True stories of a small flock of remarkable individuals -- and other critters.



Saturday, November 20, 2010

N E W C O O P !

I think this is the design my chickens were hoping for:



But this is the design I chose :

  --and they love it.

It's a lot like the old coop, but twice as big, and I gave it all sorts of nifty updates... two nest boxes instead of one, lots of ventilation for hot nights, little doors all over the place for filling the feeder, for changing the water,  for the girls coming and going..


I would be tearing down the old coop completely, but not until the new one was finished.


The mini-coop was staying put.  
It was a handy first-home for little Fern and Daisy, and I'm sure I'll be using it again.   
Also,
the mini-coop was a nice place to grow Heavenly-blue Morning Glories, my favorite.


Wow -- when I look at these photos, I think the construction looks kind of impressive.  
Honestly, I pretty much eyeballed the whole thing. There are no right angles.
But with a couple of power tools and a million drywall screws, anything's possible.  
These here building inspectors gave me the go-ahead, so 


here it is!  the new coop.  And the old dog house, and the little coop.
That little piece of string supports bird-netting that covers their whole yard and keeps out hawks, who sit in the trees all day, watching the hens and licking their lips.


The ladies are thrilled with their big new coop. 
Why is Marky dressed like a pumpkin, you ask?  
I made him a blaze-orange vest so he won't get shot while bounding through the woods.  
See, now he doesn't look so much like a bunny.


The little dog house in the chicken-yard used to be Marky's,


but he fancies himself a rugged outdoorsman, and refused to go inside it,


so Pigeon and Lucy took it over.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  


Autumn is molting season.  
This year it was Lil'White and Pigeon who decided to molt.


They each have their own molting styles.
  
Lil'White drops all her golden feathers in about a day.
The coop looks like a chicken exploded,
but Lil'White still looks as voluptuous as ever.


Pigeon's feathers fall out one by one.   She started two months ago, and there's no end in sight.   


Wherever Pigeon goes, she leaves a little stripey trail.




Little Fern's feathers are all over the yard, too, but not because of a molt.


Next post :
PLUCKED !

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

A Compact Life


In early September, in the house we call Greenestone,
a baby mouse tumbled out of a crack in the ceiling.

It bounced off the stove, 
and landed on the kitchen floor.


...rather horrifying to witness.

There was really nothing we could do for the little thing.
It was very young -- its eyes weren't even open.


We gently removed it and placed it outside in the bushes.


A few minutes later
another mouse baby fell.


Then another--


and another --


When it finally stopped raining mouses, we were very much relieved.

The next morning I found one of those little critters crawling on the path.  
I picked it up.
Its body was cold, 
but in my hands it soon warmed up.
I didn't have the means or ability to care for a baby mouse, but this little thing had survived the loss of its mother, a fall from the attic, and a cold night in the bushes.

I couldn't just leave it there.

One drop of cream on the end of a matchstick was the beginning.
The next drop filled her right up, and then she slept.

We didn't name her Dandelion.
We didn't name her Earl.

We didn't want to grow attached--- her survival seemed so unlikely.

We only called her "mouse baby".


Feeding got easier once she learned to lick.

But you know how messy toddlers can be---

a bath became a necessity.

The warmth of my hand put her right to sleep.

Caring for so delicate a creature was a real challenge.  
To keep her warm, I made her a little pouch to sleep in, 
and tucked it into the front of my shirt.



Sometimes she'd climb out and go exploring. 
I'd look down and find her clinging to my shirt like a little brooch. 






She had some adventuresome encounters with small fruits,





but really she preferred



simple warmth and safety.




When her teeth emerged, I became hopeful.  
I thought that if I could keep her healthy 
until she started eating solid foods, 
she would then nourish herself, and live a long mouse-life.



But one day she got a little sore spot on the bottom of this pretty little foot.
And the next day an infection set in.



Neither the care I could give her
nor her powerful will 
were enough.


The next day Mouse Baby died in my hand.

In the eight magical days that she spent with us, 
she taught us
about strength and fragility,
about hope, about comfort.




Thank you, Mouse Baby.



Sunday, August 8, 2010

Mystery of the tiny egg

continued from the previous post, Critters

Nobody fessed up to laying that goofy little tiny egg.


It had to be either Lucy, Lil'White or Pigeon, because the two young'uns aren't old enough to lay eggs.

I knew it wasn't Lucy.  Her eggs are perfect and pointy and pink, every time.



Lil'White's eggs  are cute as a button.
She decorates each one with little white speckles.




And then there's Pigeon:


Pigeon is a... creative egg-layer.




I showed Pigeon that little nugget and asked her, point-blank.  She sucked on a piece of grass and stared vacantly.

Guilty!


It was a "fart-egg", to quote Matt (of Foothills Poultry blog)--
...he's a guy who adores these little rarities so much, he collects them.
(see, I'm not any nuttier than the rest of you!)

I couldn't save this little treasure. I just had to know what was inside.

 
Inside that shell was a perfect tiny egg. The contents fit into a teaspoon.
I fried it up in the most gigantic of pans in order to emphasize its cuteness.

With a pinch of salt,
I savored it in one delicious bite.

Thank you, Pigeon!


.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .   .  .  .  .  


Fern and Daisy will soon be laying their first eggs, 
and I've only got one nest box.
One nest box is good enough for three hens, but not enough for five.


So.  I could add another nest box....

Or I could seize this opportunity to  
***build a whole new COOP!***


Not just a plain ol' coop this time.  







My girls deserve something more.


 perhaps the Moderne look:



Tudor?....




 the Monsoon style.... 
 

... Italian Farmhouse..?

 ....... they love Swiss cheese...

Of course, I could build them a respectable, practical, functional coop...
But this design does not begin to reflect their personalities.



What they'd really like is something like this:



but I think it's against the building code in my town.


So after I raid the scrap pile at the local lumber yard, I'll begin building the perfect coop for my gals.  
hmm... marble, mahogany, stained glass...central air...

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Critters

Continued from:  Becoming a Chicken

This post is dedicated to the memory of our little Cobbie,
 
who lived his entire life with this expression on his face.

He was six years old when he died  -- a little old man.
We'll miss your little pink lips, Cobbie, your loving personality, and your chubby little obesity.

So again I wipe away a tear and move on... to the circus in my backyard.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 




News alert!
Fern and Daisy are definitely girls. I just know they are. Look at these little figures --- how they hold their little tails high.  No doubt.  They're girls. Girls.


Fern and Daisy are inseparable.  They're like one four-legged chicken. 


 They come when I call, because I often have treats.  So now they consider me the most amazing human of all time, which is of course my plan.


Lil'White continues to terrorize the young'uns, 



but in the brutal heat of recent weeks, she has been just too hot to viciously pursue Fern and Daisy. 
She pants. She swoons. She drags her wings and carries on.
So Fern and Daisy get a break.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  


Here's the current setup:  




With a 14 foot play-yard between the hens' coop and the babies' coop, there's a good amount of free space for them to be together during the day. Hawks circle overhead and foxes lurk in the woods, but as long as Marky's around, the girls are safe behind the flimsy fencing and bird netting.

Marky's been spending a lot of time milling about the coop lately, 



as he's discovered a dense city of mice and voles just beneath the surface.   Spilled chicken-feed has lured the little vermin... I can only imagine the size of their stash.   Their sounds and smells are driving Marky Mad.

To prevent spillage, you're supposed to raise the feed bin up to the level of the chickens' backs, 

which I did.


But shoveling food onto the ground is Pigeon's favorite thing to do, and raising the feeder was no deterrent.

So Mouse City continues to grow, well-nourished. 



And Marky continues to spend his summer days standing in the coop, staring at the ground.


.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Okay. 
  
After three years and 1,800 eggs, here's a first:



Somebody laid an egg the size of a grape.

And I think I know who did it.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

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