Topsy Turvy

Well, my 'mother to be' hen has finally given up on hatching (thankfully).

Honestly, what goes through her mind, I wonder! Dead of winter? Time to hatch some eggs! Spring is here? Time to quit! No matter, we weren't wanting hatchlings this year and I was getting worried about all the time she was spending on the nest. At least she can now get back to regular food and exercise!

Apparently, my chickens are this antsy for the spring every year and I just don't always notice. Here is a Facebook post of mine from exactly two years ago (nearly a year before I started this blog and was still annoying my friends with endless chicken stories on my social media) ...

"Another minor chicken revolt. I let them out for a good hour this morning, then ... this afternoon I took out some more veggies for them and one slipped past the gate while I was putting their food down. The others started complaining 'how come SHE gets to go out! What makes HER so special!'
So, I had to let them out again while me and their union rep discussed the mealworms to cracked corn ratio in their treats. Strike avoided.
Later, I brought their concerns to the CEO (my wife, the Chaotic Evil Overlord of our household) and she said she was unwilling to listen to their demands until one or more of them agree to come into the kitchen to help out with the ant problem."

Horrible, Horrible Freedom!

Today is the day! Normally the flock gets out at least ONCE in a while during a warm spell in winter, but the snows, the temps, and all manner of things have kept them in the run.

Today they are out for a good stretch! There are no bugs yet, no green shoots, so the yard is still hard scrabble winter forage. No matter, they can now scratch and forage to their hearts' content!

 

 

As you can see, Coq Au is still ever the protector. Posturing to warn me off if he thinks I am interfering. He is first eyeing me down before grabbing treats for himself.

After they eat the left over bread and the cracked corn I threw down, they will be off to all manner of places throughout the property.

The Age of Ragnarok

I was seriously beginning to think we had descended into the age of Ragnarok. Had the wolf truly swallowed the sun?

Another Nor' Easter, the fourth in three weeks, had hit the land dumping a foot of snow. The chickens were once again held prisoner to the confines of the coop and more white death blanketed the land.

Well ... they had the remnants of a Thai seafood stew with a couple of extra crab cakes thrown in so I don't feel TOO bad for them!

Today, with the warm sun returned once again, the fields of snow have retreated greatly once again. Hopefully this time banished to the winter realm for nine months at least.

Never has the sun felt so good. The flock is too long confined to the run and I am looking forward to their first day out again in the yard!

Braised Rabbit.

No not THAT rabbit!

I assure you that Mrs. Rabbit is alive and well!

My lovely bride cooked braised Italian style rabbit for dinner and it was phenomenal!

The flock benefitted as usual from the left overs. They get to pick the meat from the bones, the remnants of the left over vegetable et. al. The d

In such a way, nothing is wasted and the whole family benefits.

As per usual, I delivered the left overs and as I strode out to the run they converged on the door in a manner that meant opening the run door would have me overrun with chickens as they made a mad dash to be first to the treats.

I've grown quite accustomed to this. I plucked a rabbit liver from the top of the scraps pile and as I opened the run door, flung the liver within. Forgotten was the generous plate of leftovers as all chicken heads tracked the liver in flight and made the mad dash in the opposite direction.

Except one.

With the way (mostly) clear, I stepped in and my old nemesis Coq Au glared at me askance.

I knew a fight might be eminent, but I dumped the plate of left overs before him and he forgot I existed.

Like the true shepherd to the flock that he is, rather than dive in to the evening fare, he twirred and trilled his call to the girls.

"Come see the feast! The bounty of food that *I*, your rooster, have provided for you!"

Very well, Coq Au. Take the credit. So long as the girls are healthy and happy, all is well!

Spoiling for a Fight

When I go in to tend to the flock's needs, I can see Coq Au Vin posturing and strutting. The tell tale signs that he is looking for a good dust up.

I feel like that he is keeping himself at bay while the weather is still keeping them confined to the run, but I know that once I let them free, he may well unleash a fury upon me that equals the length of the long confinement. No matter. I am ready. So glad to let them into the yard once again that I will gladly suffer the slings and arrows that he may be content to hurl my way.

Here's to you, Coq Au! You're a scrapper for sure!

In other news, momma hen is still trying to sit. If you've been paying attention then you might realize that had I allowed her to sit from the beginning, the baby would be born sometime about now ... sandwiched between the last nor'easter and the next one due on Wednesday! Even if we were inclined to allow hatchlings this year, it would be too early! The March winds are still high, the cold nights are still in the 20's, and I would worry too much over fuzzy babies with no feathers to keep warm with!

So, the Ides of March have come and are nearly gone.

Winter seems determined to stay around for as long as it is able. But even if the temps are cold, the winds do blow, and the sky continues to dump more weather upon us, the old snow that lies about the ground is all but gone, and only exists in the great piles of the road-a-wayish now blacked with salt and soot and shrinking by the day.

O come ye spring! O come ye warmth! O come ye angry rooster!

Do You Have The Time?

Today we've changed the clocks.

As it turns out, chickens can't tell time. Neither can our pig Ruby, but in the spring (besides the loss of an hour's sleep) it works to my advantage!

I appreciate that Ruby isn't aware of the change and lets me sleep in a little before demanding breakfast. I feel confident that my neighbors appreciate Coq Au crowing about an hour later than usual.

I sit here thinking "How wonderful! My flock will have an hour more light in the evenings!" But chickens can't tell time. They don't notice the change of the clocks and for me, I wonder why we can't just stay in this permutation of artificial time and be done with clock changes once and for all.

The good news s, with the change, I'll be able to let the flock out some work evening when I get home. I still have to wait for the weather to break a little more, but that day is coming soon. If not this week, then maybe this month.

In other news ... time to get a chainsaw to settle a downed tree from last storm.

Stir Crazy.

I sit here at home as the late winter sky that is March carries on the business of dumping a foot of snow on us.

Although the earlier warming trend had my mind turning to spring, I am not surprised. Year after year March dumps heavy snow on us in an annual ritual of winter's last gasp (hopefully).

This snow was well predicted. It was even hyped as per usual. So, after sliding around my street in the pre dawn hours in a vain attempt to go to work, I stayed home and I kept the flock confined inside the coop. Some uneasy pangs of guilt crept into me as the morning dawn broke with only a rain/snow mix and little accumulation.

"I should've gone to work. I should've let the flock out into the run at least."

My wife, however, had already forbid me to go to work, so I even had a pang of guilt for defying her by making the attempt this morning anyway.

Well ... now the snow is heavy on the ground and heavy it does fall from the sky in increasing abundance (photo is from mid morning, and it is hard to tell in the shot, but the sky is a white-out). Glad I kept the flock in and glad to be safely at home rather than on the treacherous roads with my bald tires.

Oh cruel fates, and ye winds of March! Get ye hence into thy prison of winter domain and let the spring come!

Hopefully, this is the last gasp indeed. My flock is stir crazy, I am stir crazy.

With the Shells?

This week was a new one.

I've gotten hit with a few questions from non chicken people from time to time that are clearly a demonstration of a lack of knowledge of how the natural world works. At a guess I'd say the two most common are "Where do you keep your chickens in winter?" and "Oh, you need a rooster so that the hens will lay eggs, right?".

Okay, fairly innocent from folks that have never been around any kind of animal other than say, a cat or a dog, and didn't pay any kind of attention in grade school, I guess.

This week we were hit with a new one.

My wife works in a fairly urban, yet somewhat isolated part of New Jersey just across the river from NYC. She brings extra eggs in from time to time to gift to her regular customers. She told me about a peculiar exchange this week.

"Are these eggs from YOUR chickens?" asked the grateful receiver.

"Yes they are!" my lovely bride proudly exclaimed.

"They lay them like this?" the woman queried.

"Like what?" my wife responded

"Like ... they lay them IN the shells???" The confused woman responded.

What kind of a response can a person even have in that situation? A person so disconnected with the world ... likely raised so disconnected from the world by disconnected parents ... that even though she had bought eggs from the store many times over had no actual notion as to what they are or how they are formed.

My mind boggles at this. You think of isolated groups of people living in remote areas that might not know what the internet does. In most extreme cases, maybe not a TV or even an airplane or something. It fascinates me (and on some level horrifies me) that there can be people so insular in their own towns ... even urban ones in metropolitan areas ... that have no concept on things as simple as an egg. I don't mean to judge harshly, but this is the kind of disquieting experience that has me thinking 'the world is doomed'. Anyway, I surely hope she enjoys the eggs!

In other news, my broody hen is still trying to sit, and everyday I take her off of the nest and collect any eggs from under her. I hope she gives up soon, she'll need to get food and exercise. When I do take her off and place her gently in the run, she takes a few pecks of food, so I'm not overly concerned. I could use one of the methods to 'break' her of her broodiness, but the methods seems cruel, and anecdotally, they are not always effective. I'll let her sit, but I'm not going to let her hatch this year. That seems cruel enough to my overly sensitive heart.

Well, I have overly determined animals.

My broody hen is determined to sit.
My pig is determined to wake me at four each morning for breakfast.
NOT my cat is determined to come by about once a week for a free meal.

I am determined to try to get some more sleep when I can!