A Tale of Two Roos: The Superhero Edition

Major drama in the chicken yard a few nights past - Spiderman vs Batman (seriously). Batman is our mellow old black Cochin roo (pictured below) and Spiderman is our newest roo, who seems determined to climb the pecking order by any means necessary, up to and including the beating-down of his brother birds.

Our sweet Batty-boy

Why on earth would you have two roos? you say. Actually, we have four roosters! Darth Vader (a Black-laced Red Wyandotte/Australorp mix) is the king of the chicken yard, followed by the sweet and humble Batman, and lastly, Godzilla, a young Cuckoo Marans. Everyone got along just fine until Spiderman entered the mix.

Spiderman came along with four hand-me-down hennies that were gifted to us. Being that we'd had multiple roos already who managed to live relatively drama-free, we thought we'd attempt to gently work Spiderman into the mix. We're a few weeks in, and thought that things were progressing slowly but well in the right direction, until the other night.

When it was time to lock the chickens up for the night, Scarlet came upon a rattled, bloodied Batman cowering in a corner of the coop, not willing or able to hop up to his usual roost. He wasn't badly hurt - just his comb - but it was enough to get our attention. At that time, however, we didn't know who had done the damage - a fellow roo or an incompetent predator. The answer came the next morning, when Scarlet interrupted Spiderman trying it on again with poor Batty. Scarlet shooed Spiderman away and closed Batman up in the coop for his own safety, until we could figure out our game plan for restoring peace to the chicken yard.

Having got his little butt whooped twice in less than 24 hours, Batman was pretty traumatized, though, thankfully, not seriously hurt. We set him and his main laydie, Louise, up in a extra large pet carrier inside the coop.

It has been my experience that injured/shocked/recovering critters - especially poultry - feel better, heal better and plain-ol' survive better if they have a buddy with them during their convalescence. I also decided to keep the "private room" as it were in the coop and around the other birds (but out of reach of would-be attackers) to further lessen the trauma of the change. Two days later, Batman & Weezer are right as rain and back in the mix with the rest of the flock. Spiderman was swiftly removed to freezer camp, and all was made right again in the Yard.

The End

Putting the Laydies to Work

Need a bit of soil weeded and turned over? Sic your hens on it!

Eight hungry hennies in the tractor, day 1

I have a long-disused bed that I needed to start clearing out to prepare for an April/May/June planting of flowers. This bed is far removed from (and less protected than) our veggie garden, and as such, has been sort of ignored since we moved in almost 5 years(!) ago.

With weeds and reed canary grass getting that long and strong of a foothold, I knew that weeding this bed wasn't going to be easy. So I recruited some hard working gals to help get me started. As you can see in the photo below, they've made a decent job of it on their first pass.

The tractor, day 3, and it's path of destruction improvement.

All this, and eggs too!

Sneaky Peepers!

You know that feeling you get when, as a parent, your kids' behavior catches your attention because they're acting too casual?

Our Brahma-Cauna (Buff Brahma/Ameracauna) hen, Pegleg Peggy, (owing to her once spraddle-legged gait) was straight-up busted today, trying to zip back into the chicken yard through a hole in the fence.

The guilty party is the girl in back, fleeing from justice.

That was enough to pique my curiosity, warranting a stroll along the fence line. And whattaya know?

I knew it!

Can you see it?

Jackpot!

Bill and I had installed some new "upcycled" recycling bin nest boxes in the coop on Saturday, and we got two eggs that same evening, raising my suspicion that our hennies had already started up laying again after their long Winter's nap, but laying the eggs somewhere different and weird instead of, you know, somewhere that we could actually find them. IwasrightIwasrightIwasright!

Our repurposed recycling bin nest boxes.

We ended up with a dozen eggs from the stash spot. I've collected them and brought them in for further investigation into their possible edibility. If they check out ok, it'll be breakfast for dinner tomorrow night. If not, next stop - compost bin.

Either way, it sure is nice to know that our laydies are back up and running and that Spring is definitely, finally on its way back.

The Telltale Huevos

We don't use supplemental light in our coops. We never have, with the exception of the few times that we've been taken by surprise by a mid-Winter clutch hatching out, necessitating the extra heat.

Typically, our girls enjoy a well earned ovulation-vacation during the cold and dark months, which can lead to certain teenagers becoming a little cavalier about checking the nest boxes when she does her chicken chores. This happens -literally- every year, even though I harp on my certain teenager to take the extra 5 seconds to check them anyway. And she says things like "Ok", and "I will" and my favorite "Nope, no eggs again today!".

With the recent passing of the Winter solstice, I thought it might be about time for a few of our hennies to start laying again, so I decided to do a little spot check on the nests. Surprise, surprise!

Busted!

Seventeen eggs. Seventeen flipping eggs! That's almost $6 worth! A certain teenager was very repentant when confronted with the evidence of her ongoing dereliction of duty and offered to wash the eggs off for me. You're darn tootin' you'll be washing those eggs! *grumble, grumble*

Long Time, No Write

Things have been slightly nuts here. Scratch that. Things have been full-on cuckoo nuts here. The details aren't glamorous, just the usual holiday crunch on top of trying to open a business. When I'm not submitting reams of paperwork to the city/county/state for the store, I'm feverishly knitting dishcloths and leaning way too heavily on Amazon to wrap up my shopping.

Thus, I'm all manner of distracted and haven't had the time or mental oomph! to post anything. So here's an update from the Boggy Hollow crew, in a nutshell.

Bunnies - Marshmallow is *possibly* pregnant. We'll know definitively in another 20 days or so. We're moving her hutch into the basement, just in case, to keep her and the (maybe?) babies out of the weather.

Dogs - We've started up fostering again! We hosted a sweet little girl named Mariah for just 8 days this month before she moved on to her forever home. We were lined up to pick up a Pyr/Aussie pup to foster today, but he was adopted at the last minute. Fostering is work, but it's so rewarding.

'Riah and Rexy, snoozin'

Chickens - We've already lost a few this Winter to a trio of raccoons that were slowly picking off the less-wary gals (the ones who roost up outside regardless of how often we've wrestled them into the safety of the coop at night.) Rex managed to tree the thieves one night and Bill gave them a little something to think about with a few pellets to their butts. No one has gone missing since!

Goats - We still have 6, five girls and one stinky boy, though that number is about to grow soon. 

Greetings from the Boggy Hollow maternity ward!

Ol' Bluey, as wide as she is tall.

Buckley, the cantankerous, highly smelly, soon-to-be Papa of the lot

And that's about it. The giveaway is still forthcoming, though I'm rapidly reaching knitting fatigue, so the goodies contained therein may be slightly different that originally planned, but still good stuff for all that. In the mean time - have a wonderful Christmas/Solstice/Ugly Sweater season, and kindly chug a mug of something spicy and bourbon-laced for me. ;)

Eggzilla!

According to a handy-dandy little chart on Wikipedia, any chicken egg larger than 2.5 ounces (70+ grams) is considered "Jumbo". Well, they might need to invent a new category for some of our laydies' eggs. Check it out -

Booyah!

Can you read the bitty numbers on my scale? That there egg is a quarter pounder! Curiosity had me googling average duck egg sizes and even they don't typically get this big. Dear hen that laid this - thank you and also, I'm sorry. Maybe we should cut back your protein a tad? :-\

Now that I've brought this egg in, the girls are suddenly keen to have eggs for dinner. They're dying to see how many yolks might be inside this badboy. My guess is at least two. We'll let you know!

Update: Mystery solved! Two full sized yolks!

Our Eggy Spectrum

Well, 2 out of 3 are our eggs anyway. 

The quail's egg is from my friend, B. She shared a few dozen of these gorgeous little eggs with me, which we will be taste-testing alongside our chicken and Guinea eggs tomorrow for dinner. They're almost too pretty to eat!

Critter Census - Spring 2013

For better or for worse, these numbers are likely to change due to either loss or gain - hopefully gain - within the next 12 weeks leading up to Summer.

Chickens - 14

Sir Rosco Peckins - Lavender Orpington roo
Leroy Brown - Splash Cochin roo
Leon - Black-laced Red Wyandotte roo
Lacy - Silver-laced Cochin hen
Coo-Coo - White/Wheaten Americauna hen
Amelia - Dark Americauna hen
Rose - Brown Americauna hen
Gracie - Golden-laced black Polish hen
Puffy - White Silkie hen (currently sitting on 9 eggs at last count)
Ewok - Brown Americauna hen
Miss Bitey Pants - Black "Policauna" hen
Jasmine - Black Policauna hen
Australorp hens who's names I don't remember (2 of them)

The coyote seems to have picked off a few look-alike hens without our notice, based upon our slowly but steadily shrinking flock. 

Guinea Fowl - 2

Spotty & Sylvia - Pearl Grey hens

Rabbits - 1

Prince Charming - Neutered mini-Rex male

Goats - 19 (Aye, chihuahua!)

Blue - 11 year old Agouti Grey, disbudded Nigerian Dwarf doe
Chardonnay - 5 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, disbudded mini-Lamancha doe
  Chardy's twins - dark in color, doelings
Hop - 2 year old Fawn & White spotted, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Hop's male kid - White & Grey, ND "erect" eared, disbudded mini-Lamancha wether
Valentina - 2 year old Fawn colored, elf-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Valentina's twins - Fawn/buckskin colored, gopher-eared
Liberty - 1 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Liberty's kid - Black with white markings, disbudded
Hope - 1 year old Caramel brown, blue-eyed, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha doe
  Hope's kid - Fawn colored, disbudded
Sidney - 4 year old, White with black markings, erect-eared, disbudded Alpine doe
  Sidney's kid - disbudded wether
Sophie - 3 year old, White with black markings, erect-eared, disbudded Alpine doe
  Sophie's kids - Black & White, gopher-eared, disbudded, mini-Lamancha/Alpine doeling
                         Black & White, erect-eared, disbudded, mini-Lamancha/Alpine wether
Buckley - 2 year old, Buckskin colored, gopher-eared, mini-Lamancha buck

I feel bad that I can't recall off the top of my head all of the pertinent details about all of the new babies, but between my memory issues and the landslide of babies born in the past two weeks, I'm just out of my depth at the moment. :\

Pigs - 3 (I'm not too committed to learning these guys' names, and so I venture a guess at who's who here.)

Baykin(?) - 9 week old spotted gilt
Prosciutto(?) - 9 week old black gilt
Porkchop(?) - 9 week old black barrow

In addition to our livestock, we have the pets - dogs, Rex & Penny, curmudgeonly old box turtle, Bob, and our lone parakeet, Applesauce. That brings our grand total to 43 critters. HOLY CRAP.

Alien Angry Girl vs. Predator

Y'all know my Rexy-boy, right?

First week home, January 2012

Rex is a Great Pyrenees/Pyr mix of some sort. His pink nose is the big giveaway that he's probably not a pure Pyr, but his personality and instincts are ALL PYR, for better or for worse. As you probably know, if you've read this blog much, Great Pyrenees are a breed of Livestock Guardian Dogs, or LGDs. LGD's are 99% instinct, having been bred for a thousand years for single purpose - to protect their charges. Noble though they are, this take-charge attitude also has a downside - intense pigheadedness. LGD's are notorious for disrespecting personal space and property lines, answering instead to their highly tuned senses and instincts about where their dominion begins and ends, and who/what poses a potential threat to their humans and critters.

Knowing this full well, we shored up our fencing before we even adopted Rex. Much like a toddler will gleefully hone in on the one thing that you missed in an otherwise airtight, baby-proofed room, Rex let us know pretty quickly that anything short of chain-link and barbed wire would not deter him from exploring the whole of North Olympia at his leisure. So we patched, and re-fenced and fortified until, at last, it seemed like we'd tightened up our borders sufficiently.

Every once in a while, the lines were still breached. Usually, a careless kid or a half-frozen gate latch was to blame, but lately, Rex was escaping like clockwork from parts unknown. We wouldn't realize that he'd even gotten out until he pranced his fluffy butt right past the front window, proud as could be, right down the middle of the road.

And of course, he does not come to his name once he has tasted sweet, sweet freedom. Instead, he looks at you over his shoulder, does a playful bounce, then takes the hell off, like it's a game. It is infuriating.

So after he'd demolished and weaseled out of the fence about a dozen times this week, we felt that we were out of options, and had to install a run. Today was his first day on the chain gang, and he was none too thrilled about it.

Who would think to take advantage of the fact that our guardian was tethered and effectively useless? Why Mr. Coyote, of course! 

At a quarter after twelve this afternoon, just as I was getting ready to go and get my hair cut, I heard an almighty ruckus erupt in the chicken yard, followed by a trio of panicked hens running across the driveway. Uh-oh.

So I run to the chicken yard in time to see a young coyote hauling ass through our bog. $%@*!!!

The chickens are in the driveway, perched on top of the fence, and running around bocking like mad. I try to take a quick inventory of who's there. I'm not seeing Sir Peckins, Gracie or Cotton. After another minute of searching, I find poor Cotton, our only Cochin hen.

Cotton, in happier times.

Determined not to let the @$$hole coyote have what is left of her, I scoop up her still-warm, fluffy little body and bring her back to the driveway, where I stash her away in an unused trash bin until Bill and the girls can come home and bury her. I still can't find Gracie or Peck.

I attempted to round up the rest of the chickens, but even with the bribe of fresh bread, they won't come into the coop where I can lock them up safe. Then I think, my goats!

Kidding time is potentially close, so my does are extra fat and unwieldy, and at any given moment, there may be babies on the ground and the smells that accompany a birth that would serve as a powerful attractant to a carnivorous predator. Great.

So I fetch Rexy off of his run and onto a leash, and we slip and stumble our way through the mud, up to the goats' pasture. Nine out of nine. All present and accounted for. Whew.

I'm reluctant to go back inside while this jerk of a coyote still lurks around who knows where, but my knees are beyond trashed from the unexpected scrambling and trudging along side of and being pulled by 75 pounds of excited dog. I decide to check the chickens just one last time. As I try, once again, completely fruitlessly, to round up the chickens, from about 9 feet up in a cedar tree I hear a flutter and then see Miss Gracie descending. Oh thank you, patron saint of chickens, whoever you are.

And as I'm about to give up and head on in to ice down my knee and call my neighboring farmers with a warning about the coyote, a shrill and fervent bocking erupts from behind the coop. I check to see if the damn coyote is back, and instead I see an out-of-sorts Sir Peckins, frantically making his way back from the far end of the chicken yard. The bastard coyote only got the one hen then, and in the end, he won't really get her, as we'll bury her deep under the big alder tree.

It's slightly nuts how such a physically and emotionally exhausting half hour can run you through the entire spectrum of emotions - anger, fear, sadness, determination, relief, thankfulness - and, for all it takes from you, leaves you more certain than ever that you are in the very heartbeat of your calling. To know this property and my critters are the things that I know and that working with them gets my blood pumping with purpose gives me another level of peacefulness and determination in going into this surgery and following through with the rehab and PT that it is going to take to get me well and truly on my feet again and outside working my farm. 

Bring it on. :)

The Indignities of Transition

My hens are mostly finished molting, and, with a slight increase in daylight, and a little extra protein in their diet, have also slowly began laying again.

This one gal, however, has not yet completely recovered from the ravages of her first adult molt, and is reduced to a single, sad-looking tail feather.

Mama feels your pain, anonymous-Australorp-hen-that-only-my kids-could-identify-by-name. My molt was pretty intense too, and the grow-back phase is slow and awkward. We're in this together, girlfriend.

Filthy bathroom mirror and all. You're welcome. ;)

A Coming Out Party for Beth

Our Bethie, a lovely black-laced red Wyandotte hen who we have long suspected of actually being a rooster, made it official today. Beth crowed!

"Beth" surrounded by a portion of his harem

Crowed might be a generous description. If I had to convey the sound in terms that a non-farm-exposed individual could understand, I'd describe it as...the sound of someone gargling mud? If I didn't know it was Bethie, I'd be sure that there was someone out there murdering a set of bagpipes with a sledgehammer.

Beth has been a strapping chickie from the get go, and a notorious food hog/nibbler of exposed digits (he is why flip flops are a no-no in the Chicken Yard), setting himself apart from his slightly more timid peers. His robust physique and assertiveness lead us to suspect she was a fella, but hey - we don't judge. It was up to him to let us know where he stood.

There's plenty of room for all on this little farm. :)

The kiddos want to give him a new name, but so far, nothing. Any suggestions?

The Naked Bird Blues

The hennies and roos have undertaken their annual molt in earnest, and man are they looking ROUGH these days.

One sad-looking Polish hennie, our Gracie-girl,  mid-molt.

Beyond the sorry look of them, chickens in molt are also non-layers. It has been over a week since we've had an egg from them. My Fall weather-induced baking binge will have to wait until the gals are feeling more forthcoming, because the idea of buying eggs has become downright, well...

... inconceivable!

And the irony of feeling thusly about the lack of a good egg is not lost on me.

Meat Birds

Today I, along with my fellow farm nerdess, Lisa, finally decided on a breed of meat chickens to order. We're going to go with the highly recommended Freedom Rangers.

According to what I've read and what we've heard from folks in the know, Freedom Rangers have many of the benefits of the Cornish cross (an F1 hybrid bird produced by breeding an Indian Game {also known as a "Cornish Game"} with a Plymouth Rock) - rapid growth, good feed/weight conversions - without many of the drawbacks associated with the ultra fast growing Cornish X's - leg deformity, organ failure, skin splitting and poor foraging/self preservation instincts.

We considered trying "slow birds" (more traditional meat varieties, such as Plymouth Rocks and Delawares) to avoid the pitfalls of the Cornish cross. But then, you end up with a smaller bird that takes at least a good month more to grow. That's money and time that could be saved!

And so, we kept coming back to the Freedom Rangers. They sound like the best of both worlds - quick turnaround and great flavor, minus the scary health issues. No franken-chickens for us, thanks.

I'll be interested to see if they really do live up to their glowing reputation. For better or worse, I should have an answer to share with you on the matter by the first week of December, at the latest.

A Plethora of Good Things

Life has been wacky for a while now, so I'm going to focus on nothing but the positives today. I've got a heck of a lot to be thankful for!

*I just found out that we've been accepted as doggy foster parents! We get our first foster pup next weekend.

*I got SO HOOKED UP with garden goodies by my sweet and generous friend, Lisa, that my kitchen runneth over with garlic and beans.

*Three of my four apple trees are loaded with fruit, as is my one and only pear tree. Pies & cider... nom.

*It's been 3 months since my accident, and I'd say I'm, 80% back to normal. My broken arm has healed, my scalp wound has finally closed, and my cognitive issues seem to be dogging me less. :)

*The girls go back to school in two weeks and three days. But who's counting?

*Fritzen & Oreo, two Lamancha does that we sold to a friend earlier this year, are here for a romantic getaway with our guy, Buckley. I get extra goat nuzzles this week!

*The vet got back to us re: Anabelle. It seems that she had something like cancer, which sucks, but the good news is that the rest of our flock is not at risk. Trying to see this as a good thing, even though I know her last days were hard.

*The heat wave seems to have passed, temporarily at least. The difference between 75 degrees and 95 degrees is too beautiful to describe.

*I have an awesome giveaway in the works! Stay tuned. :)

Meat Chickens?

We've never raised chickens with the sole purpose of eating them. Sure, we've harvested a spare, uppity rooster now and then, but we've never bought chicks with the express intent to butcher them.

I think we're ready.

Being that I'm a total noob in terms of meat chickens, I really don't know much of anything about what breed to try. Help a sister out - what breed(s) have you raised for meat? Would you choose that breed again? How was the flavor? Was the time, trouble and cost of DIY chicken rearing worth it?

Use it or Lose it - Ham, Berries & One (formerly) Grumpy Rooster

We're doing our traditional end-of-Summer freezer clean out. Right about this time, when all of the garden goodies, berries, and -when we're lucky- fish and shellfish, are rolling in, I try to make room by using up the dregs of last year's bounty.

In addition to the Summer boom of veggies and fish, we're getting half a pig from husband's Aunt & Uncle. This is the second time we've bought their home raised pork and it is AMAZING. However, that means that I need to make even more room in the freezer. So, this is a no-holds-barred round of UioLi. Here we go!

What I need to use-

*5 pounds ham (from last year's pig)
*1 - 6 pound rooster
*Untold amounts of frozen berries - blueberries, blackberries, huckleberries, Oregon Grapes, Salal, etc.

Magically transformed into-

*Sliced ham for lunchmeat
*Ham bone broth
*Roast chicken - I learned the hard way that a cranky old rooster makes for incredibly tough meat, no matter how hard you try to cook him up right. :(
*Chicken Stock
*Blueberry and Marionberry Buttermilk Waffles
*Goat Cookies (uses berries)
*Fruit Leather

The ham has been baked and sliced, and the remaining odd bits - the bone, skin, fat, etc., have been set to simmer with celery, carrots, onions & fresh thyme. I also added a dash of homemade apple cider vinegar to help de-mineralize the bones, releasing the nutrients into the broth. I'm then freezing the broth in silicone freezer trays, then bagging up the broth blocks for use later in soups and sauces.

The leftover roasted rooster bits are also simmering with a shallot and some celery, and turning into a nice, rich broth. If I can scare up the ingredients, I might have to make some pho soup with this guy. :)

The Chicken Whisperer Chump

You all know by know that this is house is Casa de Nerd, right? We're nerds in the conventional sense - we're all rather socially awkward and covet and hoard books like they were bars of gold - but we're also farm nerds. We're the kind of goobers that do things like hang around in the poultry barn at the county fair ogling exotic ducks and chickens, or who relentlessly pick the brain of the poor lady selling goat cheese at the farmers market. What kind of goats do you have? How long do you leave your feta in the brine? Are your goats fed pasture or pellets? We collectively, can be a little intense.

We were budding farm nerds even when we still lived in city limits. Expanding our geek horizons was part of what lead us down this path to buying our 3 1/2 green acres. We wanted more chickens, turkeys, and maybe something with hooves, the more exotic, the better. Olivia with her Asperger Syndrome's signature laser-like focus on a narrow, often obscure topic, was the queen nerd when it came to birds, especially chickens. She literally memorized field guides and encyclopedias about all things bird, and coveted, above all things, fancy chickens.

So, when we moved to Boggy Hollow, one of the first items on our farm checklist was to greatly expand our flock of chickens. We pored over books, the Murray McMurray catalog, and asked our 10-year old resident bird nerd to weigh in. We decided on a mixture of some of the lower-maintenance, high-yield breeds like Australorps and Ameracaunas, with a couple of silver laced Polishes thrown in to appease Liv's appetite for fancy birds.

The workhorse breeds thrived. They started laying right on time, and most of them even laid through the winter. The Polishes... we're down to two.

We've done a little experimental breeding to see what we could see, and ended up with a goofy little fancy-pants brood of babies that we call the "Policaunas". Crested, jet-black hens that lay pale, pale blue eggs. And half of them are frizzled. Pretty funky! Still, Liv longed for the truly fancy birds; Suramas, Brahmas, Silkies, Silver Spangled Hamburgs, the fluffier, more feather-footed and floppily-crested, the better. Explaining to her that only no-nonsense chickens would work on a farm such as ours fell on deaf ears. Repeatedly.

So we finally gave in, a little.

Today I brought home 5 chicks from the feed store - 2 light Brahmas, 2 Silkies and one that we *think* is a white Ameracauna. Liv was on cloud nine.



With the altogether too fresh memory of our last clutch of incubator chicks' poop-funk smell permeating my back room, I sought an alternative way to brood this small clutch without sacrificing our indoor air quality. We decided to try a method that I'd heard of other folks doing with great success - sneaking days old chicks under a broody hen while she slept. Easy-peasy!

Not exactly.

Bill put our notoriously broody girl, Huckleberry in a separate run just before nightfall and set up a heat lamp as insurance in case the transfer didn't go so well. Then about an hour after dark, I went out to slide the babies under Hucky.

Huck, unfortunately woke and began wandering around in a daze. She sat on the babies a few times, whether or not by complete accident, I can't say. When I tried to pop an errant chick back underneath her, she rattle-clucked at me, which is a good indication that she is feeling protective of her nest. I watched them as unobtrusively as I could from outside the run. Things seemed to be going ok, when one of the Brahmas popped out from under Huckleberry and sat right next to her head, wailing out a panic peep that got the attention of every bird in the coop. Huckleberry gave the little one a few rather vicious looking pecks, and the complainer turned tail and burrowed back under Huck's breast. I'm assuming that she's going to be a no-nonsense, spare the rod, spoil the child-type of Mama, and not an annoyed biddy who will have run all of the babies off by morning. I'll be checking on them every few hours tonight as quickly and quietly as I can, just to make sure that no one is being picked on or left out in the cold. I'm already worried about the little black silkie. He's just a little too floppy for my liking. Hopefully some time sandwiched between his reluctant new Mama's breast and a bed of fresh straw will perk him right up. Morning is going to be make or break time for this little experiment in avian foster parenting.

The things that we do for our kids... just keep getting weirder.

The Difference Between Success and Failure...

...is a dishcloth. Well, it was for me, anyway.

Ten days ago I started an incubator full of eggs that the hens had laid in weird little hidey holes here and there in their yard. Whenever I find an egg "out of bounds", whether it be just one or a whole clutch, I always either compost them or incubate them. The last thing I want one of our friends or customers to crack open is an egg that has already started down the path to chickenhood. Been there. *shivers*

So, though we didn't need this brood of babies, we figured that we might as well incubate them, what with Spring coming, supposedly, and maybe sell a few, keep a few. 'Twas not to be.

I started the incubator in our back room, which is unheated. It is the same place that I start all of my seeds on their heat mats and under grow lights. It's basically like a greenhouse that is connected to my spare room.

Well, the seeds don't mind the cool so much, but my poor little incubator just could not get up to temp. I upped it by little smidges each day, trying to get to the magic 99.5 degrees, but never going higher than 90. I maxed out the "increase" switch without ever reaching temperature. I knew that this wasn't great, but what else could I do to increase the heat?

I considered a heating pad. Nah, For one thing it had auto shutoff, so the temp wouldn't stabilize anyway, and for another, I was too scared that it would go bananas and somehow burn my house down. For a lack of better ideas, I threw a kitchen towel over the top of the incubator, hoping that that little 1/32" thickness of cloth would insulate my little foam box just enough to hit the 99.5 degree mark. Boy did I underestimate that towel!

I checked the eggs later that evening, and upon removing the top of the incubator was greeted with a hot blast of sulphery/chicken poopy smelling air. OH NO.

The temp on the thermometer was at 120 degrees! 101 degrees is theoretically enough to kill a chicken embryo. There was no doubt, these little eggies were toast.

I removed them from the incubator with a great deal of care, lest I drop one or smack a few together and create a noxious cloud of superfunk. Bill carried them ever-so-carefully to the compost bin, and I was left with a smelly, empty, fireball-hot incubator. :(

And so I'm bummed. Poor eggs. The only potential silver lining here is that only about 1/4 of the eggs that I candled had shown any signs of development at any point anyway, so many of them may have been duds from the start. Maybe they weren't fertile in the first place? That would be hard to imagine with the way King Kong has been, err... "patronizing" his ladies lately. Maybe they got too cold out in the chicken yard before they were found? We've had a lot of weird cold snaps since mid-January, jammed in right next to beautiful sunny days. It's the devil's potpourri, this Winter weather of ours. Or maybe, I just straight up murdered 42 potential little fluff balls with my kitchen towel and a heaping helping of stupid.

Next time, I'll preheat the incubator to find the perfect temp before adding my eggy babies. And yes, I will be using my kitchen towel turned insulation WITH EXTREME CAUTION.

Sir Fluffelbutt Saves the Day!

Rex is already earning his LGD stripes! Last night he alerted us about a disturbance in the farm force, and Bill and I went to investigate. Long story short - Bill saw a red fox in the road, and my chicken security double-check revealed a few lapses on the chicken-locker-upper's part.

Luckily, Rex's heads-up was enough to get us outside in time to beat Mr. Fox to the punch. Big atta-boys and belly scratches were given, and the head of security went calmly back to his post (the front porch) to continue his watch. :)


Defender of the Flocks, at rest.

I have to say, even though Rexy isn't a purebred Pyr, he has been a kick-ass farm dog and companion, as promised by the wonderful people at the Great Pyrenees Rescue Society. We are so thankful to everyone who lobbied on Rex's behalf to rescue him and find him a good forever home.


Rest easy, Sweet Rexy. You are home.

Pikshurs of my Baybeez

Sorry, I get all mushy like that when it comes to the little ones. Also, I've been spending maybe a little too much time on the Corel PaintShop software that came with my camera, tinkering with pics of the babies. For your viewing pleasure-


One of the babies (a hen, we think) from the clutch hatched on 10/1/11. Mama was a red/brown Ameracauna and Papa was a White Crested Black Polish Frizzle. We are tentatively calling this mix "Policauna". ;)


I want to go outside, but I'm a little chicken. (BWAHAHA!)


A non-frizzled Policauna. This little dude/dudette is always very curious about visitors.


My Oreo-girl snuggling up to her Mama, Fritzen. It will be hard to see Fritzy move on to her new home, but I know that they are going to treat her like a queen.


Sisters :)