stumbling over one another. Then they skidded to a stop. They looked at the broccoli, then they looked at me. Then they looked at the broccoli again, and then at me.

"What the heck is this?" Myrtle cried.

"Nope, I can't like it." Stated Lily with an unusually sardonic tone.

"Fine," I said. "Go forage your own treats!" And left them to do just that.

I puttered around the house while they visited their favorite haunts around the property. As per usual, I would step out, or peer out a window to make sure they weren't getting into trouble.

Eventually, they fund some nice blueberries. Trouble was, they were attached to my neighbor's blueberry bush!

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOULRE DOING???"

With a flash, I was outside, rake in hand, and herding the flock back into their run. Two hours of outside time. Would've liked them to have been out longer, but now I have to explain to my neighbors what happened to their blueberries.

No matter, they're patient people and often come to my yard to collect mulberries. I think they'll be okay.

To his credit, what caused me to check outside at that particular moment was Coq Au's crowing. I think he was trying to alert me. He has a lot of sway and control over the doings of the flock, but once blueberries are involved, he needs upper management to sort it out.

Patriotic Roosters.

In a fit of unbridled pride on this, the 242nd birthday of the United States, I am posting photos of rooster breeds bred here in America!

Here is a fine Rhode Island Red

This pleasant chap is a Leghorn White.

This magnificent fellow is an Iowa Blue.

Okay, these photos are NOT of my chickens. My dark minions are all black. Most of them are Australorps. Although mine are bred here in the U.S. of A., the breed was developed in Australia. Two of my hens, Lily and Petunia, are Jersey Giants. Born, bred, and the breed developed in NJ.

Happy Fourth Of July!

The Devastation of the Earth.

They look almost innocent this fine Sunday morning as they peck around their morning treats of some leftover pasta, tuna, banana, and other sundry tid-bits. Will be hot again today so I'll be trying to get them out of their run after I collect myself.

Oh, it was so hot yesterday that I just had to let them out. They did not search around the yard. They did not go over to the neighbor's bush. No, they stayed near the shady, cooler areas of the front porch.

Where they dug themselves into a pile of leaves.

And dug into an unused planting area.

And dug themselves into a semi-used planting box.

But mostly dug into the shadiest spots in the knotweed.

Herself and I haven't done any gardening/landscaping this year, so we don't mind a bit, so long as they're safe and keeping cool!

Fried Eggs?

Heat wave has just struck the area and will stay with us through the fourth.

Collected the eggs in short order today, as I wonder if they would end up fried if I left them in the hot coop.

My birds are 'all weather' birds, and by 'all weather' I mean they love an overcast day in the upper forties with no wind and not much else!

Still, they'll endure as they have every year previously. Never the less, when I got home from work, I rushed out some frozen vegetables straight from the fridge.

When I tossed the frozen tid bits into the run, they rushed for them like usual. But pecked gingerly once they realized just how cold the treats were. Lily gave me a troubled look and said "But why? The peas hurt my face. Why would you give me peas that hurt my face?"

Poor thing.

No matter, as they thaw a bit, the flock will eat them and cool down a little at the same time.

This weekend, I'll be sure to pick up some fresh watermelon for them as well.

When It's Time For Bed

Each evening the bedding down ritual is the same, though herself and I are not often present to bear witness.

It is incredibly convenient that chickens naturally put themselves to bed as the sun wanes to a certain point. In cold weather, shortly after dark, all ne has to do is close the peep door and then open it again in the morning to let the flock out of the coop for the new day dawning. There are even solar powered or timer powered devices for those fancy coop types to open and close the door with the timing of the sunlight. In warm weather, it's well enough to just leave the door open and let the flock come and go as you please (provided your run is secure from predators!)

Well, yesterday herself and I happened to be sitting on the porch enjoying a fine summer evening at just the right moment.

The gathering darkness had sent all of the hens into the coop as usual. Except for Hortense. As usual.

Every night it's the same. Coq Au, after a long day of keeping watch, listening to the petty disputes that arise amongst the girls, and being generally angry has had just about enough and is often the first to drift in and settle on a good spot on the roosts. He's followed shortly thereafter by several of the girls who nestle in on this side or that of him. A couple of hens mill about outside for a time chatting away with the day's gossip, or plotting dark lots that exist only in the minds of chickens.

They drift in by and by and with a little shuffling, they find suitable spots on the roost.

Hortense likes to stay out late and enjoy the evening solitude for just a little longer. In our first year with the flock, I was vaguely troubled by this. Is she at the bottom of the pecking order? Is she getting picked on? Nope. Seldom, if ever. She seems to delight in the company of the flock just as much as she does in her alone time, and they never seem to pay her comings and goings much mind at all. It's just the way she is.

Whether she is gifted with exceptional night vision or just stubborn about bed time, I can't say. When she does eventually drift in, it is usually pretty dark and she must find her own spot in the roost.

We don't peek in, lest we disturb the nightly bedding down ritual, but we can hear the sometimes uncomfortable 'conversation' that ensues.

Hortense: "psst, ease over, will ya? I want to squeeze in up there."

Myrtle, in her drowsiness: "Huh? How's that? Sod off, I just got comfortable."

Hermione: "If you wanted a spot you should've cone to bed earlier!"

Hortense: "Alright then, coming up anyway, ready or not!"

You can hear her leap up followed by the gentle thud of she missing her mark, or perhaps knocking a sleeping hen off in her attempts to squeeze in. Mind you, there is room for all, but they have a way of spreading themselves in such a manner as to make the least efficient use of the space as possible

The argument goes back and forth for a good ten minutes and I can only imagine Coq Au's growing frustration over the disturbance.

On the rare occasions where I have peeked through the window at just the right time, Coq Au can be seen keeping quiet, keeping his head down, and wisely not getting involved in the squabble.

Well, they work out there own politics eventually, peace is restored, and another successful day of 'chickening' draws to a close.

Good night, my little flock. I'll see you in the morning.

A 'Father's' Pride

The sun high upon us this morning and quickly heading for it's near solstice zenith.

A little bleary eyed, I walked out this morning with morning treats for the flock. In my shorts and flip flops.

I let the flock out of their run and into the yard. I distributed breakfast.

Although he's been relatively calm and quiet lo, these past many months, Coq Au decided to have a 'go' this morning.  So grateful he was unable to connect with my bare legs! Never the less, I was required to offer a sound kick with my flip flopped feet to encourage the onslaught to cease. One kick drove him back a couple of feet, he came gain, a second kick, and then agitated 'peace'.

As unnerving as a rooster attack always is, I am strangely proud of my baby boy. He still has it in him!

Happy father's day.

Renewing Magic.

I remember when I was very small and my parents had first obtained our own little flock of chickens just how magical t was, as a small child, to go into the coop to collect the eggs.

The rational mind knows this is a natural, normal part of living, but for a small child it is still a magical event. Long after the magic had worn off for me, my cousin still had that magic when she came to visit and would often ask to go out to check for the eggs.

That was decades ago. Half a lifetime ago. For herself and I, the first eggs fro our is flock were a new kind of magic and if you've read the early postings on this blog, I am sure you've read about the excruciating wait we went through followed by the sheer elation of those first eggs from our hand raised babies.

Yesterday, the seven year old daughter of a friend was visiting  and she asked if she could go visit the chickens. I hadn't collected the eggs yet, so I asked her if she'd like to help me do that.

Out we strode to the coop, and with the hens and particularly the rooster momentarily distracted by a fresh handful of cracked corn, I opened the nesting boxes for our young guest to check. She was delighted to find the eggs and collect them herself. She proudly brought the eggs inside to show her mother and beamed as if she had laid them herself! The eggs were cartooned and sent home with them to enjoy.

Children raised with chickens may not quite understand this thrill, nor children raised in the city with no exposure to these experiences at all. But for a young child, old enough to know what's going on, this first experience is positively magical.

Moreover, it is a reaffirmation of the magic of my own long past experiences and makes me feel utterly refreshed to seethe wonder on the face of a child.

Had an odd thought concerning the yearly ritual of children hunting for Easter eggs. Some chickens will lay eggs in random places if they're not used to laying in a box. The spring is when they start laying again after a brief winter shut-down. I wonder if some frustrated ancient farmer in northern Europe had a flock of hens laying 'willy nilly' and decided to make a game of it by sending his children out to hunt for the hens' best 'hiding' places around the farmstead.

Silly thoughts for a Sunday morning.

Will Never Learn.

I'll probably never learn.

Yesterday I came home from work and, with a goodly amount of daylight left, thought I'd let the chickens out into the yard for some exercise and wild scratch. Hither and fore they roamed without a care and nary did they once stray to the neighbors yard. Thus, I went about my business inside while they found an old, untilled flower bed that had last years' flowers coming up again. Lots of new shoots and bugs to eat there!

After a time, I realized my wife would be home soon and I should think about getting some dinner together for her. I am, perhaps, the worst cook. I cook only just so well so as not to die and my wife is eternally patient and grateful for a hot meal that she didn't have to cook herself ... No matter how terrible it might taste!  Needless to say, knowing the task would require my full attention, I brought out treats, pitched them in the empty run, and set about to gather the flock.

Already they had spit apart from the safety of numbers - much to Coq Au's consternation. So I rounded up two or three groups and herded them toward the safety of the run for the night.

Initially the usual complaints were being issued.
"Hey, it's still light out!"
"Quit pushing, I'm going!"
"But I was gonna go scratch around the compost for a while!"

And so forth. The whole, long way. At least until the lead hen spotted treats in the run, then the mad dash begins.

One inside, I took a quick beak count. Six hens and one angry rooster. We're short two hens.

Coq Au was already agitated and bordering on apoplectic over the missing hen and he, now on the other side of the closed run door, could do nothing other than pace and complain.

"I know, I know!" I said. "Keep your feathers on, I'm gong to get them!"

A quick trip around the side of the hose found Lily who had just discovered she was all alone. Charging forward as fast as her waddling legs could move her, she huffed and puffed back to the run for the safety and comfort of the flock. Coq Au was partially satisfied, but one was still missing.

I had just began the search wen herself pulled into the driveway, all smiles at finally being home from work. I clued her in to the missing hen, but by now we knw the drill. We don't panic, we just know where the usual places are that she might be hunkered down in.

Who was missing? Hortense of course. The eternal 'me time' girl.

I checked by the compost, no luck. We looked under the canoe, nothing. My wife searched the thick knotweed while I peeked under the shrubbery in front. No sign.

We were just about to start getting worried and I began to take another circuit around the property.

It's just not that big of a property. Sure, she's one small hen, but she should've been found by now.

Half a loop later and she was in that old garden bed, wedged under some weeds/flowers, whatever ... In the failing light of the evening sun her black feathers blended in perfectly to near invisibility.

And she was dirt bathing.

"I hoe you're proud of yourself, you had us scared for a moment!" I said as I picked up the relaxed and unmoving hen.

"Y'know what? Yer darn right I'm proud of myself! I had a long luxurious dirt bath while everyone else was being corralled in. Sorry/not sorry!"

Oh well, she missed out on treats! "That'll teach her!" I briefly, but foolishly thought. Then I remembered that you really just can't teach a chicken anything.

Especially Hortense.

Coop Cleaning Day!

We use a modified 'deep litter' method and give the coop a full clean out in the spring and in the fall. The worst of the poop is taken out and new layers of straw added through out the season, but a full cleaning is  much more thorough.

I use straw as the primary bedding and a mix of wood chips and straw in the meeting boxes. I had heard of all manner of types of bedding to use and have tried more than a few over the years. After several seasons of careful experimenting and observation I have decided that straw works the best. Practical, cheap, and breaks down really well in a deep litter method. For the meeting boxes, the wood chips still make a more comfortable nest, but the girls - as they are 'redecoratig' - tend to kick out a lot of it, so a mix of straw and wood chips locks it in nicely.

No matter how many years go by, no matter how much I should 'know better', I always end up doing a clean out at mid morning. Just when the flock is wanting to lay. Sure, they love being out and about while I am shoveling out the old bedding, but through the whole process concerned hens stop by and peek there heads in. Invariably, they give me that low, slow chicken 'oooohhhhh' which in this case translates to "Ain't ya done yet?"

"Not yet, honey, you'll have to hold it for just a little longer."

As I puttered about putting out new feed (in the backyard for now), wheeling out a couple of loads of old bedding for compost, and washing out the water fonts, Coq Au, now thoroughly rested from the long winter, had a go at me!

As tame as he's been, lo these last many months, I knew he would be looking for trouble eventually and I've learned never to fully turn my back on him. So, as I passed, he thought he saw an opportunity and rushed me. Just like his old self ... I'm strangely proud!

I spotted his coming onslaught just in tie and turned to face him. He was just bring his feathers to fluff and about to issue his customary "Have at you!" When he skidded to a stop. He glared. A made to poke him with my finger.

"Hey tough guy ... What'cha got?" My pokes never landed on him, he sprightly stepped back with each one, but I taunted just a bit further. "C'mon, tough guy ... Don't you want some?"

He relented, but was not broken nor beaten.

"Okay, bud. You caught me coming. But you just watch your back!"

His threat is not without merit. One day he will catch me sleeping, I know.

Meanwhile, the long awaited clean out is done. Healthy and happy chickens have a healthy happy home.

In other news, I took a short drive early this morning and right on my corner was a mamma deer and spotted baby. This is not a strange scene around here, but I could tell that this baby was JUST BORN at dawn and was still on VERY unsteady legs. Mamma was encouraging it to cross the street and I stopped my car. Once across, I proceeded with caution and as I passed, the new fawn, sensing my car might be a monster, crouched flat into the neighbor's tall grass. Another car was behind me, also moving very cautiously, but mamma deer, fearing for her baby, strode out RIGHT in front of the other car to distract the monster from seeing her baby. She offered herself as a willing sacrifice for the protection of her newborn. Thankfully, my fellow motorist was as alert and cautious as I was and had already stopped and patiently waited for mamma to assess the danger, turn aroud, and collect her fawn.

Witnessing these things are gifts. They are small everyday miracles that I truly treasure.

The Big World

There is a big, big world out there. I am in it, I peek my head out as often as I need to. I work my job, pay my bills, and pay attention to the events of the world.

But I don't often blog about it.

This blog is part of my escape from it and I don't post about it. Sometimes I'll make a passing reference. With the trials, tribulations, and tragedies, talking about the simple things makes me happy and there is nothing more simple than my small world that I enjoy very much. I also enjoy sharing it with you and I hope you enjoy reading about it.

Today I'm going to break that rule very briefly.

Yesterday morning I tuned into the royal wedding. I normally don't have a strong opinion on the doings of the British monarchy. After all, as an American, why should I care? We fought a whole war with England so that I don't care to care about what the royals do. And yet, this is only the second time in history that an American would be joining the royal family ... so why not check it out?

On social media I saw folks posting about it. Some in favor of the pageantry and spectacle, and some expressing the common American opining of "Who the heck cares? With so much going on in the world, why focus so much media attention on this?"

I caught the opinion of a friend that really stuck with me. This royal match, this wedding ceremony, seemed full of the usual strict and constrained ceremony that is the usual fare with royal affairs, but there was also love. There truly seems to be deep love between the happy couple and that pleases me very much. My friend commented on those who grouse about the coverage "What's wrong with watching love for a change?" I couldn't agree more.

So, I watched the ceremony. It was on in the background as I did some light cleaning in the kitchen and surfed the interwebs. I was well pleased by all of the details and love reigned over all.

Best wishes to the happy couple!

In other news, nature hates a vacuum. And so does my pig. Don't worry though. She may scramble under the kitchen table whenever I vacuum the living room, but afterwards, her shattered nerves are always rewarded with a nice apple. She loves apples, so love reigns here as well.

Addendum: for the younger readers

In my last post I made reference to "Flockheed" and Porky Pig. For the benefit of the younger readers, the link below is the cartoon in full.

Lightly touches on themes of homefront WWII production and pop stardom of the day.

Warner Brothers -Swooner Crooner

Off the intensely curious, or the overly nerdy about trivia, the roosters involved are parodies of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. Among other cameos are Al Jolson, Jimmy Durante, and Cab Calloway.

They're Messing With Me Again.

 

So after I had been neglectful on collecting the eggs the other week, and thus opened an egg with a blood spot from under my broody hen, I have been extra diligent in collecting them in a timely fashion.

Now it is high spring, egg laying is at its height, as it should be for the better part of the summer (barring uncomfortable heat waves, or unforeseen disasters).

So, Monday, I collected four eggs. Not too bad and it seems like that was the number I had been getting of late. Most of my hens are over four years old, and I figure eight hens that are past their prime are doing well laying about four eggs per day. Tuesday, I got eight.

Eight full eggs from eight laying hens. Coq Au, as you might expect, doesn't lay very many eggs at all. In fact, if I tally the entire number, he remains at zero.

Then Wednesday ... zero eggs. Thursday and Friday seemed back on track at five eggs each day.

I think they're doing quite well, honestly. But I am concerned that after a long and troubled year, followed by a long and cold winter, their consistency has been off. Oh how I wish Matilda was still with us! She was the best union rep the flock had and certainly could've sorted out the weirdness, or at least explained to me. After all of this time, they still haven't told me who the new Union liaison is and with a hen having gone broody in the middle of February and the egg count up and down, I fear they have chosen NO ONE.

Maybe my older biddies age become too set in their ways to listen to one above them. Maybe they just can't come to a consensus. I tried talking to Lily about it. She's semisweet that I know she'd tell me, but being one of the 'newer' girls, she provided little insight and stared lovingly, if blankly, until I couldn't help but distribute a few dried crickets.

I strode up to Hermione (the alpha female) looking for answer.

"Hermione, we're getting plenty of eggs and all, but what's the deal? Eight in one day, zero the next? Who's running production?"

She flicked away the last ash of her Marlboro, adjusted the curlers in her comb a bit and replied with a directed sneer: "What's to you, bub? Yer getting' yer eggs, so we don't want to hear any gripes. You get me, daddio?"

With that, she strutted off and left me wondering where she was getting that kind of talk from.

I wonder if Porky Pig had these kind of troubles when he was managing 'Flockheed'.

Seems everything I learned from old Warner Brothers' cartoons was a little off.

 

 

Oh well ... if I didn't learn the finer points of egg production, I did learn a lot of cool old music!

Bloody Eggs and Herding the Flock

Well, the spring has finally brought the gorgeous weather in earnest.

Mama hen has gone broody again. This time the weather is appropriate rather than the middle of February when she was last determined to sit. However, herself and I are still not inclined this year for baby chicks, so the eggs are removed. Trouble is, that with the upheavals in the last couple of weeks, I've not collected eggs everyday! In spite of popular misconception, eggs do not go bad in a few days. In fact, only in the United States (to my knowledge) are eggs sold out of refrigerated sections. So, eggs a few days in the coop are perfectly safe in terms of spoilage. But some of these eggs have been sat on for a few days! This results in the rare, but unpleasant surprise, of a bit of blood in an egg. Also perfectly safe to eat, but unappealing to most senses. I am not squeamish in such a way, but I WILL redouble my efforts to collect these eggs in a timely fashion!

Also, with the warm weather, has brought a new found sense of antagonism to our 'hero' Coq Au. It has been over six months since he and I had a proper dust up, but he is spoiling for a fight. After I distribute breakfast, leave the run and close the door, he 'bravely' flings himself upon the fencing in my general direction as a show of aggression. And, as per usual, I reopen the door and quietly challenge him to 'go for it'.

"Whaddaya wanna do?" I'll defiantly intone.

"Nuthin' I ain't doing nuthin'" he replies with a defiant sneer.

I know one day soon he will muster up the courage once again to shout "HAVE AT YOU!" with barbaric glee as he thrusts his body in my direction, awash with talons and snapping beak. At over four years old, I'll be both proud and horrified at the same time. You go on, old man, give it your best shot!
Yesterday morning saw the flock outside foraging the yard and enjoying the outstanding weather. I had even plucked mama off the nest and she joined in on the ranging for a good hour at least before returning to the now empty nest.

The early afternoon found me needing to leave to attend to errands, so I readied myself to herd the flock back into the run. By this time they were buried deeply in one of their favorite dust bath spots (NOT, I am pleased to say, under my neighbors' bush!). I stepped outside and was greeted by Not My Cat who has been lurking about once again for free meals and time to gaze wistfully at Osha through the open window. Loose cats and chickens normally do not mix, but Not My Cat has proven that he has no interest in molesting my chickens. I also have to figure that he has no interest in running afoul of Coq Au. Yet, he would be directly in the path of where I needed to herd the flock through. I told Not My Cat to 'sod off' as I had already given him a free meal this morning and he was completely unmoved at my brusque admonition. I grabbed my rake to herd the flock. Please note! For those of you checking into this story for the first time, the rake is NOT used to strike the hens ever, ever, ever. Just waving it overhead simulates a low flying predator. It now no longer strikes terror in my flock, but there is still enough instinctual knowledge within these domesticated birds to get them moving reluctantly in the direction of safety.

So, with rake in hand, I went to their bathing spot. A goodly shake of the rake got them standing and moving slowly toward their run. Even the defiant Hermione stood up without resistance and shook the dust off. But wee Lilly sat their. She wasn't defiant, but she gazed wistfully at me and with small voice said:

"But the sun is so nice, and I don't want to go in yet. Can't I please stay for just a little while?"

"No, sweet, I'm sorry, but it's time to go in." I sympathetically replied.

She stood up, but even with a gentle overhead shake of the rake, she would not start walking off with the others. She gazed longingly at the warm scar in the earth that she had scratched out for herself and just wanted to relax, poor baby. So, I carefully picked her up and held her nestled in my one arm while the other took to waving the rake at the rest of the slow moving flock.

Lilly in one hand, rake in the other, I slowly advanced, but tree was great confusion. They did not want to cross paths with Not My Cat and gave him a wide berth through the shrubbery instead. I was obliged to follow to keep them on their protracted course toward home. With some effort at juggling Lilly, waving the rake, advancing through the shrubbery, keeping the affectionate, yet greedy, cat at bay, and keeping the flock on course, they eventually made it back into the run. Treats for all and order was made out of the chaos.

Everyday is like a mini adventure.

Wasting as Little As Possible

Wasting food is an affront to me. Oh, we're not perfect, not by a long shot, but we do try.

Fortunately, chickens will eat just about anything. In fact, they're like goats with wings. Although, they fly only slightly better than goats.

Just because they will eat just about anything, doesn't mean they should. The mainstay of my flock's diet is organic layer feed. However, I give them breakfast every morning. It is a mix of oatmeal, vegetables (usually corn or peas), salad greens, and a banana ... they LOVE the banana part. The peel is given over to our pet pig Ruby. She loves bananas too, but too many treats for an indoor pig makes an overweight pig (yes, that's a thing). The peel is good for her. It acts as a banana flavored toothbrush. We haven't thrown out a banana peel in years.

When herself and I have left overs, the flock gets the choicest bits. Anything that is not overly sweet or overly salty. They'll happily peck at steak bones with bits of meat, gristle, and fat on them and the extra protein is good for them. Leftover vegetables are given over entirely and offers them more variety than they usually get. Leftover Chinese food is okay ... they get the larger portion of the leftover white rice and carefully measured portions of the rest (the rest is too salty to give them in one go). Junk food is right OUT. So, the healthier WE eat, the healthier THEY eat, and the healthier the eggs are that they lay. Leftover spicy food is actually GOOD for them, especially in late fall/early winter. It helps metabolize them to the cold weather, but too much too often can affect the taste of the eggs!

What's been missing this past week is forage. Herself and I have been doing a 'decade' clean out and have had a dumpster here for the week. The flock would be too curious and I can't have them pecking around the junk in the dumpster!

In order of health:
Their regular layer feed
Forage (too lacking so far this season!)
Well chosen treats
Well chosen leftovers

Dumpsters, potato chips, jolly ranchers, and the like are RIGHT OUT!

Coq Au, like a good rooster, will coo and call the girls over to treats, but if I throw down a little fed into the yard along with it, he will try to attract their attention to the feed over the other treats. HE knows what good food is and he wants the girls to know too. As much of a douche bag as he is to me, he's damn good at his job.

Well ... so they eat well and less food than ever goes into the trash.

Update on the cats: we're a week into our new resident Tulip being here. So far there is armed peace. Some hissing, but almost no heated political discussions.
Pictured are Tulip (left) and Osha (right) peacefully enjoying a "live kitty TV" program called "What will the birds do next and how good would they taste?"

ALSO Not My Cat.

A momentary lapse in chicken narrative.

 Sunday I made mention that herself and I were helping kinfolk move. Although the move was successful and not traumatic and under good circumstances, their cat could not go along. Rather than adopting out the cat to strangers, herself and I have taken the cat in hopes that one day, the cat could be recovered, but IF NOT, we know she has a safe, loving home with us.

I am a 'cat' person. I love dogs too. Actually, I love all manner of critters great and small, but I am a 'cat' person. I understand cats on a professional level. Most of all, I understand that no matter how much you love your cat, no matter how much you *think* your cat loves you ... I know I my heart of hearts that if it were big enough, it would kill you in your sleep.

By their very nature, cats are douche bags. Perhaps that is why I love and understand them so much.

So, Moonkie and Osha, who through years of tribulation had come to an understanding of armed neutrality with one another, now have to share their space with yet another cat.

Tulip has a sweet innocent plaintive, sometimes mournful, little meow. And it is a lie! She is a loving cat to be sure, but knows damn well how to use that sweet little meow for manipulation. My wife and I feared that poor sweet little Tulip would be beset upon by two angry beasties, but as it turns out, she can stand her ground just fine. She can lay down the new law just fine.

Well, it isn't as bad as all that. There are some political discussions involving a bit of hissing and occasional growl and only a warning swat or two. Mostly, they all understand the new way of things and everyone retreats bravely to neutral areas before things get too intense. It has been a few days and things are smoothing out nicely, if slowly.

We were hoping that Tulip and Ruby (our pig) might become fast friends considering their natures and the political structure between the other cats, but as it turns out, Ruby could give a fig about the whole affair. I suspect Osha, by her curious and friendly attitude, will be the first to break ranks and welcome the new addition when the time is right. "Cat time" could be a few days, or a few months. Not often anything in between, but so long as everyone is healthy, happy, getting food, and getting rest, the politics will sort themselves out in the fullness of time.

As a side note, Osha likes to perch by the open kitchen window. Whether it be a lovers' quarrel between her and her beau (still Not My Cat) or a round of "Live kitty TV" when the birds are out, that sill is hers. Moonkie will bully her out of the window from time to time just because she can, but when Tulip tried it this morning, wee Osha stood her ground and said emphatically "Aw, HELL naw!" And Tulip slinked away to leave Osha to her own pleasure. Moonkie merely stared in a nonplussed sort of way.

Chicken Lovers from Around The World

I haven't disappeared ... but have been EXTREMELY busy helping kinfolk move. Never the less, I managed to get the flock out for a bit and they DIDN'T go near the neighbors' bush (good girls).

Nothing new to report this week, so I thought I would repost the GROWING LIST of countries that have stopped by my humble blog. I am listing the United States first because that is where I am and where the vast majority of my readers are from.

I would VERY MUCH LOVE to hear from my friends from other countries who have stopped by! Leave a comment! I'd love to hear from you!

Also, if anyone would like to leave a photo of your chickens (if you have any) I'd love to see them!

I am so grateful for all of the nice people who take the time to read my humble little narrative about my backyard flock. Nothing I do with my flock will change the world, but it changes MY world and it changes my flock's world. Glad to know some people are enjoying it!

Sincerely, thank you!

United States
Algeria
Aruba
Australia
Bahrain
Bangladesh
Bolivia
Brazil
Cambodia
Canada
Cayman Islands
China
Colombia
Dominican Republic
Ecuador
Estonia
Finland
France
Germany
India
Indonesia
Ireland
Israel
Italy
Japan
Luxembourg
Macau
Malaysia
Mexico
Mongolia
Netherlands
New Zealand
Norway
Pakistan
Peru
Philippines
Poland
Romania
Russia
Rwanda
Singapore
Sint Maarten
Slovenia
Spain
Sweden
Taiwan
Thailand
Ukraine
United Arab Emirates
United Kingdom
Venezuela

 

Nobody Can Eat 50 Eggs.

"Nobody can eat fifty eggs."

Us old folks remember that line. For the 'benefit' of any young folks reading the blog, the movie is Cool Hand Luke. Paul Newman makes a bet that he can eat fifty hardboiled eggs in an hour. When he proclaims this, his costar George Kennedy exclaims with quiet astonishment "Nobody can eat fifty eggs."
So why the trip down cinematographic memory lane? Because I have fifty eggs in my refrigerator.

Fifty eggs.

I eat an egg a day. Often a stir an egg into the flocks morning oatmeal. Herself and I enjoy a Sunday breakfast usually cooked by yours truly of about five or so eggs.

And yet ... fifty eggs.

Happy chickens make happy (and numerous) eggs and this recent glut is from just eight laying hens. Two of them are not even an egg laying breed. The other six are way past prime at four years old. I'm starting to suspect that even Coq Au is laying.

Apart from that, yesterday's brilliant weather had the flock out in the yard enjoying life.

Here are a few of them visiting the dentist. That is to say they are (likely) refreshing their gizzards with new small pebbles for grinding up their food.

Here are a couple of the girls laying out for a nice sunny dirt bath. Please to note that they are NOT under the neighbor's bush for a change!

The spring flowers and shoots are growing, and just in time for the flock to eat them. Oh well, I'm enjoying spring in my way and they are enjoying it in their way!