The rains have come in earnest. I shouldn't complain - after all, it was a relatively dry October, but still. Weeks of unseasonably gorgeous fall weather don't make up for the fact that now I'm sinking up to mid-shin in mud when I slog outside to do the chores. I've set up several dry spots for the chickens, which they love. They can explore under the trellises in the garden, which is rapidly disappearing thanks to Woolimina. She even ate the last of my Trinidad Scorpion plant. And all my cotton (before I got to harvest it - no apocalypse Q-Tips for us, I guess. And I was really looking forward to being self-reliant in the Q-Tip department.) But anyway, most of the chickens are smart enough to get undercover in the rain. But Polish chickens aren't most chickens. They're spectacularly dumb. Like fall in the duck pond because they don't realize it's water dumb. (On a side note, who knew chickens could swim? I actually had to chase her through the water before I could pull her out, she was having a blast.)
When I need a break from the rain, I go inside the greenhouse. It's warm, the sound of rain pattering on the roof is relaxing, and I'm quickly becoming obsessed with watching the mantises hunt flies. The way their triangular heads sway back and forth as they calculate the striking distance is nothing short of mesmerizing. And incredibly effective - there's hardly any flies left in the greenhouse anymore. I might have to go back to buying crickets at the pet store and letting them loose in the greenhouse, like I did two years ago to feed Gertrude. At least I won't have to chuck the crickets at a web - that was disturbing on so many levels.
On that note, you would think that the spider kingdom in general would give me a little credit for feeding one of their own for two months during the freezing cold winter. Gertrude didn't lose any weight under my watch, so you would think they would stay out of my dreams. I know a few posts ago I bragged about conquering my arachnid nightmares, but you know what they say about pride.... This time when I had the dream, the spiders were infesting my bed. That's low, spiders. Even for you. And Gene didn't appreciate getting woken up like that, even if there were real spiders crawling on him.
Finally my hopes and dreams of having a mantis farm have been realized. No longer will I have to wait in line at the garden store with everybody else to get my own praying mantis larva. Thanks to Jasmine, I have an egg sac of my very own just waiting to hatch next May on one of my citrus trees! I haven't seen her in a while but I like to think she left behind her legacy in the form of 500 little mantis eggs.
Speaking of things that leave eggs sacs in their wake, I've definitely grown in terms of my relationship with 8-legged beasties. Thanks to all of them peacefully living in my garden, I've completely conquered my fear of spiders. Even if they're on me. (Sadly, the same cannot be said for Bess Bess. When she was here last, she moved a bag of potting soil for me, and came away with a fat black passenger clinging to the leg of her capris. My ears are still ringing.) The other night, I had that stupid stress dream where I'm in a room full of spider webs, all occupied, of course. In the dream, I have to get out, but of course there's no clear path, no matter how much I crawl and contort. So how do I know I'm officially not afraid of them anymore? In the dream, I looked at all those plump beasties, then shrugged, and said, "Eh, they're not that big." Then I just walked out. Now I'm not the type that believes you can consciously control dreams (if I could, you better believe 80s MacGyver would have saved me), so dream Andie gets all the credit for that one. I bet I never have that nightmare again.
With great excitement and a thick pair of surgical gloves, I harvested my first batch of Trinidad Scorpions and Ghost Peppers. I ever so gently washed and dried them, then arranged them in the dehydrator with the more mundane cayenne peppers. I quickly researched the drying process on the internet, and concluded that our kitchen was large enough that dehydrating the peppers inside wasn't going to be an issue. The article advised opening a window and turning on a fan, but it was cold out and I'm lazy like that. Besides, billowing clouds of distilled pepper evilness only happen in other people's kitchens, not mine. And I was right, for about five minutes. Then I couldn't get the windows open fast enough, and Gene resorted to lugging the entire dehydrator outside while holding his breath. But the important thing was it worked, and after a few hours passed we could use that part of the house again.
Watery eyes and hacking coughs aside, though, I'm getting pretty irked about the whole hottest pepper on the planet thing. I came across disturbing news online, news involving the Carolina Reaper. It's potentially hotter than the Trinidad Scorpion, pending test results. Which means I might not have grown the hottest pepper on the planet, and have fallen short of my goal yet again. But there's always next year!
In other news, all the critters seem to be adjusting well to the changing weather. Mack and Skeeter have their favorite rainy day hiding spots carved out, and come bounding out of the woods whenever they see me to beg for a Wheat Thin. They aren't quite big enough to scare the chickens yet, so most of the time they lose their treat to a questing beak or two. I have to herd them into the Ranch and give them a cracker pile to console their hurt feelings and let them snack in peace. Unfortunately I haven't seen Harvey in far too long, so I'm starting to fear the worst. He's getting up there in age, and we've been having coyote problems. I haven't given up hope though, there will always be a special place in my heart for that crazy bunny.
It's almost time to open the garden up to the chickens, and the bunnies should love that as well. I've harvested just about everything there is to pick, and it's starting to become overrun by spiders. I try to let them do their thing, but some of them spin their webs right across the entrance path and I have no choice. The other day, I was in a particularly live and let live mood, so I bent and twisted and scrambled around several webs, each with a plump inhabitant smack in the middle of it. When I got through the tunnel, I turned around to look behind me, and I just about fell over. It was one of those "I can't believe I just walked through that" moments, all gloriously highlighted by the sun. There were so many of them I called Gene on my cell phone and asked him to bring me a stick to clear a path back. Shudder.
I forgot how much I hate doing chores in the pouring rain. The animals are scared of me, since they're not used to seeing me in anything other than my signature Swamp People t-shirt. Apparently my bulky rain jacket and camo hat frightens them. Tonight I spent an hour wrangling chickens in the storm; they must have a bit of vampire blood in them because they refused to cross running water, which was cascading in rivulets all over the pasture. I wanted to put them up in the coop early so I wouldn't have to get sopping wet twice, and they were having none of it. Since chasing them while screeching, "Don't you want to be warm and dry????" didn't work, I resorted to pouncing on them when they looked the other way. Challenging work, but I won. Eventually. And about five minutes after I shut the coop door, it stopped raining.
We did have sun for the official first day of fall though. I celebrated the occasion by pushing the first pumpkin of the year off the deck, which exploded into stringy goodness down below. Woolimina was particularly happy - she enjoys squash almost as much as watermelon. It's almost time to open up the garden for the chickens, I just have to wait until my hot peppers ripen. The Trinidad Scorpions are turning a most alarming shade of red, and the Ghost Peppers are a searing shade of orange. I'm going to give them a few more days, then harvest everything. I'm a little worried about putting them in the dehydrator, because I fear the resulting pepper cloud might make the house uninhabitable. I figure I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Prompted by the changing season, I decided a little redecorating was in order. The chickens had been asking for privacy curtains in the coop for quite some time, so I finally gave in. I cut up white feed bags, and stapled them to the nesting boxes with the logo facing out, which makes for cheerful pops of color in the otherwise beige coop. I also rearranged the Quail Sanctuary, and gave them some sunflower heads as a special treat. They hate when I invade their space, but as soon as I shut the door they were all over them.
After all the veterinary-related drama, life has finally gotten back to normal here on the farm. Although I have to admit, our "normal" seems rather chaotic to anyone unused to sharing life with over a hundred critters of varying description. (So what if 75 of them are chickens? It's still an impressive number). Both Thing 2 and Ceri seem to have conquered their ailments, and are now medication-free with the exception of Ceri's allergy pills. Sadly, those are a lifelong investment. Apparently each pill takes over nine months to manufacture, so I don't foresee those prices dropping anytime soon. That's longer than it takes to pop out a baby!
At any rate, the most exciting news of the month has to be Bessie's arrival. Gene had his surgery last week, so she flew out to help me with the animals and lifting anything over five pounds. Although she's been here numerous times before, this is the first time she's actually had to help me with chores. Anticipating an overnight stay in the hospital, I figured the best way to make sure she could handle everything was to make her do all the chores for three days prior to the surgery. Her visit has really turned into more of a vacation for me, I have to say. She's actually doing quite well, although she has no inherent chicken wrangling skills. Apparently that's not an ability people are born with, I just happened to win the genetic lottery. I did convince her to hold a chicken, and once the high-pitched "get it off me" screeches had subsided, the experience was enjoyed by both Bessie and Mama Buffington.
With fall right around the corner, harvesting season is in full swing around here. I've gotten over fifty pounds of tomatoes so far, which currently take up precious ice cream space in the freezer. When Gene gets back from hunting, we are going to make salsas and sauces. I love prowling around the gardens, harvesting basket in one hand, camera in the other, checking on everything to see what's ripe. For the most part, all the fruits and veggies did amazingly well. With one noticeable exception. Back in February, I carefully planted (and labeled, I swear), a batch of exotic seeds imported from Africa. Several aloes, a cactus, and a couple varieties of trees. Not surprisingly, since even in the greenhouse the climate is nowhere near their homeland, not too many seeds sprouted. But I did lovingly tend to what I thought was a gorgeous, exotic Chaste Tree (it has lots of medicinal benefits - Google it!) For months I've watered it, fertilized it, and repotted it, catering to its every whim. Imagine my horror when a few more of them spontaneously sprouted in the garden. Apparently I've been tending to a weed for like seven months. No wonder it's over six feet tall. I blame the seed people for not putting a picture of the tree on the seed packet.
But onto happier subjects - after six long years, I've finally been rewarded with an actual guava on my guava tree! I was ecstatic when three of them blossomed for the first time ever, and now I've got an actual fruit! I have no idea if it's warm enough for them to ripen in this climate, particularly since winter is coming, but there's only one way to find out. This is definitely a summer of firsts - I also finally got some fruit on my Goji berry tree - one is ripening, and the other three are just sort of hanging there, looking somewhat sad. But the important thing is they're there. Finally. The Goji tree is also about six years old. Lucky for them I'm a very patient gardener. I'm hoping for avocados next year!
As relaxing as the last two week have been outside the house, they have been packed with drama inside the house. Within three days of each other, poor Ceri's earache came back, and then Thing 2 had to be rushed to the emergency vet with a blocked urinary tract. The poor kitty had to stay there for three days and needed around the clock care (yes, it's every bit as expensive as you're probably imagining). Right now our kitchen cabinet looks like I robbed a pharmacy - both Ceri and Thing 2 came home with three or four bottles of meds each, with every pill needing to be dispensed at a certain time. I actually had to make a chart, and feeding time is now as complicated as your average zoo. Thing 2 needed special, prescription canned food, which now all the cats are on because it's good for them. And for what it costs, it better have miraculous results. Chunk is pissed because he's on a diet, which started immediately after I noticed that Thing 2's vet referred to him as a "very large kitty". Since Chunk is probably twice his size, the dieting commenced. Now it takes me about an hour to separate the dogs from the cats and medicated food from non-medicated food, then dispense accordingly. I have to laugh, though, because the stampede at feeding time is pretty funny.
I'm the type of person who really, really has to be in the mood to enjoy shopping. Grocery shopping is a chore, and I prefer to buy my signature Swamp People t-shirts online rather than go to a store and admit to a salesperson that I'd rather wear a shirt graced with a huge green snapping alligator on it than retain the $20 in my pocket. And the only way you can get me into WalMart is to drag me kicking and screaming. Or as Gene would tell you, whining and complaining. But at least he made our latest WalMart trip totally worth it - he got me a Venus flytrap plant! And even more romantic than that, he killed and fed Grendel her first fly when we got home!
Now that Jasmine has some competition in the carnivoration department (I just made up a word!), I've been seeing her a lot more. She tends to hang out directly above Grendel, hanging from the sunlamp hidden amongst the Stevia blossoms. I have yet to see her actually catch and devour an insect, but she must be pretty fearsome since she's the only mantis left. I hope she didn't eat Willard and Bromier, because I haven't seen them in a month or so. I'm guessing that it got too hot in there even for tree frogs; they'll probably be back for the winter months.
I think Hawthorne got jealous over all the time I've been spending in the greenhouse, because he decided to disappear for about two hours today. Needless to say, I was frantic because there aren't that many places a 40-pound turkey can hide, or waddle to. The fact that there aren't too many predators that can carry off a feathered heifer like that didn't stop me from panicking and tromping around the woods for an hour. Since Gene was at work, I called Abigail, who came down to help me look for him. It only took one of her bellows for him to come ambling out of the blackberry brambles; I think he thought it was funny to hide from mama, but realized he was in trouble when I called in the big guns. On the plus side, I found all sorts of interesting things during my S&R mission in the woods - two hidey holes, one containing Harvey, the other Cinnabun, and a huge nest of turkey eggs. At least when Prudence decides to go broody, I'll know where to look.
Even though August just began, I already feel like I'm transitioning into Fall. Ground cherries, tomatillos, tomatoes, cucumbers, and all the greens have found their way into my harvest basket, and the winter squashes should be ready any day now. My chores list is a mile long, including watering, weeding, and general garden upkeep. I end up spending hours outside - not because I'm that busy, but because everything around me is so gorgeous it needs to be photographed. Yesterday I was wandering in the garden, and I saw a huge black and white dragonfly land on one of the dowels I used to prop up the peppers. 167 pictures later, an hour had passed! Thank god for digital, Gene would be broke if I had to pay for film.
I'm particularly drawn to photographing the guineas, because no matter what they're doing, they look vexed. Lucia could be eating a chocolate cupcake and she'd still glare at you like you rained on her parade. She seems to be fitting in with the other chickens nicely, although I haven't seen her hanging out with the other guineas yet. I think she still thinks she's a chicken. I'm going to let Graciella, the newest guinea chick, and her chicken mama out of the brooding box next week, both because I think she'd be happier outside and because I'm getting another shipment of chicks in from the hatchery. They ran a free shipping promo, and who am I to turn down free shipping?
Perhaps more exciting than new chicks, however, is the fact I now have at least four real, actual, Trinidad Scorpion peppers growing on my plant!!!! They already look wizened and evil, and Gene said I should already be in the habit of only handling them with gloves on. How cool is it that no matter where on the planet you go, you can't find a pepper hotter than what's in my garden? At least the peppers don't move into interesting new angles, so I only took 10 pictures of them.
In my defense, though, I feel like I have to practice for the online photography class I signed up for in anticipation of the long rainy days of fall. The class has a section on everything from nature (I'm assuming chickens count as nature), to pets. I've been practicing on the poor kitties, always trying to capture them from a new perspective. Chunk is used to me going paparazzi all over his naptime, but Thing 2 swipes at the camera. Apparently he doesn't like having the lens hover an inch from his face, just waiting to document the next cute thing he does. He's going to have to get used to it, because the class runs for six weeks and I'm not putting the camera down any time soon.
As usual, here on the farm, a very bad thing was balanced out by a few very good things. A few days ago, Dimsworth made the journey to the Great Farm in the Sky. He hadn't been doing well for a week or so, to the extent that I had to bring his food and water directly to him. (Although I have to admit, at first I thought that was due to sheer laziness, because once Hawthorne saw Dimsworth getting room service, he demanded it as well.) Anyway, he seemed to be doing better, but then all of sudden, he wasn't.
I was sad; I really loved that goofy turkey. But it was hard to stay sad, because the very same day Dimsworth transitioned to a higher plane of existence, Broody Duck Mama's eggs finally hatched! I like to think that one of the ducklings (the fat, bumbling one), is a reincarnation of Dimsworth. Gene named him Duckworth, and it certainly seems to fit. Watching Mama teach the ducklings to swim is probably the cutest thing ever in the history of cute things.
Speaking of cute things, the hatchery mail-order chicks are doing great. I redesigned the brooding complex to include several feed and watering stations, plus I added an experience station with all kinds of sticks, big pieces of bark, and logs to climb and hide in. They seem to love it, and making it was totally worth the eye-roll Gene gave me when I was describing my plans. I was also planning to custom build a dust bathing station out of a disposable roasting plan, but someone (Gene) stole it and cooked an actual chicken in it, which as far as I'm concerned totally tainted its karma. Now I have to think of a plan B.
Before I commence whining about the heat (mid-90s!!!!!), let me just state for the record that it's great for the tomatoes, peppers, and squash. You'd think there'd be less work, since the heat would chase me indoors to lie on one of the air conditioning vents (after kicking Ceri off of it first). But no, every two hours or so, I go outside and make sure all the critters have clean, cold water to drink and splash around in, and some sort of cold refreshing treat to cool down with. The baby bunnies get crisp cabbage leaves, or bright green bok choys, fresh out of the ground. The ducks prefer frozen corn niblets, while the turkeys clamor for watermelon cubes straight out of the refrigerator. The chickens don't have a preference, as long as they're getting something. The guineas look distinctly disappointed if frozen peas aren't flung in their general direction, and the quails demand their usual standby of kale, preferably organic and definitely chilled. Keeping everyone happy is a full time job.
The critters all have different strategies for keeping cool. While all the ducks love playing in the various pools, the Pekin flock takes aquatics to a whole new level. They spend hours in the heat of the day, splashing and napping. I built them a serious of steps so now they can play in the big pool. The turkeys, on the other hand, have come up with the ingenious plan of tipping over the galvanized silver waterer, then reclining in the resulting mud puddle. Woolimina discovered that the garage doesn't heat up until about four in the afternoon, and has apparently been spending her mornings in the cool darkness, head happily stuck in the bag of game bird feed. I walked into the garage to get a tool, and almost had a heart attack when she jumped up and ran for the side door. The last thing I expect to see, particularly before I've had my morning coffee, is 60 pounds of guilty sheep making a noisy run for it. I guess I have to stop leaving the door open for ventilation.
As I said earlier, though, the gardens have been sucking up the heat. I have a bell pepper about the length of my forearm, and a bunch of green banana-shaped cayenne peppers. Although I don't have fruit yet on my Trinidad Scorpion or Ghost Peppers, I do have blossoms, so my dream of having the #1 and #2 World's Hottest Peppers should be realized soon. (If you put both of them in one salsa, I wonder if your head explodes?) But the most spectacular thing this year has got to be the trellises that Gene made me out of hog panels. I planted one of the arches with gourds, and the other two with cucumbers. For a pop of color, I added sweet peas and nasturtiums. The result is stunning - a green shady tunnel leading into the rest of the garden. I photographed it, but it doesn't really do it justice.
When I get late night calls from Gene at work, it means one of two things - he's stuck on a bad call and will be home late, or he's found something really cool to bring home to me. Last time it was Raphael, the rescued ferret. This time, Gene called to tell me he'd found an abandoned fledgling robin while patrolling a parking garage. After waiting a few hours to make sure the parents weren't around (unlikely since the baby was way in the back of the garage), and noticing that it seemed to be in quite the state of distress, he fixed it up a nice comfy box, gave it some water, and brought it home to mama, so to speak. He initially tried setting it outside and waiting to see what would happen, but the baby completely freaked out and basically rang the dinner bell for all the feral cats and rats (the two being roughly the same size in that lovely city), so he decided it needed intervention.
I greeted little Lobato this morning at 4:30, since I figured the wee critter needed some breakfast. I considered my options, and decided to go with raspberries, both for the high water content, and because I'm forever chasing robins out of our raspberry patch. She yummed them right up, then I tucked her back in her box. Then I outfitted the small brooding box with shavings and a heat lamp, plus I arranged some big pieces of bark and ferns so she would have a little area to hide. Next on the list was figuring out what else to feed her, in addition to the berries. Since I'm far to refined to regurgitate food, no matter what the circumstances, I considered calling my sister Bess Bess to come for an emergency visit. If anyone can make dinner taste like yak, it's her. But then I decided to hunt worms instead. Finding one small enough was actually fairly difficult, especially considering the torrential rain we got this morning. I was turning over pots, rocks, tarps, and every other disgusting place I could think of until I finally found the perfect squirmer. It took a while, and lots of shuddering on my part, but she finally ate the whole thing! The worst part by far was when she took a chomp and I was left trying to hold on to half a warm, but I persevered. Luckily, she's pretty close to being able to get out on her own, so once her strength comes back we'll let her free.
For the last several months, I've been puzzling over what could be wrong with my shallots. I planted two beds worth in the fall, which I've done for several years. Last spring's crop was stunning - dark green tops standing straight up, with a profusion of golden bulbs popping out of the dirt. This year, not so much. They look flattened, and somewhat miserable. I did everything I could think of - I mulched, I un-mulched, I altered the amount of water they were getting, I took a look at the soil, but nothing worked - the more I worried, the flatter they got. Today, while I was pruning tomatoes, I finally figured it out. Shallots and 86-pounds of napping German Shepherd don't go well together.
Ceri wasn't the only beast out crushing plants in her free time - Cinnabun decided she needed a break from the kids. I found her relaxing in my mint bed, atop no less than three different types of mints I dry and use for tea. Apparently she got fed up after being locked in with her eight little ones for so long, so she put her thunderous paws up against the door and shoved with all the might a cooped-up new mama can summon. After spotting her in the garden, I went in the Bunny Ranch, and sure enough, her cage doors were blown wide open. At least the little ones stayed inside. By the time I got back to her, she'd moved over to lounge in Harvey's favorite sunny spot, right next to Harvey. I'm fairly certain we're going to have more bunnies in about 28 days. Sigh.
In drama-free news, the 8 Pekin ducks made the transition from the garage brooding facility to the Duck Mansion. They are loving their new freedom, as they have full range of the pasture and yard, but they adore the deep pond even more. I know ducks love water, but these ducks LOVE water. Six hours they spent zooming around the pond, splashing and hooting and hollering. I was amazed to see them finally exploring the grass and daisy patches this afternoon. I was worried they'd forgotten how to walk.
Granted, I'm the last person on the planet who should get on anyone else about eating too much, but seriously. Every time I take a look around the backyard, something is disappearing into something's face. I've been bemoaning the depletion of my beautiful rose and bulb garden all year, placing all the blame squarely on poor Woolimina. Mostly because the sheep shearer pointed out there was a whole lot more sheep to shear this year, so I figure she's stuffed full of gladiolas and Mexican day lilies. Today I learned I've been blaming the wrong fat critter - it was Harvey who put the beat down on the only spot of decorative landscaping I have. And now it's hard to tell where the lilies even were. Sigh.
Harvey's not the only hungry bunny on the farm, though, the babies are giving him a run for his money. They can make an entire head of lettuce disappear in under five minutes. They come stampeding out of the corners when they realize it's me, and hop up and down until I put whatever succulent morsel I've brought them down. No wonder they're getting so big so quick.
Despite the beautiful weather and lovely temperatures, perfect for foraging, chasing bugs, and hitting the pool, Dimsworth has officially let himself go. Instead of working to impress the ladies like Hawthorne, he sits in his favorite spot, remote in one hand, beer in the other, and demands to know when his recliner will be delivered. I get that molting in such a spectacularly atrocious fashion is hard on his self esteem, but still. He's such a pretty turkey on the inside, and he has a good sense of humor.
The ducklings are the exact opposite of Dimsworth. They're so happy and excited to be alive they act like little wind up toys, running around their play area, doing laps in the pool, and chasing butterflies and bees. Every once in awhile they fall over and take a power nap, usually in a big fluffy pile. Since pools were on sale at the hardware store, I bought one that's big enough for all of them. As Gene pointed out, there's room for them and both of us, it's that big. He was worried it was too big for the ducklings to get in and out of, so I swapped the new one for one of the old, smaller ones that's in the pasture. The ducklings are ecstatic, and spent hours swimming happily.
I'm not sure if it's because it's spring, or if I just have exceptionally broody chickens, but I have four of them actively trying to set on nests right now. I don't mind one or two broody mamas, especially the ones I know are good ones (not every hen was meant to raise chicks!) but I certainly don't need four at once. There's nothing sadder in this world than a broody mama with no eggs, and I ran out of fake ones to placate them with. Since I've never witnessed Jimmy and Luigi having any quality time, I figured I'd just stuff guinea eggs underneath them. Since the shells are so tough, I wasn't worried about the egg exploding if it sat there too long. Plus, they have a distinctive shape, so I don't have to worry about mixing up a bad egg with all the fresh ones. As I was harvesting eggs yesterday, I was startled to find an actual hatched guinea chick!!! Since they're tiny and fragile, I put that broody mama in the garage facility with her baby, and booted out all the 2 month old chicks. Everybody is happy, especially the teenage chicks. They love being outside in the fresh air with bugs and worms to chase.
They aren't the only ones loving the outdoor life - the 8 Pekin ducks now protest mightily when I bring them in at night. I've had to increase the shuttle service from the brooding box to the outdoor spa area to 16 trips a day, since the ducklings are now so big I can only hold one at a time. They don't mind the morning trip, but they fuss and huff when it's bedtime. It's hard not to laugh at their protests, since the sounds they make are now halfway between a baby cheep and a full-on complaining quack. In the mornings, they spread their wings like they're flying as I carry them football-style to the pool. Occasionally, if the shuttle service isn't fast enough to suit them, they'll follow me into the garage.
Today was a little tumultuous here at the farm; I decided it was high time to rehome some roosters. My decision to cut their numbers coincided nicely with finding someone willing to buy them. Actually, Abigail found him, and I cashed in. She was also nice enough to come down and help me with the rooster rodeo, because no one was particularly happy about being stuffed into a crate. As hard as it is to part with my beautiful roosters, the hens needed a break. Now we're down to six, and of those three are tiny. There were at least three more that I wanted to try and catch, but Abigail, much like the hens, had had enough. I pointed out that if $30 was blowing around out in the pasture, she'd be all about chasing that, but she was tuckered. At least now we have something to look forward to tomorrow!
True to his word, Gene built a custom pool for the ducklings on his first day off. Although it looked spacious at the time, they've almost outgrown it already! But a fine pool it is - the black liner holds in the sun's heat, and when I fill it to the brim it looks like one of those fancy infinity pools. Even better, it's deep enough for them to swim under water in it! On Gene's next days off, I think I'll request a second pool, perhaps with a bridge between the two, or a water slide!
Watching them frolic in the water has to be one of the cutest things in the world. It's impossible to be in a bad mood when you see ducklings paddling to and fro, occasionally diving under then submarining an unsuspecting sibling. When it's warm out, they will spend hours playing in the water. They've started to get used to the whole shuttle bus routine - when it warms up outside I take them, two by two, to the play area and drop them off. They peep and cry frantically until all eight of them are together again, then fun time commences. As it starts to cool in the evening, I bring them back to the brooding box where they warm themselves under the heat lamp. At first they panicked when I picked them up, and I had to make sure I kept track of which end was pointed where, lest my pants be decorated. They may be relatively small, but they're capable of holding in A LOT. Now they're old shuttle bus pros, and seem to like the journey.
If I thought Cinnabun wouldn't pitch a fit, I would shuttle the baby bunnies out to the playground as well. She lets me pet them, but goes ballistic if I pick one up. They are starting to hop around the Bunny Ranch now, and I've bribed them into friendship with Wheat Thins. They also love lettuce, carrots, and pretty much anything else I feed them. I've had to increase Cinnabun's treat rations, since she's nursing eight wee ones, but now I think I'll have double it again since they're tiny but voracious. I really wish I had remembered to plant lettuce.
With the weather finally warming up, at least in the afternoon, the ducklings decided they needed a play pen in the backyard since it was getting so hot and stuffy in their garage brooding box. I ran some plastic mesh deer fencing between our existing fence and made a nice, sizable grassy area for them to play and lounge. I also added a feeding nook (since they eat a metric ton per duckling, per day, I swear) and a pool. When I texted the picture to Gene, who was at work, he immediately called and said that no ducklings of his were going to swim around in a litter box. Well, that's not exactly what he said, but the upshot of the conversation was that he's going to build me a custom pool! We have tons of scrap two by fours laying around, and an old pond liner, so he'll be able to come up with something amazing. The ducklings whole-heartedly approve, because even though they can all fit in the litter box, there's no room for them to actually swim.
I wish I could post an amazingly cute picture of the baby bunnies, but they still spend the bulk of their time in the nesting box. Occasionally they'll come bounding out and grab a lettuce or a Wheat Thin snack, but they're so fast I can't get an in focus shot! Plus, Cinnabun has a habit of getting between the camera and her babies. She clearly doesn't approve of my paparazzi ways. They're about the size of a hot dog bun cut in half, and so far I've counted eight. One of these days I'll get a stunning shot and share it with the world. But for now, here's a quick picture.
Since my friend came to pick up the chicks I'd hatched in the incubator for her, I was faced with the sad, sad sight of an empty brooding box. I made a couple calls, and found a feed store that still had ducklings! Within the hour, I had 8 happily quacking ducklings swimming around in their custom litter-box pool, complete with safety rocks and a ramp. I got all Pekins, the fat white ducks with the bright orange bills and feet. They are great layers, and should bring my egg business to the next level. This spring has been rough, but with only four females (and six males!) I just don't have enough eggs to keep my orders filled. Of course, these guys won't start laying until the fall, at the earliest, but until then I get to enjoy having ducklings again! And Gene gets to spend his days off baby-proofing the big pond, the pasture, and anywhere else a cute duckling might choose to wander.
I still haven't gotten a look at Cinnabun's babies, although Gene was brave enough to distract her with a treat and stick his head in the nesting box. He was able to count four babies before he heard the growling and the thundering of angry bunny paws coming right for him. Knowing the way bunny math works, she probably has about 54 of them in there. I've been letting Harvey come out during the day; he's content to hop around by the deck, scattering chickens and turkeys and ducks in every direction. He only stays out about fifteen minutes, then comes back to check on mama. It's pretty cute, actually.
I have given up on calendars and temperatures and the like, for they always seem to disappoint me. I am officially declaring the start of summer. To celebrate, and since the temperatures are getting into the 80s (and drop to the 40s at night, whatever, Pacific Northwest), I scheduled the yearly shearing appointment for Shy and Woolimina. Since Gene had to work that night, and thus was not free to assist in the rodeo which precedes each haircut, we decided to catch them before he had to leave and attached long leashes to their collars. Shy and Wool then spent the next five hours convinced that festively colored snakes were following them around. But in the long run it was worth it - Wheat Thins were liberally handed out, and they both look stunning with their new spring looks.(Well, truthfully Shy looks stunning. Woolimina looks like she ate one box of Wheat Thins too many this winter). They still haven't quite forgiven me for the whole collar snake thing, though.
Similarily, Big Bertha the broody duck hasn't forgiven me since the day she decided to build her nest, then sit on her eggs, in the highest traffic area on the whole farm - right by the entrance to the food bin room. I put up with her hissings and fussings, and we peacefully coexisted for over a week until disaster struck today. For some reason, she must have gotten confused about where her eggs were, because she was happily sitting in a beautifully crafted nest right next to the pile of them. I thought I was doing her a favor by gently rolling them back underneath her, but she acted like I was about to make an omelet right in front of her. With each egg I put back in the nest, she'd pinch the skin of my hand in her beak, then try to do a gator roll with it. Thank god she only had four eggs. Gene always says, "Just grab her head first with your other hand!" whenever I come to him whining about beak-inflicted wounds on my extremities, but I'd like to see him try that on Bertha. That duck's got some moves.
After dealing with Bertha's shenanigans, I figured I'd do something relaxing and plant my corn starts out in the big garden. Unfortunately we haven't finished the fence yet, so I had to come up with some way to protect the two-foot plants from the chickens. I really couldn't wait any longer to plant them, because they were badly root bound and obviously tired of being in the tiny pots I planted the seeds in. As I carefully dug each hole, I had tons of chicken helpers, eager to snatch up any worms I unearthed. As I moved to the next hole, they would fill the preceding one in when my back was turned. When I put a tomato cage over each plant, they mocked my efforts by jumping through it and ripping off the corn leaves. When I wrapped fencing around each cage (which looks great, by the way, don't think it doesn't) to protect the leaves, they showed their discontent by attacking the corn waiting to be planted. It's hard to be mad at them, though, since they're so gleeful about helping me.
