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.