Too Early.

It's too early, but here we are.

I *tend* to post on Thursdays and Sundays. But I'm too early.

I went to collect the eggs in the failing light. When I opened the nesting boxes there was a VERY flat hen sitting on the eggs with that thousand yard stare.

It's too early.

I know that if she sits on the eggs in late February that the babies would probably be okay, but herself and I have decided that there are to be no new babies this year.

We have enough room for a couple of new chicks, but the thought of culling roosters is just too much this year. Our hens are getting older and we could use some new blood, but we might get some from outside. Perhaps some nice orpingtons.

"Oh HELL naw!" I said to the hen (too dim for me to tell just who is was, but I suspect it was Hermione).

*grumble grumble* "Hurumph!" she said.

"Alright, let me 'help' you!" I exclaimed as I stuck a hand under her rump and not-so-gently assisted her off of the nest.

"What the deuce!" She cried as she sat there like dead weight.

A little nudging and just a little shoving and she was 'encouraged' to quit her task.

"I really am sorry, hunny, but none of that this year. And besides ...

It's too early!"

I want to hear from YOU!

I love sharing my stories. The triumphs, the heartaches, and all manner in between. I love that those of you who read this blog take the journey with me.

I KNOW many of you are chicken owners as well, and I would LOVE to hear some of YOUR stories!

Please comment to this post!

Let me know some of the tales of YOUR flock of feathery little lovelies!

I am so pleased that so many people from all around the world have stopped in to read about some humble little flock in New Jersey. It makes me feel that even the smallest of creatures (my birds) and the smallest of people (myself) are somehow loved beyond the scope of our little world.

My little world pleases me very much, I am glad to share it with all of you ...

... tell me about your little world!

When I Come Home.

When I come home the animals are wanting dinner. Each evening of a work day I pull into the driveway and already I can see happy chicken feet dancing against the fence line in anticipation of meal worms, or some other treat.

Naturally, I don't have them on me, so they have to wait a tick before I can retrieve something tasty.

On entering the house I am greeted with a variance of complaints or pleas from the cats Moonkie and Osha. Ruby can barely contain herself with excitement at the prospect of her evening meal, and since the cats are determined NOT to be overtly friendly to the pig, Ruby is also glad to see a friendlier face.

Too small differences this evening.

1) It being a dark and stormy evening, only Hortense, eschewing the company on the warm, dry roosts, danced for me for some treats.

2) As I made my way to the house, Not My Cat bounded forth from parts unknown in my yard to greet me on the porch with the same enthusiasm as the animals that I am *actually* responsible for.

I really don't understand why he seems to always be out in the worst weather. Oh well, no matter old man ... he gets a little dinner too. But. And let me make this perfectly clear. He is still *NOT* my cat!

Waiting for the evening when Ms. Rabbit sidles up to me for the latest gossip as dainty as you please.

There Oughtta Be A Law

I've just discovered that my town council has been discussing legislating backyard chickens.

Apparently, since 2013 there has been a sharp increase of people seeking the zoning board's (or some other town government entity's) permission to keep chickens. All of which have been denied.

There seems to be a split of opinion on the town council. Since there are no stated regulations, one town council person suggests that if the la doesn't say you can, then it means you can't. Another council person gently suggests that if the law doesn't say that you can't, then you can.

So, they are discussing the particulars of how many chickens on what size lots, coop placement, waste management, etc.

Since the fall, the matter has been tabled, and as far as I am concerned, I hope it stays tabled! If the current opinion is that backyard chickens are prohibited, then it is obviously (and gratefully) not enforced, as several people in my neighborhood have chickens.

I would be utterly heartbroken if any government agent arrived at my door step to inform me that my flock had to go.

I'll be keeping my eye on this one, and if need be, seeking to deliver my opinions directly to the town council ... but I utterly dread the whole affair.

In my humble opinion .... government bodies are a lot like nuclear weapons. Everyone has them, but once you use them, everything gets all fucked up.

For now, I am not telling the flock. It would only upset them. Coq Au believes that he is the ultimate authority of our small hen house. He is wrong. I've trying to tell him that I am the ultimate authority of our little hen house. Apparently I am wrong too.

Tell It To The Bees.

My sister in law has passed this week. I thought for a long time about whether I would talk about it in this blog, or even post today at all.

She was very close and my own grief is difficult to bear. The grief of my wife and the rest of her blood kin is too much to be told, but never the less we must continue.

She is to be waked today and in the quiet hours before getting ready, I must delve into these writings to keep myself occupied.

I would go into the details of her life and the manner of her death, but just now it is too painful to relate and too far beyond the scope of this narrative.

However, there is an old Irish custom. When there is a death, you must tell the bees. If the bees are not properly put into mourning along with the rest of the household, they may die, or stop giving honey, of flee the hive. It is as important to your household to allow all of its members to go through the process along with you as it is for you yourself.

Herself and I no longer have bees, and there is no tradition that I know of for telling your chickens. Never the less I have informed the flock. They are still giving eggs and going about their business, but in case they notice the change in me, they will understand why.

What is the measure of the lives that touch you? What is the measure of the lives that you touch? I can never measure the importance of one life over another ... each in their own way I am touched by it all. My heart sings with the sheer joy of it that my life has been touched ... forever changed ... by all of the life in it. Even in facing death, that relationship does not end, but it is merely different now.

I congratulate my sister in law on the completion of a successful life. How do I know it was successful? She loved and is loved. There is no greater mark of success.

Chickens Are Still Chickens.

Over the course of this year I have written about the joys and sorrows of keeping a small backyard flock. Additionally you've heard a word or two about our pig and our cats.

There is a downside to keeping livestock.
When the sun is shining and the weather is nice, they are chickens.
When the winter is harsh and the temperatures are low, they are chickens.
When the rains come and run is mired, they are chickens.
When you delight at fresh eggs over a morning breakfast, they are chickens.

And ... when you're sick with the flu, they are chickens.

Both herself and I are down with disease. Last night, when it became time to trek out into the bitter blackness to shut them up for the night, we fought. She insisted on going and I said that it was my job. She won out for two reasons. One: she is the boss. Two: I was running a fever and she was not.

This morning, with my fever down and herself feeling more poorly than yesterday, I trekked out to give them warm breakfast and let them out.

A little later, strength permitting, I will have to trek out to refresh their feed and water.

On any given day, I relish these tasks and delight at the doings on the flock. Today, I am dreading the task as I am feeling very under the weather.

But chickens are chickens, and like all of the lives in your care, you have to suck it up and get it done!

I'll be okay, and I know they'll be okay.

Just Enough.

These days, if the traffic is light and the skies clear to allow the dying light to shine a little, I am just able to make it home while the flock is still out.

Whenever I pull into the driveway, they line up along the fence line hoping to see me (read: treats).

With minutes to spare I am able to see my girls, exchange unpleasantries with Coq Au, and distribute some cracked corn and meal worms.

For those of you who may have been concerned, I have not SEEN Mrs. Rabbit, per se. But in the dark of the morning, or the dead of night, as I make my way hither and fore through the yard, I hear her scamper off if my path strays too close to where she is engaging in her nightly forage. By the sound of her flight, I'd say she is A-Okay.

Also, Not My Cat has made an appearance or two on the milder evenings and I am glad he is looking well and well fed; although, this does not discourage him from begging a meal. Regardless of how much he may be getting at home, winter is rough board for the outside animals and I endeavor to give him a nibble, at least, if he asks politely.

Well, there is a lot of winter left. I am not sure what the groundhog will say tomorrow, but regardless of his prognostications I expect more cold, snow, and ice before the whole affair is over for this year.

Sorry girls, no outside run time until we get a goodly break from the cold! Poor things are bored.