I had pretty much given up hope. On the fourth day, I received a call from an Animal Control officer asking if I had found my Malinois. He was calling from the hill across the road. A neighbor had seen a brown dog, so I told him I would be right over. I met the neighbors and spent about an hour calling and whistling for Kishka. She had been seen by two neighbors running through yards and she was limping on a hind leg and wouldn't come to anyone. If it was Kishka, why didn't she come home? She wasn't that far away. Finally, I gave up and came home.
Later that afternoon I had two friends in the yard and we were talking over the situation. I called and whistled and a dog barked on the other hill. Kishka almost always barks two or three times and pauses, a trait guaranteed to foil any anti-bark collar. This dog did that and sounded so much like my dog. One friend swore it couldn't be her, but was another dog that barks a lot. The other friend said she thought she saw a brown spot down from the neighbor houses in the heavy brush. This dog barked in two's and three's, and she sounded like Kishka, but why didn't she come home if she was that close? I let it go. It probably wasn't her.
Later that night I was walking the new puppy, Sadie, and sat on the trailer in the yard, crying and worrying about my bandit dog who was God knows where. It was way after midnight, a lovely time of night. Finally, in desperation, I howled like a wolf. Kishka always howls at the sirens of emergency vehicles and sometimes we howl together. I howled again and was answered by the same mournful cry on the other hill. Other dogs might bark but no other dog would return a howl. That was my Kishka.
I was prepared to be met by "the law" considering the noise Kishka and I were making. The hell with it. I got in my car and drove down my hill to the paved road howling all the way. I stopped at the end of my drive and howled some more. I could hear the answering howl slowly coming down the opposite hill. She was moving so slow. I got back in the car and drove across the road to the entrance road on the other hill. The terrain was easier there for a dog that might be injured. We continued to howl and I called encouragement. She was getting closer and there was no doubt it was my velvet bandit. She finally came in view, hopping on three legs, very skiddish, unsure what to do. She came to me and we hugged and I cried. She nearly knocked me down getting into the car. I drove her home and, lifting her out of the car, got her into the house. Both her back legs were skinned with great hunks of tissue missing. I could see cartilage. I bandaged her legs the best I could and shot her with a half cc of penicillin. It was 0217 25 Sept 2011. I called the friend who said she saw a brown spot in the brush and gave her the news.
The next day I took her to the emergency vet, it being Sunday, I paid dearly. They took her for x-rays. No broken bones but they would have to put her under to clean and debried the wounds. They wanted a $200 deposit and I had to sign a paper guaranteeing to pay up to $713 for treatment. I get $298 a month in SS disability so I got out the plastic. They wouldn't even let me see her. I left and picked her up the next day. Her gorgeous face was hidden within a cone and her left leg was bandaged. I had to lift her into the car. The next day I took her back to be checked and learned, after insisting I was not squeamish and could handle the sight and job awaiting me, how to apply a sugar bandage. I live on a farm, dammit. I used to volunteer at vet hospitals. I've seen more gore than most. I've thrown the healthy puppies of late term spays into the trash, and gone home and cried all night over it. I've seen dogs hit and drug by cars missing most of their hind legs. I've held my hand over the mouth of a poisoned puppy to muffle it's screams because the vet didn't want the waiting customers to be bothered hearing it's suffering. I did sterile bandages on my mother when she was dying of cancer. Cut me some slack and get out of the way!
She is still hopping on three legs, removes dressings often, but the granulation is coming along nicely. I don't have two or three people holding my dog down while I apply dressings because she stands while I work, knowing that, painful tho it is, I am helping. She stands because we are connected, we are meant to be together, good times and bad, she is my Velvet Bandit and I am giving her the gift of my caring, my love through my gentle hands, the healing energy of my soul. God willing, she should recover completely. She is one very lucky, very unique dog.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
My Velvet Bandit
She used to steal my pajamas. I would go to get ready for bed and my pajamas would be gone from my bed. I had a dogie door then, and Kishka, Hannah and Jiggy would come in and out as they pleased. So would my pajamas. Kishka, for some never to be known dogie reason, would take them out in the yard and that is where I would find them when I got ready for bed. I'd make sure there were no bugs in them, dress for bed and be surrounded by dogs all night long. Hannah slept in my bed, Jigs by the east window and closest to my head slept Kishka, my protector, my best friend and my pajama thief.
I know she would give her life for me. She killed more chickens than I can remember, nearly killed my goats, caught mice and was always with me, almost a part of me. Our souls are entwined like the vines of wild grape that grow on the front fence. Kishka is a Belgian Malinois, the first I have ever had; my best friend and I miss her so.
She has been gone three days and I have cried myself to exhaustion every day. I've called, driven the back roads, questioned neighbors, called the pound, all the usual things. I fear she is gone, shot or stolen, I don't really know. And my heart has a huge hole in it that may never be filled again. Dog people know what I mean. Dog people know the bond that is formed, closer than family, a connection that cannot be put into words.
She was beautiful. Mahogany was her official color, her face and ears black. Her ears were like velvet. She was and still is my velvet bandit. She had the most beautiful eyes and down each side of her head those black Malinois tears. She laid at my feet where I could touch her with my toes. She would come by the arm of my chair so I could touch her head and back, a light touch, reassuring that bond between us, I'm here, I love you, I will stay by your side. I loved her gentle snore, so comforting in the darkness of night, letting me know she was there and happy and life would be OK.
Life isn't OK. I'm not sure it will ever be OK. She is gone and I don't know what has happened to her. Is she in pain? Is she trying to come home? Is she alive? If not, did she suffer? God knows the answers and I wish He would tell me. I wish I knew....
Three days of torture I've gone through praying she would come home, praying for a call from someone who has found her, praying. My heart is broken and only time or her return will fix it. Time, never ending, never enough, waiting. My soul mate, my best friend, my faithful guardian; Kishka, please come home....
I know she would give her life for me. She killed more chickens than I can remember, nearly killed my goats, caught mice and was always with me, almost a part of me. Our souls are entwined like the vines of wild grape that grow on the front fence. Kishka is a Belgian Malinois, the first I have ever had; my best friend and I miss her so.
She has been gone three days and I have cried myself to exhaustion every day. I've called, driven the back roads, questioned neighbors, called the pound, all the usual things. I fear she is gone, shot or stolen, I don't really know. And my heart has a huge hole in it that may never be filled again. Dog people know what I mean. Dog people know the bond that is formed, closer than family, a connection that cannot be put into words.
She was beautiful. Mahogany was her official color, her face and ears black. Her ears were like velvet. She was and still is my velvet bandit. She had the most beautiful eyes and down each side of her head those black Malinois tears. She laid at my feet where I could touch her with my toes. She would come by the arm of my chair so I could touch her head and back, a light touch, reassuring that bond between us, I'm here, I love you, I will stay by your side. I loved her gentle snore, so comforting in the darkness of night, letting me know she was there and happy and life would be OK.
Life isn't OK. I'm not sure it will ever be OK. She is gone and I don't know what has happened to her. Is she in pain? Is she trying to come home? Is she alive? If not, did she suffer? God knows the answers and I wish He would tell me. I wish I knew....
Three days of torture I've gone through praying she would come home, praying for a call from someone who has found her, praying. My heart is broken and only time or her return will fix it. Time, never ending, never enough, waiting. My soul mate, my best friend, my faithful guardian; Kishka, please come home....
Monday, September 5, 2011
Summer of the Goats
Where to begin... at the beginning, I suppose. The electric fence went out - again. The three goats, being goats, took full advantage of the situation. They started with the near total destruction of the flowering shrub, whose identity I don't know, that a Mr. Kelly gave to my daddy years ago. The root is from Ireland and is over 400 years old. Second was the complete destruction of the flowering quince marking the grave of the best dog I will probably ever have. Then they scratched (destroyed) the paint on all the vehicles in the driveway, smashed the feed cans for the chicken feed, and the cages housing my mean roosters, shoving them all over the yard, stealing their food, terrorizing all occupants therein.
I couldn't feed the chickens, guineas, ducks, the corn was constantly being stolen, spilled, feed cans being overturned and smashed - just for fun. They kept me awake all night, woke me when I fell asleep from exhaustion during the day, kept me jumping up to chase them away all day & night, waited for me to get in my car to go to town to wreak havoc and mayhem. I couldn't get the help I needed to fix the fence and was physically unable to do all the work myself. My only defense was a battery powered soft-shot AR-15 on full auto. It gave me satisfaction to see them scatter. But they soon learned the effective range and wasted no time getting to it. From there they would stand & stare knowing full well I could do nothing.
Finally, a friend rounded up a couple guys to put the fence posts back up and straighten the electrical tape, but they could not get the power going for the fence. No juice, no detainment of goats. They took down a section of the newly repaired fence in two days. I was reaching my limit. This may sound stupid, unless you, too, suffer from severe spinal stenosis and have been fighting for years just to keep moving, damn the constant pain. The next to final straw came when they turned over the metal trash can holder which held two 50 pound trash cans of corn. The cans were held shut with chain, para cord and bailing twine. No corn was spilled, but I, with my totally screwed up back, got to set the whole contraption upright again. I slid it up against the porch stairs and tied it there, to the upright of the hand rail. Shortly after, the goats, with a concerted team effort, managed to shove the cans in their rack to a 90 degree angle to the stairs, managing in the process to split the stair risers where the railing attached. I ran them off and fifteen minutes later, they are back. That was the final straw. I had no more patience, no way to prevent them from taking down my only mode of ingress into my house, no help, no shoulder to cry on. It was the goats or me at that instant in time, emphasis on instant.
What do you do when you reach your limit; when you hate to go home because there is no peace there? What do you do if you're an animal lover and can't stand the thought of an animal suffering, but you have to have an immediate solution because your quality of life has been destroyed to the point where your health, which isn't that great, is in jeopardy? I mean you need a solution NOW, not three days from now but NOW, because you won't even be able to go in and out of your house if the goats come back in another fifteen minutes?
I got the goats five years ago to eat the weeds down around the edge of the mobile home I lived in when my parents were still alive, because the area was too steep to mow. It was a good idea at the time. It seems somewhat misguided at this point. It has seemed misguided for some time, in fact. They're pets, I love 'em, now I hate 'em with my entire being. They have made my life a living Hell for months. They don't eat the weed they were bought to control because they like what's outside the fence better, hence the weeds are worse than ever. One of them has made a game of destroying all the wire fencing around the dog yard, ripping holes in it my Belgian Malinois can get her entire head through. She destroyed the chain link gates & loosened the fence posts till they shake back and forth. All of it is a great game for her, even driving my Malinois nuts.
So what do you do?
When they split the stair risers I made up my mind it would stop. When they came back fifteen minutes later, I didn't meet them with a toy gun. I met them with my only alternative. The only long gun I had was my daddy's old 22 rifle. The one he bought used for $7.00 when he was 14 years old. I love that gun even more than my daddy did and he loved it a lot. He told many stories about the gun. It has history.
When the goats came back fifteen minutes later and ran out to the effective range of my toy AR-15, I took aim at the one who tore up all the fencing, the cutest one of all. I shot her in the chest with my daddy's 22 and I watched her die. Strangely, I felt no emotion. None at all. No anger, no sadness, no relief, nothing. I took care of her body and still felt nothing. The other goats ran back into their field and I didn't see them for six days. No bleating, no harassment, no curious looks. Today they came to their proper spot and ate the whole corn I put out for them. Not a sound from either of them. If they have come back around to the yard, they have left no sign. The birds in cages are eagerly eating the food denied them for months. Some, the ducks especially, were nearly starved. The chickens are now happy and enjoying the yard like they used to before this summer of Hell began.
I don't know quite what to think about all this. I never thought I could kill a perfectly healthy animal. My daddy used to tell me a story about his brother who loved apple pie. His momma baked one and set it in the window to cool and one of the dogs found it and ate it. His brother shot that dog then and there. I always thought that was a terrible thing to do. That is until now. I wouldn't kill a dog over apple pie but I killed a goat for ruining my peace of mind and much of my property. I'm still not sad about it, but I am noticing how stressed I really was. I enjoy taking care of my animals now. I take better care of them. I do things in the yard and house that I haven't done for months. I am feeling better physically and certainly mentally. I had no idea how stressful my existence had become until the stress-er was removed.
I'm not proud or happy for what I did, but I am at peace with it. Sometimes I just have to come first. Sometimes I must do the inconceivable for life to be acceptable. RIP goat. I loved you, I hated you and I know you're in a good place, and, finally, so am I.
I couldn't feed the chickens, guineas, ducks, the corn was constantly being stolen, spilled, feed cans being overturned and smashed - just for fun. They kept me awake all night, woke me when I fell asleep from exhaustion during the day, kept me jumping up to chase them away all day & night, waited for me to get in my car to go to town to wreak havoc and mayhem. I couldn't get the help I needed to fix the fence and was physically unable to do all the work myself. My only defense was a battery powered soft-shot AR-15 on full auto. It gave me satisfaction to see them scatter. But they soon learned the effective range and wasted no time getting to it. From there they would stand & stare knowing full well I could do nothing.
Finally, a friend rounded up a couple guys to put the fence posts back up and straighten the electrical tape, but they could not get the power going for the fence. No juice, no detainment of goats. They took down a section of the newly repaired fence in two days. I was reaching my limit. This may sound stupid, unless you, too, suffer from severe spinal stenosis and have been fighting for years just to keep moving, damn the constant pain. The next to final straw came when they turned over the metal trash can holder which held two 50 pound trash cans of corn. The cans were held shut with chain, para cord and bailing twine. No corn was spilled, but I, with my totally screwed up back, got to set the whole contraption upright again. I slid it up against the porch stairs and tied it there, to the upright of the hand rail. Shortly after, the goats, with a concerted team effort, managed to shove the cans in their rack to a 90 degree angle to the stairs, managing in the process to split the stair risers where the railing attached. I ran them off and fifteen minutes later, they are back. That was the final straw. I had no more patience, no way to prevent them from taking down my only mode of ingress into my house, no help, no shoulder to cry on. It was the goats or me at that instant in time, emphasis on instant.
What do you do when you reach your limit; when you hate to go home because there is no peace there? What do you do if you're an animal lover and can't stand the thought of an animal suffering, but you have to have an immediate solution because your quality of life has been destroyed to the point where your health, which isn't that great, is in jeopardy? I mean you need a solution NOW, not three days from now but NOW, because you won't even be able to go in and out of your house if the goats come back in another fifteen minutes?
I got the goats five years ago to eat the weeds down around the edge of the mobile home I lived in when my parents were still alive, because the area was too steep to mow. It was a good idea at the time. It seems somewhat misguided at this point. It has seemed misguided for some time, in fact. They're pets, I love 'em, now I hate 'em with my entire being. They have made my life a living Hell for months. They don't eat the weed they were bought to control because they like what's outside the fence better, hence the weeds are worse than ever. One of them has made a game of destroying all the wire fencing around the dog yard, ripping holes in it my Belgian Malinois can get her entire head through. She destroyed the chain link gates & loosened the fence posts till they shake back and forth. All of it is a great game for her, even driving my Malinois nuts.
So what do you do?
When they split the stair risers I made up my mind it would stop. When they came back fifteen minutes later, I didn't meet them with a toy gun. I met them with my only alternative. The only long gun I had was my daddy's old 22 rifle. The one he bought used for $7.00 when he was 14 years old. I love that gun even more than my daddy did and he loved it a lot. He told many stories about the gun. It has history.
When the goats came back fifteen minutes later and ran out to the effective range of my toy AR-15, I took aim at the one who tore up all the fencing, the cutest one of all. I shot her in the chest with my daddy's 22 and I watched her die. Strangely, I felt no emotion. None at all. No anger, no sadness, no relief, nothing. I took care of her body and still felt nothing. The other goats ran back into their field and I didn't see them for six days. No bleating, no harassment, no curious looks. Today they came to their proper spot and ate the whole corn I put out for them. Not a sound from either of them. If they have come back around to the yard, they have left no sign. The birds in cages are eagerly eating the food denied them for months. Some, the ducks especially, were nearly starved. The chickens are now happy and enjoying the yard like they used to before this summer of Hell began.
I don't know quite what to think about all this. I never thought I could kill a perfectly healthy animal. My daddy used to tell me a story about his brother who loved apple pie. His momma baked one and set it in the window to cool and one of the dogs found it and ate it. His brother shot that dog then and there. I always thought that was a terrible thing to do. That is until now. I wouldn't kill a dog over apple pie but I killed a goat for ruining my peace of mind and much of my property. I'm still not sad about it, but I am noticing how stressed I really was. I enjoy taking care of my animals now. I take better care of them. I do things in the yard and house that I haven't done for months. I am feeling better physically and certainly mentally. I had no idea how stressful my existence had become until the stress-er was removed.
I'm not proud or happy for what I did, but I am at peace with it. Sometimes I just have to come first. Sometimes I must do the inconceivable for life to be acceptable. RIP goat. I loved you, I hated you and I know you're in a good place, and, finally, so am I.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Finally...I saw my Orthopedist last week & my Neurosurgeon yesterday & received clearance from both. No more trips to UVA for a few months. I feel just a little free, I must say. I'm also exhausted, so now I can rest up a bit.
Painted my rusty trash can holder this afternoon. Wasn't easy with the chickens checking things out. They tracked things up a bit but none of them are wearing war paint. The goats came by & I had to take some time for them. They're shedding their winter fuzz. That didn't help my painting either, let me tell ya. I discovered Feisty had lost most of her left ear. It was all healed but I have no idea what happened to it. I never noticed this winter because it was always twisted & hung goofy anyway. I believe I know when it happened because there was a time in the cold winter when I was recovering from neck surgery when she wouldn't come close. I thought her behavior odd at the time. Now I have my answer.
I never thought I would have a one eared goat. Never thought I would have lots of things I have for that matter. Oh well.... My road is washing badly with all the torrential downpours we have been having. At least we didn't have tornadoes or much damage from all the violent storms. I am grateful for that. I did have to drive to UVA with almost no sleep because the storms kept the dogs & I awake most of Wednesday night. And I was running in & out of storms all the way to UVA. The afternoon was beautiful though. Traffic was a bear.
So I guess things are fine on the farm, all things considered. Maybe tomorrow I'll get to try the bubble stick on the chickens. I anticipate interesting reactions!
Painted my rusty trash can holder this afternoon. Wasn't easy with the chickens checking things out. They tracked things up a bit but none of them are wearing war paint. The goats came by & I had to take some time for them. They're shedding their winter fuzz. That didn't help my painting either, let me tell ya. I discovered Feisty had lost most of her left ear. It was all healed but I have no idea what happened to it. I never noticed this winter because it was always twisted & hung goofy anyway. I believe I know when it happened because there was a time in the cold winter when I was recovering from neck surgery when she wouldn't come close. I thought her behavior odd at the time. Now I have my answer.
I never thought I would have a one eared goat. Never thought I would have lots of things I have for that matter. Oh well.... My road is washing badly with all the torrential downpours we have been having. At least we didn't have tornadoes or much damage from all the violent storms. I am grateful for that. I did have to drive to UVA with almost no sleep because the storms kept the dogs & I awake most of Wednesday night. And I was running in & out of storms all the way to UVA. The afternoon was beautiful though. Traffic was a bear.
So I guess things are fine on the farm, all things considered. Maybe tomorrow I'll get to try the bubble stick on the chickens. I anticipate interesting reactions!
Monday, April 4, 2011
Water, Life, Too Easy
This is my 4th day without water. What a pain! The well wasn't pumping Friday evening when I got home & I haven't had running water since. Some things I don't mind so much but others are tiresome...like not being able to flush toilets, washing hands, having to brush teeth with bottled water. And on top of it all, the weather got hot. It's 88 on my porch right now at 1600.
I went through this in 2003 & since have kept up with some preparation. I had some bottled water & 5 gallons of other water stored. That wasn't going to cut it with house plants, chickens, goats & all the other things so needful of ample supplies of water. So I cut to basics. One 2 liter bottle of water for the canaries, water every other day for the guineas, bottled water & soft drinks for me, no water for food. Canned goods only. Oh & no toilet flushing... kg(kill grass) as we used to say at camp. Not fun but manageable.
It wasn't enough. I was just about ready to go buy a few gallons of water for the livestock when Chris & his dad showed up on day three with a 55 gallon water barrel strapped to a trailer & a flat of bottled water. Talk about a welcomed sight! I don't know what I'd do without my Samaritans! All the critters got water, the toilet got flushed, enough stress was taken off my mind that I went out of hard core survival mode.
I don't think we have any idea just how much stress we suffer when our easy, routine lives are suddenly interrupted. Everything must be planned. Nothing can be taken for granted. Each drop of water has to be allocated for a specific use & held to strict adherence. Any mistakes could cost a life. Every drop of life giving fluid must be accounted for. I have been through this before, have made it every time, but have always felt the stress of it. At least this time I was not responsible for sick parents whose ability to deal with such stress & inconvenience was terribly traumatic. And this time I had my Samaritans. There's a bright side to every situation.
I am going to find a couple of those 55 gallon water barrels. I am going to be prepared. I do not wish to go through a situation like this again. I will not. I have never had to wait so long for the well company to come to my aid. I should not have had to rely on others, even though I am so very grateful they were here to help. Life is wonderful. It is insightful when that is put in jeopardy. No, I wasn't in danger of thirsting to death, none of my animals perished, but being prepared would have lessened my stress, made the days go easier, taken some of the concern away.
These are unusual times. Nothing like these past four years has occurred during my life time. If I had not been raised by parents, my father especially, who grew up during the depression, I know I would not have been as able as I have been to deal with this hardship. But I was raised by the son of a share-cropper who used an outhouse much of his life, who slept in an unheated loft & walked five miles to & from school every day, & the daughter of a steelworker who took baths in a tub beside the wood stove in the kitchen & whose mother sewed all her clothes & mine as well for much of my life. With all of that behind me, why does this even seem like a bother? I shouldn't even complain, but my life has been soft. I've always had indoor plumbing except when camping. I've seldom had to do without the basics. Even so, & in spite of my vow to be prepared in the future, when the well begins working again, whenever that happens, whatever that costs, I am going to run a little water and let it play over my hand, douse my face with it, waste a small portion just for the feel of it. Water is magic, it is life, it is something that should never be taken for granted.
P.S. 1739 I have water!!!!!!!!!!!!
I went through this in 2003 & since have kept up with some preparation. I had some bottled water & 5 gallons of other water stored. That wasn't going to cut it with house plants, chickens, goats & all the other things so needful of ample supplies of water. So I cut to basics. One 2 liter bottle of water for the canaries, water every other day for the guineas, bottled water & soft drinks for me, no water for food. Canned goods only. Oh & no toilet flushing... kg(kill grass) as we used to say at camp. Not fun but manageable.
It wasn't enough. I was just about ready to go buy a few gallons of water for the livestock when Chris & his dad showed up on day three with a 55 gallon water barrel strapped to a trailer & a flat of bottled water. Talk about a welcomed sight! I don't know what I'd do without my Samaritans! All the critters got water, the toilet got flushed, enough stress was taken off my mind that I went out of hard core survival mode.
I don't think we have any idea just how much stress we suffer when our easy, routine lives are suddenly interrupted. Everything must be planned. Nothing can be taken for granted. Each drop of water has to be allocated for a specific use & held to strict adherence. Any mistakes could cost a life. Every drop of life giving fluid must be accounted for. I have been through this before, have made it every time, but have always felt the stress of it. At least this time I was not responsible for sick parents whose ability to deal with such stress & inconvenience was terribly traumatic. And this time I had my Samaritans. There's a bright side to every situation.
I am going to find a couple of those 55 gallon water barrels. I am going to be prepared. I do not wish to go through a situation like this again. I will not. I have never had to wait so long for the well company to come to my aid. I should not have had to rely on others, even though I am so very grateful they were here to help. Life is wonderful. It is insightful when that is put in jeopardy. No, I wasn't in danger of thirsting to death, none of my animals perished, but being prepared would have lessened my stress, made the days go easier, taken some of the concern away.
These are unusual times. Nothing like these past four years has occurred during my life time. If I had not been raised by parents, my father especially, who grew up during the depression, I know I would not have been as able as I have been to deal with this hardship. But I was raised by the son of a share-cropper who used an outhouse much of his life, who slept in an unheated loft & walked five miles to & from school every day, & the daughter of a steelworker who took baths in a tub beside the wood stove in the kitchen & whose mother sewed all her clothes & mine as well for much of my life. With all of that behind me, why does this even seem like a bother? I shouldn't even complain, but my life has been soft. I've always had indoor plumbing except when camping. I've seldom had to do without the basics. Even so, & in spite of my vow to be prepared in the future, when the well begins working again, whenever that happens, whatever that costs, I am going to run a little water and let it play over my hand, douse my face with it, waste a small portion just for the feel of it. Water is magic, it is life, it is something that should never be taken for granted.
P.S. 1739 I have water!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tomatoes & Whistling Roosters
I have had a productive few days. Got the house cleaned, jumped the Blazer, got it running, inspected, & serviced. Got the grass cut so my yard looks great. Haven't made any progress with those pesky loose goats but the chickens have finally started laying in their new three hole nesting box.
This morning, after my nice grass cutter left, I spent some time sitting in the chicken house communing with the chickens. I love when they want to get around my legs & do so by stepping on my foot & brushing by. Despite the chill I was wearing shorts & I love the feel of their soft feathers brushing against my calf. They are laying well, although some have learned to break eggs & if I don't look often I don't get any. A very bad habit taught by a couple older hens.
One was setting in the end cubby picking up hay, dropping it over her shoulder, making a nice nest in which to lay when Biwhiby, the older humongous rooster, came in the house & stood right in front of her. I started hearing the strangest high pitched almost a whistle sound. Biwhiby was making it. It was as though he was standing guard over her so that she could lay without trouble from the other hens, several of whom were standing around in front of the laying boxes. They wouldn't go inside the other cubbies to lay but a couple were fussing as they do when they want to lay & can't find a satisfactory place to do their thing. The others were just standing around. I have not seen that behavior before. All the years I've been around birds & I learn something new so often.
It is a lovely sunny day after a string of cold cloudy ones & the sun is quite welcoming. We had a hard frost today & one the day before as well. It was in the mid 70's on Friday & the forties for the next three. This is why I don't like hot weather in March. All the plants start budding & sure as shootin' we get a freeze. I went by Lowe's yesterday & they had huge covers over most of their plants & tall racks of many stuck everywhere inside near the garden door. Suckered me. I bought two tomato plants for $6 each. I never do that. I always wait until later in the season when prices are slashed & are more to my liking. I don't know what has gotten in to me. Anyway, that's what happened. Of course they stayed inside so they wouldn't freeze.
My tomato plants will go in pots on the screened porch to keep them safe from the chickens. I hope I have better luck with them this year than I've had in the past several. I love homegrown tomatoes! Mine seem to grow all leaves & produce a tease of fruit right before the first hard frost. Before I even put them in my cart I pinched off the suckers sprouting in the crotch of each big leaf. I know what to do. I just don't seem to get the desired results. Some say why bug yourself with failure, but I am stubborn & terribly hard headed so I will try again. Any tomatoes that get rot go to those ravenous chickens, the ones watching the one being guarded by my whistling rooster Biwhiby. The good ones will go to me.
This morning, after my nice grass cutter left, I spent some time sitting in the chicken house communing with the chickens. I love when they want to get around my legs & do so by stepping on my foot & brushing by. Despite the chill I was wearing shorts & I love the feel of their soft feathers brushing against my calf. They are laying well, although some have learned to break eggs & if I don't look often I don't get any. A very bad habit taught by a couple older hens.
One was setting in the end cubby picking up hay, dropping it over her shoulder, making a nice nest in which to lay when Biwhiby, the older humongous rooster, came in the house & stood right in front of her. I started hearing the strangest high pitched almost a whistle sound. Biwhiby was making it. It was as though he was standing guard over her so that she could lay without trouble from the other hens, several of whom were standing around in front of the laying boxes. They wouldn't go inside the other cubbies to lay but a couple were fussing as they do when they want to lay & can't find a satisfactory place to do their thing. The others were just standing around. I have not seen that behavior before. All the years I've been around birds & I learn something new so often.
It is a lovely sunny day after a string of cold cloudy ones & the sun is quite welcoming. We had a hard frost today & one the day before as well. It was in the mid 70's on Friday & the forties for the next three. This is why I don't like hot weather in March. All the plants start budding & sure as shootin' we get a freeze. I went by Lowe's yesterday & they had huge covers over most of their plants & tall racks of many stuck everywhere inside near the garden door. Suckered me. I bought two tomato plants for $6 each. I never do that. I always wait until later in the season when prices are slashed & are more to my liking. I don't know what has gotten in to me. Anyway, that's what happened. Of course they stayed inside so they wouldn't freeze.
My tomato plants will go in pots on the screened porch to keep them safe from the chickens. I hope I have better luck with them this year than I've had in the past several. I love homegrown tomatoes! Mine seem to grow all leaves & produce a tease of fruit right before the first hard frost. Before I even put them in my cart I pinched off the suckers sprouting in the crotch of each big leaf. I know what to do. I just don't seem to get the desired results. Some say why bug yourself with failure, but I am stubborn & terribly hard headed so I will try again. Any tomatoes that get rot go to those ravenous chickens, the ones watching the one being guarded by my whistling rooster Biwhiby. The good ones will go to me.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Maybe
Today the salt man cometh. I must stay home & wait for him because my water softener needs salt & maintenance & ooops I wasn't able to put more salt into the contraption because of my recent surgery. Ah well, such is life. No swimming today, no aqua zumba. That's probably an ok thing considering how stiff & sore I am today from all the gyrations I pulled off yesterday. Fun does require a small price but I'll be the better for it in the long run.
I don't much want to go outside because the humidity has been up & it has been hot, especially for March. No, I still don't buy global warming. Virginia is a hot, humid, miserable place more of the year than not. I always swore I was moving to Alaska but at this stage of my life I think that idea has passed. I would settle for summers in upstate New York but that is more money & effort than I can spare. It's hazy. That comes with the humidity. During winter there is a clarity to the air that doesn't often come during the miserable months.
I am looking forward to seeing the chickens though. I always look forward to that. I'm not looking forward to the goats. The fence is down yet again & they are spending far too much time checking out the front yard. They are working their way up to turning over the feed cans like last year. They ate 20 pounds of corn in a day. That would have lasted the chickens several weeks. I hate living in fear of their destruction but I am unable to redo the fence without help & I have none at this time. It would help if I could ride the ATV but that isn't running & I don't know quite how to get it fixed. A friend said he could do it but he has made himself scarce. Very scarce.
I have procrastinated about as long as I can with these ramblings. I found a tick on Kishka the Wonder Dog this morning. She & her little black buddy are out in the yard wondering where the goats are & stalking chickens through the fence. I need to tend the critters that I can find, those that unlike the goats, stay where they're supposed to. So off I go. Maybe I'll get a chicken hug. One can always hope.
I don't much want to go outside because the humidity has been up & it has been hot, especially for March. No, I still don't buy global warming. Virginia is a hot, humid, miserable place more of the year than not. I always swore I was moving to Alaska but at this stage of my life I think that idea has passed. I would settle for summers in upstate New York but that is more money & effort than I can spare. It's hazy. That comes with the humidity. During winter there is a clarity to the air that doesn't often come during the miserable months.
I am looking forward to seeing the chickens though. I always look forward to that. I'm not looking forward to the goats. The fence is down yet again & they are spending far too much time checking out the front yard. They are working their way up to turning over the feed cans like last year. They ate 20 pounds of corn in a day. That would have lasted the chickens several weeks. I hate living in fear of their destruction but I am unable to redo the fence without help & I have none at this time. It would help if I could ride the ATV but that isn't running & I don't know quite how to get it fixed. A friend said he could do it but he has made himself scarce. Very scarce.
I have procrastinated about as long as I can with these ramblings. I found a tick on Kishka the Wonder Dog this morning. She & her little black buddy are out in the yard wondering where the goats are & stalking chickens through the fence. I need to tend the critters that I can find, those that unlike the goats, stay where they're supposed to. So off I go. Maybe I'll get a chicken hug. One can always hope.
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