Goodbye 2012!

As a general rule, I'm not known for being overly introspective, particularly at the end of the year. My resolutions tend to fall along the lines of doing a better job of communicating to other drivers exactly how much they're annoying me, and things of that nature. Gene finally said I'm not allowed to make resolutions anymore, because they don't make the world a better place. That being said, every New Year's Eve, it's become my tradition to put aside my drink (for the moment), and reflect back on what I've learned that year as a Hobby Farmer. (Note the use of caps, because now that it's my full-time job I felt I needed a title).

10) There are no such thing as species-specific toys.

9) No matter how tall your muck boots are, water, mud and worse can always find a way inside.

8) Just because they rave about it on Top Chef doesn't mean it tastes good. Jerusalem Artichokes, I'm looking at you.

7) If I dream it up, Gene can build it.



6) Naps. There's always a good reason to take one.

5) If you grow it, you can can it.

4) Training a bunny to come when you call is easy if you're holding a Wheat Thin.

3) There's always room for more chickens, and to squeeze in a rescue ferret.

2) You can never order too many seeds.

1) Every wood stove installation should automatically include a fat cat to bask in the heat.

Merry Christmas!

Room service please!

Now that the real winter weather has set in, I find myself indoors more than usual. I'm spending my afternoons cozied up to the wood stove with a cup of tea in hand, planning and scheduling next year's garden. And my cozy little nest is conveniently located next to Raphael's cage, so I don't even have to get up to clean what I now refer to as his bathroom platform. I swear, I'm going to give him a little bell to ring when he needs toilet paper service, and I'm going to change his name to Sir Dukesalot. Good thing he's cute, cuz damn. All those paper towels ain't cheap.

Rivalling Raphael in sheer cuteness is little Cinnabun, who is adjusting well to the luxurious amenities of the Bunny Ranch. She had a bit of a scare when confronted with her plated salad for the first time, because apparently she's never eaten off of good china before. But plates are standard here at the Farm; just because they're animals doesn't mean they have to eat like one. It used to drive Gene nuts to look outside and see the same table service being enjoyed outside that he was currently eating off of, but once I explained my reasoning he said he understood. Then he quietly added "that you're crazy," but I chose to ignore that part.

In his defense, I don't think he's that far off the mark. Just yesterday, when it was pouring down icy rain, I found myself outside with a shovel, looking all over the backyard for dry dirt. Broody Mama, who is temporarily living the high life in the brooding facility in the garage with her two chicks, put in a request for a dust-bathing box. I had gone out to check on them, and she was lying on her side in the shavings, flipping them over herself in an attempt to dust bathe. When she noticed me watching her, she started to flip the shavings in my general direction while glaring at me. Thus, the hunt for dry dirt was on. I found some too, even though I had to dig underneath the back deck to get it. But the important thing is she's happy. And I'm only a little bit crazy.

Harvey's Christmas came early!

As I've noted in earlier postings, Harvey has a bad habit of staying out all night when the weather is nice, mingling with the local bunnies and partying hard. To date, his longest bender has been two days, but luckily he only did that a few times. Now that I've started leaving delectable treats in his cage during evening chores, he usually shows up right on time to gobble up Wheat Thins. As an added incentive, and because baby bunnies are like the cutest things ever, we picked him up a girlfriend today!


Granted, she's only six weeks old so we'll have to wait awhile (as will Harvey) for the grandkids, but so far she's made her herself happily at home. I cleaned out and redecorated the "girl" side of the Bunny Ranch, setting out food, water, hay, and of course a selection of welcoming treats and now little Cinnabun is probably the happiest bunny in all of Allyn.

It's that magical time of the year!

Yes, despite the wind, the rain, and the flooded backyard, this is truly one of my favorite times of the year. Every day I look forward to Gene bringing in the mail, carrying stacks of glossy, full color catalogs - it's time to order my seeds! I don't even try to set, much less stick to, a seed budget, even though my dreams far outreach the amount of available soil in which to plant the seeds. This year Gene is really excited to try some natural grasses, like alfalfa and orchard grass, and is even pondering replacing the front lawn with a variety of grain-bearing goodness. I figure that's a win-win situation, since we don't mow that often anyway.

He recently finished the renovation to the alpaca cabana, having installed a raised floor. It looks great, and gets a lot of use. Ariel, Buttercup, and little Leia in particular love to snooze under the heat lamp. Even Christmas climbs up on the platform during the day when it's raining. Our backyard has gone from merely flooded to resembling a swamp of Degobah proportion, in both appearance and odor. Although I'm guessing Yoda's stomping grounds smell a little better, since I would assume Jedi Masters are required to have access to indoor plumbing. Our backyard, not so much. Over the rainy reason, the critters have pulled a bunch of hay out of their feeder, so much so that they now have a little mound rising up out of the muck. They spend their time high and dry, contentedly chewing their collective cud and occasionally getting up to pee and poo over the side of it, which compounds the muck problem. All they need is a dragon for the moat they've created, and they're set.

Unfortunately the mess doesn't confine itself to the backyard -- Raphael has devised new ways to drive me nuts after Gene switched his water bowl to one that he can't dump over. Now he has decided it's great fun to unhook his litter box and drag it around the base of his cage, and use the third layer of his luxury condo to make his deposits instead. Now I have to drag his cage away from the wall, pull open the side of it, and clean off the platform like four times a day. I also need to break down and put a litter box in the back bedroom, which we've ferret-proofed for his out of cage time. I try to time his visits for right after he's pottied, but since apparently ferrets feel the need to potty every fifteen minutes, I'm invariably scooping and cleaning the corner of the bedroom. Having five cats, I feel like we've met our litter box capacity already, so I hate to use another one - we might as well rip up the carpets and replace it with Johnny Cat granules. Between that and having to muck out the goat, chicken, rabbit, turkey, and duck bedrooms once a week, I swear when people ask what I do for a living I feel like replying, "Why, I shovel sh!t!"

At least Charlie's latest game doesn't involve stepping on Tootsie Rolls deposited in unexpected places. No, she's discovered something infinitely more amusing - batting the eggs off the counter. Not at all what you want to step in barefoot as you're stumbling out of bed to make the morning coffee. At least she only got me once - she's gotten Gene twice. The second time he roared so loudly that now I immediately wash, dry and put the eggs away. She'll just have to amuse herself by pulling the ornaments off the Christmas tree.

Just one of those days...

Now that Raphael has been here for about two weeks, he's starting to fit in with the rest of the critters, particularly in the "no respect for mama" category. On Tuesday I was already having a stressful day because my surgery was the next morning and I had a ton of things I wanted to get done before I was one-handed again. I went outside to check on the goats and dispense extra treats, since it's been so gloomy and rainy. On the way to the goats' feeder, my boot got stuck in the mud, and I was walking so quickly that I walked right out of it. Bad day to not be wearing socks! After washing up inside, I decided to make a salad. Just before putting the dressing on it, I looked over at Raphael in time to see him lift up his water bowl with his front paws and dump it down outside the cage. As I ran over to deal with that mess, I looked at the kitchen island just in time to see Chunk violating my salad. In his search for the crispiest, crunchiest lettuce, he would nibble on a leaf then put it back in the bowl and choose another one. By that point I had refilled Raphael's water bowl, and when I raced back to shoo the cat out of my lunch, I saw Raphael staring at me. He slowly put his paws under the bowl, then flipped it over like a furry little Hulk. I know he was just messing with me, since I've never seen a ferret look that gleeful.

 

In addition to Raphael, we have added two new critters to the farm! Broody Mama hatched out two chicks, so now she and her babies are temporarily living in the garage brooding facility until the chicks get big enough to hang with the big hens. Broody Mama doesn't seem to mind her new surroundings, she's just content to care for her babies. She's a hardcore broody hen - I had to pick her up and put her by the food bowl just to get her to eat and drink.

But the chicks aren't the only new arrivals -- next week we're going to go pick up a new girlfriend for Harvey! I'm looking forward to the prospect of new baby bunnies, mostly because of the cuteness factor, but also because besides my egg sales, the baby rabbits are just about the only way we bring money into the farm! I will have to increase the Wheat Thins budget though.

This week wasn't just about additions unfortunately. Today Wesley was escorted down to Abigail's pasture, since he's swiftly moving into adolescence by having a relationship with his Auntie Buttercup. Taking him out of the backyard was pretty heartbreaking, because he was protesting the move mightily. He calmed down once he realized his new herdmates are all boys, and Abigail's youngest goats, the twins Fritz and Frodo, are just a bit older than him. The female goats here on the farm seem to be fairly relieved that he's gone. According to the articles I've read, you're supposed to separate the boys from the girls at three months. We did pretty good - I think we only missed the date by like two weeks, meaning there's a slim chance he put a bun in Buttercup's oven. Guess we'll find out come spring!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Everyone should try Tofurkey this year!!!

This one's not my fault -- all I said was, "Sure!!!"

So two days ago, I got a call from Gene at work that I never would have seen coming. Apparently the Animal Control officer found a poor, sad, starving ferret walking down the street, and it came running up to him. Since it was obviously someone's either escaped or abandoned pet, for some reason he called Gene. Gene then called me, and barely got the words, "Hey, you want a ferret?" out before I was shrieking, "Sure!" Gene came home with Raphael, two hammocks, a play tube, smell-good spray, treats, chews, ferret chow, designer food and water bowls, and litter.

 

Raphael also came with a cage, but I discovered the next morning that Raphael could come and go as he pleased just by walking through the bars. Naturally I used that as an excuse to head to Petco and purchase a Luxury Ferret Condo, which is five floors of tastefully appointed luxury living. I also got him some toys, backup treats in case he didn't like the treats Gene picked out, and a litter box. Since we wanted him to feel like he's found his forever home, we put his cage right next to the kitchen table where we can take him out and play with him whenever he wants cuddles. So far most of his time is taken up by sleeping, drinking water, and eating. He was so thin you could see his ribs, so I think he was probably outside for awhile. Raphael loves to ride around in the back of my hoody, and snuggles up in my arms and peers around.

 

Ceri is absolutely entranced with him, and Raphael must have come from a home with cats and dogs, because he isn't fazed at all by all the stares and sniffs he's getting. Since he's the same shape as Ceri's favorite chew toy, Blue Beastie, he only gets well-supervised forays out of his cage. Ceri keeps bringing her squeaker toys over to him and seems to want to play. He fits right in to our crazy indoor zoo. The best part is that now that Gene brought home a rescue ferret, he can't say a word when I waltz in with a rescue tortoise!

 

Our outdoor zoo is doing well too, although collectively everyone but the ducks is tired of the rain. Our backyard flooded again, this time even deeper, and the ducks are ecstatic. Unfortunately, the alpaca cabana flooded, so Gene has to build a subfloor and install it tomorrow so Woolimina has a dry place to bed down for the night. Shy Shy uses the cabana occasionally, but he seems to prefer sleeping in the woodline. My guess is once Gene finishes building the custom floor unit, he'll use it every night.

It's raining treats!

Now that it's completely dark by five pm, I'm under extra pressure to make sure everyone has an array of delicious treats to distract them from the miserable, dark weather so characteristic of November in this lovely damp state. Wilco had a sale today (2-for-1 Happy Hen Treats - yay!) and I bought a Flock Block to put in the winter enclosure. It's basically a compressed square of everything I offer in separate feeders in the coop. I bought two huge bags of discounted apples at QFC, and Ritz crackers were on sale as well, so naturally I bought two boxes of those. I should be good on treats for at least a few days.

Even though it's raining constantly, I decided to move the latest batch of chicks to the big coop. They were getting testy and fighty, so I figured they needed more space. The transition went smoothly, and they're already roosting on the bars with the big chickens.

Winston, trolling for chicks.

Winston, the newest rooster, is already macking on this newest flock in hopes of recruiting a harem. The poor injured chick that was living in a hospital box inside the brooding box definitely needed more space, which is another reason the other chicks needed to vacate. Since nothing is more sad than a lone chick in a huge brooding box, I hopped onto craigslist to find her some friends. I got in contact with a really nice lady who had Lemon Cuckoo Orpington chicks crossed with a chocolate Orpington. The chicks, which they dubbed "Locolates", are adorable, and now two of them are keeping the injured chick company. The injured chick's surrogate mother, a Welsummer, is broody again so I'm also letting her sit on a clutch of eggs. I timed it perfectly, too, since they're due to hatch on the day of my next (and hopefully last) surgery -- I'll have something cute to come home to! That also leaves Gene about three weeks to build an outdoor nursery area, since I don't want another young one getting injured by cranky adult hens.

Other than the migration to the big coop, not much is going on around here. The high point of my week was when I won a long, drawn out battle with a huge evil wasp. The wasp hitched a ride in on a log for the wood stove, and of course I didn't discover it until like one in the morning, when I saw three of our cats batting around an extraordinarily large bug. I didn't realize it was a wasp until I'd zoomed in on it with the camera (cuz guess what's cuter than a picture of cats playing with bugs? Nothing!) I'm not normally up that late, but I'd spent the day cleaning and was just going to bed. When I discovered what it was, I immediately wrapped about half a roll of toilet paper around my hand and tried to squish it. Not only did I hear the furious buzzing, I actually FELT it through the wad of paper. When it pushed itself out from under my hand, I scattered kitties, tp, and unfortunately the angry winged insect all over the room when I reflexively jumped ten feet in the air.

What wasps see in their nightmares.

The wasp disappeared behind a framed picture, but squishing the picture against the wall didn't kill it, it just pissed it off more. I brought out my biggest gun, in the form of the Hoover with the hose attachment. After chasing it around the bedroom for a bit, lugging the vacuum behind me, I finally sucked it up in the hose. I could still feel it pinging around in it, though, because something is wrong with the hose attachment and it doesn't have much suction. I didn't want the wasp to escape, so I finally ended up Scotch taping the hose shut, and dragging the vacuum out on the porch for Gene to deal with when he got home. In my defense, he said it was still alive when he untaped the hose, but he did say reports of its size were greatly exaggerated. He also said one piece of Scotch tape would have sufficed.

I have got to get myself a better spot in the pecking order

Ever wonder how to get a doctor to laugh uproariously at you when you visit the Urgent Care? Tell him you got attacked by a vicious, vicious rooster. Seriously, he laughed! And not just him, the physician's assistant AND the receptionist thought it was hysterical. The receptionist was the worst - she asked me why I needed to be seen, and when I explained that Marley the rooster had impaled my leg a few times, she started to snicker. Then she tried to cover it by coughing, then gave up and started guffawing. It probably didn't help that I couldn't explain it with a straight face, but still. It also didn't help my cause that Gene was sitting next to me in the room, scrolling through the photos on his cell phone and showing the doctor pictures of every other critter that's ever bitten me. The doctor managed to contain his laughter until he saw the picture of the giant fluffy bunny.

I'm not sure why Marley got so stabby on Wednesday; I definitely wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I had just dispensed Happy Hen Treats, which made what happened next quite ironic. If I had to hazard a guess, I would attribute Marley's increased aggression to the fact that the gold-laced Wynadotte rooster has finally found his crow, and thus announced to everyone that he is, indeed, a rooster. Marley must feel like he has to reaffirm his place on the pecking order, a list on which I'm apparently near the bottom. Abigail was there when he attacked, and she said he moved so quickly she didn't even realize he'd impaled me. The best part was when King Julian came flying out of nowhere and went all MMA on Marley - knocking him down and kicking his feathered butt all over the pasture. Of all the critters, King Julian is the only one who has my back. Marley managed to stick his spurs into my knee a total of four times before King Julian knocked him out of the air, causing enough damage that I could barely walk that night. When the puncture wounds started to look all red and inflamed, I put aside my embarrassment and went to the doctor. Thanks to Marley, I walked out with antibiotics and a tetanus shot.

Other than that drama, things are pretty calm around here. We had our first hard freeze of the season, so I spent this morning chipping ice out of all the waterers. Not my favorite time of the year. All the goats have grown in their shaggy winter coats, and if the amount of shag is any indicator, we're in for a cold winter this year. I love watching the chickens roost up for the night when it's cold, because they sleep in piles of cuddles. It's the cutest thing in the world. I'm putting off relocating the brooding box chicks, since I'm not sure how cold it gets in the big coop. I went to check on them this morning, and panicked when I only counted 13 instead of the usual 14. After searching the garage, I finally moved one of the empty feed bags to see if the chick was hiding behind it. I was totally unprepared for the inside of the bag to erupt in a frenzy of movement. It was strong movement, too, like the kind that a rat could generate. I want props for actually opening the bag and peering in after screaming and jumping five feet in the air. Apparently the chick thought she could roost on the edge of it, and fell inside. Not what I was expecting to find just after dawn.

The chickens are ecstatic because I've been winterizing the garden, so they get to come inside and root around to their hearts content. They spend most of the day in there, attacking the rotting tomatoes and helping themselves to bites of rainbow chard. Harvey has yet to discover the open gate in his wanderings, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time. I particularly like when Marley goes in there, because I can slam the gate shut and taunt him through the fence. I have to redeem myself somehow, because when he's outside the fence all he has to do is look at me and I run and hide between King Julian.

Finding higher ground...

After three days of listening to Christmas loudly voicing her opinion of the rising water level surrounding her chalet as she waded over to her food bowl, Gene and Abigail decided it was time to move her home to higher ground. After disassembling and removing her cedar A-frame living quarters, Gene hooked the kennel part of it to the Rhino's wench, then he and Abigail pushed while his daughter reversed across the yard. I helped by standing inside the alpaca cabana, taking pictures and musing aloud about how much easier it would be to do that if it wasn't raining so hard.

 

Christmas decided she wanted to live closer to every one else, so now her abode is just to the right of the alpaca cabana. She also opted for a tri-level, lofted living space, with the front of the chalet removed so there's more room for entertaining. Her new quarters has a patio area, then a step up onto an open concept living room/kitchen area. A ladder behind her breakfast nook leads up into her lofted bedroom. I also lined her new home with flakes from a hay bale, so it should stay nice and dry.

For the most part, Christmas is ecstatic with her new residence. Her only complaint is that unfortunately Shy has picked the area directly in front of it to use as his latrine. With as much rain as we've gotten, his latrine has turned into a different, more stinky sort of pond so Christmas basically traded her lake-front property in for an entirely different sort of waterfront experience.

Didn't think you needed to see
a picture of Lake Squidders.

I decided to try and relocate the latrine today, since I have to wade through it every time I go to let her in and out of her chalet. I had the brilliant idea of dumping a bucket of water on it, to try and see if I could get some of it to roll downhill. I had the equally brilliant idea of wearing my cropped workout pants and rubber waders with no socks while doing it. As soon as the water left the bucket, I realized my horrible, horrible mistake. Sadly, since my boots had sunk into the "mud", I couldn't back up in time to avoid the stinkiest, soupiest splashback in the history of the world. The only good part is that I was wearing Gene's boots.

At least someone loves the rain....

Anyone who knows me has heard, at great length, exactly how I feel about rain. Especially the copious quantities that we've gotten in the last few days. On the other hand, I've always wanted to have a duck pond, so the rain has at least one bright side. Our backyard is so flooded that the ducks can actually swim around. It's hard to be depressed, no matter how hard the rain comes down, when everywhere I look there's a happily cavorting duck swimming and splashing about.

Christmas, on the other hand, is less than impressed with her new lakefront property. Even though the floor of the turkey chalet is elevated, the ground is so sodden that her bedding gets drenched, no matter how many times a day I put new wood chips down. Apparently the water is coming up through the wooden pallet and rubber mat, which doesn't surprise me, seeing as the water level is up over the top of my muck boots. Now I feed her inside her chalet, so she can eat in peace (turkey chow is Woolimina's favorite meal) and then let her out again so she can bed down in the new warm and toasty alpaca cabana. Gene is going to drag the entire turkey chalet onto higher ground with the rhino, which should be a fun process. I think it would be easier to just shove a pontoon under it and turn her abode into a houseboat.

You know the weather sucks when not even Harvey wants to venture out in it. After spending three days stuck inside the bunny ranch, I opened the door today during a break in the storm. He ventured out for a few hours, then hopped back home when it started raining again. He spent most of his time on the deck, treating my potted plants like his own personal buffet. His other favorite pastime during inclement weather is hopping through the chicken's winter enclosure; I think he likes seeing them squawk and scatter. The chickens spend most of their time there, occasionally venturing out into the rain if they hear me come out onto the deck. Apparently their love of treats trumps their hatred of rain, because if I brave the monsoon they'll still come running. Naturally I feel compelled to make sure I bring an extra special snack, since they're getting rained on and all.

The inside critters, much like their mama, have spent most of their time lounging around on the couch napping in front of the wood stove. Ceri, the German Shepherd, got spayed last week, so she's rocking a cone of shame right now. Since it's approximately the size of a satellite tv dish, she constantly knocks over drinks, chairs, and end tables. On one particularly memorable occasion, she scooped up Charlie the kitten in it. Unfortunately Ceri quickly learned the one benefit of wearing the cone is her ability to traumatize sleeping cats with it. There's nothing like hearing a giant cone beast chasing a herd of five cats while knocking over chairs to remind you that you do, indeed, live in a zoo.

Happy Halloween!!!

Time to increase the treat budget

Since I'm one of those people who need sunshine on a daily basis, and tend to be somewhat melancholy when deprived of it, I naturally project those feelings onto the critters. Or at least, that's how I rationalize buying more exotic, expensive treats during the rainy months - the poor things are depressed! How can I pass up Happy Hen Treats when I walk down the aisle? Harvey and Christmas found themselves particularly uplifted this week after I happened upon presliced, pre-packaged apple slices at QFC. A five-pack was on sale for fifty cents at QFC, so naturally I loaded up. I didn't even worry about the rapidly approaching expiration date, given the population of our backyard. Christmas has already learned what's coming when I reach into my pocket and she hears crinkling. It's a little disconcerting when she tries to get the package while I'm trying to open it, but I figure she's just extra hungry. I have to confess that while dispensing her apples treats the other day I had one of those blinding flashes of insight when I realized I've become a certified crazy bird lady. It hit me as I was biting the apple slices into smaller pieces (to compensate for her beak size) and spitting them into my hand, then dumping them into her bowl. Since I'm basically regurgitating her treats for her, I might as well do the chicken dance around her food bowl while screeching ca-CAW, ca-CAW. But she really does love apples, so you know I'll keep doing it.

I really need to find a treat the ducks love, because they're starting to quack jealously when everyone else is grubbing on Wheat Thins and they're standing around with empty beaks. The only thing I've found that they come running for is watermelon, and that's out of season. Gene won't even consider having some specially flown in from California, no matter how many times I remind him that I don't ask for much. I've tried frozen peas and carrots, bits of bread, canned corn, and apple bits, but so far they just spit those morsels out and quack sadly. They love Wheat Thins, but I'm worried the sharp edges will hurt their little throats, since they don't have teeth to chew them. And I don't care how far I descend into my crazy bird lady persona, I refuse to pre-chew a cracker. That's just wrong. Maybe I'll try bran flakes. I'll have to add that to Gene's shopping list.



Had I known about Cecil in advance, I would have
brought a real camera.

I've also added a critter to my personal list of must haves, which if you'll remember includes quail, peacocks, and pheasants. And this new obsession is Abigail's fault, because she knows how quickly I fall in love and she's the one who took me to the Bug Museum in Gorst. While she and her three-year-old daughter looked around at all the critters on display, I spent my time gazing longingly at Cecil the Sulcata Tortoise. After a long chat with the museum curator, I learned that Cecil will live approximately 100 years, he's a vegetarian, and he'll grow to about 150 pounds. His demeanor is calm although he loves to pace, and his poo generally takes on a log-shape form. (I ask all the important questions right up front). I've already drawn up plans to convert the Bunny Ranch into a duplex, with the new tortoise taking up the fully enclosed, heated, sun-roof equipped lower level, but Gene said he simply insists on getting The Installation - aka Garage Brooding Resort - finished first. I asked him when he planned to get started on it, but he was so focused on thinking about the project that he didn't answer me. At least I'm the only one who left the Bug Museum empty handed; Abigail bought a fire-bellied frog for her 8-year-old son's new bedroom. The frog came in a neat aquatic habitat consisting of a clear acrylic lidded box filled with about a half inch of water at the bottom. A little plastic island was floating inside, with a palm tree glued to it. The island was a little disconcerting, both because it is clearly one of those styrofoam trays that small portions of raw hamburger meat come packaged in, and also because it had a fake ceramic frog glued to it. I tried to convince her to get two frogs, but she wanted to do some research first. Mostly to make sure she wasn't doing the equivalent of putting two Siamese Fighting Fish in the same bowl, I think.

Shy wants to know if you like see-food.

In less exotic news, Fiona and Shy have come to a somewhat uneasy peace, at least during meal times. I've mentioned before how this farm seems to have a bad epidemic of grass is greener syndrome, because Shy is now convinced that the goat grain is delicious, and Fiona loves her some alpaca chews. Shy is slowly emerging as the alpha critter, in that he now shoves his head in the goat feeding station and chows down on grain, totally ignoring Fiona's protests. If she gets too annoying, Shy will take a particularly large mouthful of grain, lower his head to about a foot off the ground while looking up at her, then blow chunks of it all over her face. I'm so gonna try that next time someone gets pushy at the buffet. 

Remind me again why we live in this sodden, dripping state?

I don't even have a good excuse for not posting in two weeks....mostly my time has been spent looking out the window, sighing heavily, and grinding my teeth as I watch the ducks floating around in the huge puddles forming in the backyard. We're going to have to move Christmas's chalet before it floats away; this year's flooding is much worse than last years. Luckily for her, I elevated her floor last year, so the rubber mat is up on pallets and she stays warm and dry despite her new lake front property. Harvey, on the other hand, returns to the Bunny Ranch every night looking rumpled and fussy. He definitely shares my opinion of the rain, and it's making him cranky. The other night I brought out his customary treat when he came hopping home, and he glared at me because it wasn't Wheat Thins. I thought he might appreciate fresh zucchini slices, but apparently not. I braved the rain storm again, swapping out the offending slices for a fresh carrot. He glared at it, then glared at me. After a third trip back to the house, I offered up a freshly dug potato, which earned me a glare and a heavy bunny sigh, but at least he ate it. I guess I need to go stock up on Wheat Thins.

The chickens spend all their time either partying under the winter enclosure or in Harvey's Bunny Ranch. I love looking out the window and seeing twenty of them crammed in there. Harvey doesn't seem to mind, and the chickens have gotten used to him. They truly hate the rain, and tend to look pretty miserable when they get caught out in it. Last week, I thought they needed some cheering up, so I splurged on "Happy Hen Treats" at the feed store. Thank god the family-sized container of freeze-dried meal worms sports a huge 'not for human consumption' label on the front of it, because they look so tasty I might have been tempted. Not.  Definitely worth the $16, though, they come running when I shake the container.

On one of the rain-free days last week, I was helping Gene move the fence line back to enlarge the pasture area. And by helping, I mean I was standing there using my formidable backside to prop up the fence while he pulled it tight. I must have stepped on a slumbering wasp, because I suddenly felt a simultaneous burning and chewing sensation on my upper leg. I've never encountered a wasp before, and my initial thought was somehow a spider had crawled up my leg. My very next thought was that I couldn't see Nugget on her usual perch; my pants have never come off so fast in my life. Fiona tried to help remove the offending garments by grabbing a leg and running off. Not my finest hour, chasing a goat while pantsless in the middle of the afternoon. On the plus side, as I ran past the shed chasing the goat I saw Nugget, which made me feel a bit better. Then Gene checked out the bite mark, and I felt a lot better when he declared it wasp inflicted.

Gene, with Abigail's assistance, spent his weekend building Shy an alpaca cabana, the latest addition to his unending list of projects. It's a three sided structure attached to the goat's shed, and it has a heat lamp and a feed and water station. Shy has yet to go in it, even in the rain, but Christmas and Woolimina love it. Christmas hangs out there during the day, and Wool beds down in it at night. I'm sure once we hire a towel boy, Shy will have no problem hanging out in the cabana. At the rate the yard is filling up, it will be a pool-side cabana in no time.

Other than that, not much is new here on the farm. The chicks are still happy in the garage brooding facility, and I have taken it upon myself to design what I now refer to as The Installation -- a state of the art, six-foot tall, fully enclosed brooding resort. The bottom three feet will be plywood, topped by three feet of framed chicken wire. There will be roosting bars all the way up, and a plywood roosting platform at the top of the wall. The front wall will be hinged, and open in the middle for ease of cleaning. I also wanted to put in a live tree with branches for hopping and perching, but Gene squashed that dream by telling me if we put a tree in the box, then the chicks will get used to roosting in trees and not go into the big coop at night once they're outside. While I had to concede his point and erase the tree from my blueprints, I did remind him to refer to it as The Installation rather than merely 'the box'. He just stared at me, but I'm used to that. The key feature in my brooding resort is a pond feature that hangs below the floor level, with a removable cover. That way ducks can grow up in that half of it, and when we don't have ducks we can cover the pond. I thought that particular detail was genius, and probably enough to earn me a scholarship at the architectural school of my choice, should I choose that as my next career.

Incoming!

Have you ever found yourself trying to remember if it's lamas or alpacas that spit? Turns out, they both do. And alpacas have freakishly good aim. I've had a lot of luck convincing Shy that it's safe to come over and eat grain or hay out of my hand, but somehow he always knows when I'm about to grab his collar and the chase is on. Mostly I've had to grab him in order to adjust his blanket, since either he or a pesky, jealous goat keeps chewing the straps in half. Usually he gives up pretty easily, but sometimes I have to enlist Abigail's help. The two of us then slowly back him into a corner, and then he just gives up and allows us to hold him. If we've chased him too long, or bothered him too much, Abigail and I learned the hard way that when Shy starts burbling like an old Mr. Coffee machine he's about to launch a counterstrike. Now when he starts percolating, we know to duck.

I'm not sure if it's the changing weather or what, but contrariness seems to be contagious this week on the farm. Last night, I watched Harvey hop back into the Bunny Ranch after a hard evening's partying, so I went inside and got him his usual bedtime snack. Fearing he might get tired of Wheat Thins, I added a fingerling potato from the garden. There's a trick to delivering Harvey's bed times treats, since it's dark outside and hard to see the spiders who cohabitate with him. If you turn too far to the right after entering the Bunny Ranch, you walk into Horatio's web, and too far to the left will bring you face to face with Esmeralda, who is about three times Horatio's size. When I bent down to deliver Harvey's treats, I took my eyes off the bunny for a split second to make sure my butt wasn't backing anywhere near Esmeralda's spacious abode.  Either Harvey got tired of waiting for his crackers or he mistook the base of my thumb for his potato treat, but ouch. That bunny can bite. At least he let go right away, unlike Claire, who used to hang on for the ride. 

Harvey has also taken it upon himself to excavate various tunnels throughout the greenbelt behind the pasture area. He's strong enough to actually bend fencing, and has done so in numerous places. If you listen to him in the woods, he makes so much noise if you didn't know any better you would start wishing you were loaded for bear. He also hollowed out an area underneath the circular composter, which got overrun by blackberries this year. He ate his way underneath it, which caused a sort of vaulted area to form. Not content with just the area underneath it, he excavated all the way back into the brambles. Since the composter was strategically placed next to the compost pile, one of the chicken's favorite bug hunting areas, guess where they've started laying? I haven't been able to reach the pile of eggs I'm suspecting is back there somewhere, but I did see a chicken crawl out of the tunnel making what Gene and I call "egg screeches", which is their proclamation to the world that an egg has just entered it. For the last few weeks, I've noticed that I haven't been collecting any tiny sized eggs from the nesting areas. I just figured that the eggs were getting larger, but now I'm worried there's a huge clutch of them in the bramble tunnel. Gene's going to have to let me know what he finds in there.

It's all about looking good...

I should have seen this coming, but the weather just had to pick Shy's makeover date to turn colder. The day after he got sheared, Gene came home in the morning to find him shivering out in the pasture. Obviously that broke my heart just a little bit, so I went out that very afternoon and bought him a designer blanket to wear until his wool grows back. Or until it gets warmer, whichever comes first. Since I couldn't find a store in our area that carries high fashion alpaca outerwear, I had to settle for a foal blanket. Shy hasn't quite forgiven us for the whole filing of the teeth without Novocaine thing, so convincing him to get within grabbing distance took a little work. Gene drew on his old skills of breaking horses, and within minutes Shy was happily ensconced in his new coat.

Abigail cuddles aren't optional.

Since then, we've corralled him a number of times, just to give him pets, treats, and holds. He's back to eating out of my hand again, now that he knows I'm not going to inflict fashion on him every time I come near. The only other thing I want to do is add some sort of flap to the butt area of his coat, because his rear view is still disturbing, and in my opinion equipment should always be kept in some sort of tool shed.

Speaking of equipment hanging out in plain view, it's just about time for little Wesley to go live with the boy goats down at Abigail's pasture. The first couple times I thought Wesley was just playing with poor innocent little Leia, but no, he's clearly practicing his more adult skills. Despite being rather indecent at times, Wesley is still the cutest goat ever. He loves to climb in my lap whenever I sit down in the pasture, and he usually falls asleep in my arms. I've been letting all the critters graze in the back greenbelt, and Wesley has found a new favorite place to nap back there. During what will probably be one of the last truly sunny days of the season, Wesley took the kind of epic sunshine nap that makes you want to lie down right next to him and take one yourself. I think that's why I spend so much time out in the back watching the animals; I've never been more at peace than when I'm surrounded by napping goats and softly cackling chickens.

But apparently having too much peace in one's life is a bad thing, because just when I'm enjoying the sight of happily foraging chickens, Marley has to ruin it by playing mind games with me. I've been lulled into a false since of security lately, because Marley hasn't launched himself at the back of my legs in at least a month. Instead, he's started doing something infinitely more terrifying. He will sneak up behind me, then start twining around my legs like a cat. Then he'll sit on the toe of my boot and stare at me. It's like he's daring me to shake him off. I can't tell if he's genuinely trying to be loving and sweet, or if he's debating whether he should go for my face. So far I just stand there until he moves; being the optimistic type I'm assuming he just wants to cuddle.

Gene has been spending a lot more time in the back yard lately, since he's got a new hobby. And by hobby, I mean he's joined me in one of my most epic battles to date, Battle Rat. Winning Battle Mink on behalf of the remaining ducks had one unfortunate downside - by chasing off the minks, who eat the rats, the rats have taken advantage of the void and filled it with more rats. Gene's not nearly as upset about their presence as I am. In fact, he tends to look forward to dusk with a kind of maniacal glee that makes me glad I'm not a rat. The lengthening shadows of night will find him perched on his backyard blind, pellet gun in one hand (complete with new scope) and beer in the other. He's invited Abigail's husband down for a shoot off, but so far it's been a solo operation. I want to get him a little rat-shaped stencil so he can keep track of his kills on the shed door, but I'm worried he'd run out of space too quickly.