Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Backyard Eats
OROAR is officially a success. I am pleased to report that we are now harvesting Red Russian and Nero Toscana kale, broccoli raab, and cilantro at least three to four times a week. Celery, parsley, carrots, and beets are looking good and it shouldn't be much longer until we begin to harvest these as well. The peas have a ways to go, but fortunately we live in a year round pea growing climate. Cheers to greens!
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
A Cure for the Middle Age Blues
If I were a guy, I might have bought a sports car, got a few plugs, ran off with a 23 year old secretary fresh from a double D boob job, and called it quits. I could have done the plastic surgery thing, though not really my style, or gone the cougar route. But could you see me cruising the college campuses looking for a 20 something boy toy? Don't answer that.
It began, I suppose, as it does for everyone else: a little life dissatisfaction, a little depression (Okay, a lot of depression). Yet when it came to acting on my peri-menopausal, sailing-into-the-sunset-of-my-fertility angst, I didn't quite do it in stereotypical fashion. My midlife crisis did manifest as a love affair, but with animals, particularly small livestock. Eww gross, not THAT kind of an affair! I thought I could stop with the dog and the cat. But then I reasoned, what would be so wrong with a couple chickens? They make eggs, right? It wasn't enough. I needed more. Next came the goats. I really intended that to be the end of my animal collecting. Really.
Enter Julio.
The hubby is jealous. Who wouldn't be? It's hard to compete with 2.5 pounds of velvety, white fluff combined with a little pink nose that squinches in the most adorable way. And those ears! I could devour them like candy they are so darn sweet.
Julio came to me from a parent at my daughter's school who told me that she was having problems with a stray rabbit eating her garden. She wasn't able to build an adequate shelter for the bunny so she asked if I would be willing to take him until they could set something up. I agreed because I couldn't bear the thought of some helpless house pet braving the elements, especially one with a messed up, weepy eye. Honestly, I thought I would take him in for a couple weeks and then give him back. Honest.
I've owned rabbits before, but not one this charming. Julio is a curious little bun, who loves to snuggle, head butt various objects including any bodies that may be in his way, and rub noses. I'm not kidding about the nose thing. This guy must have been an Eskimo in his past life. He also eats like a horse. In one day, he probably munches his weight or more in alfalfa, orchard grass, and fresh veg. I've never seen anything like it.
As it has been a few years since I've cared for these creatures, I was so grateful to have met someone through this blog who has been rescuing bunnies for years. My blog friend Karen graciously offered to come give Julio a look over to assess his general condition and give me some bunny keeping tips. She surmised that he was in pretty good shape for having been left to his own devices and that he was DEFINITELY a boy. There was no mistaking those orbs hiding in Julio's fluffy underside. She also recommended getting his eye looked at.
Insisting on continuing my D.I.Y. vet practice, I attempted to treat Julio's weepy eye with warm compresses and some terramycin ointment that I had laying around from the troubles with the chickens. After three days neither seemed to improve his condition, so I broke down and took him to All Pets Animal Hospital, one of only two places in San Francisco that sees rabbits. More money than I wanted to pay later, Julio seems to be on the mend.
Given the eye situation, I wanted the rabbit in a relatively dust free environment so I've been keeping him locked in Ute's room, which has been none too pleasing to the dog and cat. In a traumatic breach of bunny security, Mr. Tinks broke into the room and made an attempt to bond with Julio by administering a neck massage with teeth. I heard the distinct shrieks of a rabbit screaming, a horrifying sound that would send chills through even the most hardened of hearts, and raced to the rescue. Grabbing the dog by the scruff, I tossed him out on the front porch unleashing a string of expletives that I probably should have refrained from uttering in front of my six year old. I found Julio scrunched in a ball, frozen stiff, eyes not moving. But other than a slight abrasion on the cheek and a small non-bloody puncture in one ear, Julio escaped relatively unscathed. I was relieved, to say the least. Scared the piss out of the poor bun, though. Literally.
The cat is displaying her dissatisfaction with the situation by shitting in the bathtub. Nice.
As for giving the bunny back? Sorry, he's my man now.
It began, I suppose, as it does for everyone else: a little life dissatisfaction, a little depression (Okay, a lot of depression). Yet when it came to acting on my peri-menopausal, sailing-into-the-sunset-of-my-fertility angst, I didn't quite do it in stereotypical fashion. My midlife crisis did manifest as a love affair, but with animals, particularly small livestock. Eww gross, not THAT kind of an affair! I thought I could stop with the dog and the cat. But then I reasoned, what would be so wrong with a couple chickens? They make eggs, right? It wasn't enough. I needed more. Next came the goats. I really intended that to be the end of my animal collecting. Really.
Enter Julio.
The hubby is jealous. Who wouldn't be? It's hard to compete with 2.5 pounds of velvety, white fluff combined with a little pink nose that squinches in the most adorable way. And those ears! I could devour them like candy they are so darn sweet.
Julio came to me from a parent at my daughter's school who told me that she was having problems with a stray rabbit eating her garden. She wasn't able to build an adequate shelter for the bunny so she asked if I would be willing to take him until they could set something up. I agreed because I couldn't bear the thought of some helpless house pet braving the elements, especially one with a messed up, weepy eye. Honestly, I thought I would take him in for a couple weeks and then give him back. Honest.
I've owned rabbits before, but not one this charming. Julio is a curious little bun, who loves to snuggle, head butt various objects including any bodies that may be in his way, and rub noses. I'm not kidding about the nose thing. This guy must have been an Eskimo in his past life. He also eats like a horse. In one day, he probably munches his weight or more in alfalfa, orchard grass, and fresh veg. I've never seen anything like it.
As it has been a few years since I've cared for these creatures, I was so grateful to have met someone through this blog who has been rescuing bunnies for years. My blog friend Karen graciously offered to come give Julio a look over to assess his general condition and give me some bunny keeping tips. She surmised that he was in pretty good shape for having been left to his own devices and that he was DEFINITELY a boy. There was no mistaking those orbs hiding in Julio's fluffy underside. She also recommended getting his eye looked at.
Insisting on continuing my D.I.Y. vet practice, I attempted to treat Julio's weepy eye with warm compresses and some terramycin ointment that I had laying around from the troubles with the chickens. After three days neither seemed to improve his condition, so I broke down and took him to All Pets Animal Hospital, one of only two places in San Francisco that sees rabbits. More money than I wanted to pay later, Julio seems to be on the mend.
Given the eye situation, I wanted the rabbit in a relatively dust free environment so I've been keeping him locked in Ute's room, which has been none too pleasing to the dog and cat. In a traumatic breach of bunny security, Mr. Tinks broke into the room and made an attempt to bond with Julio by administering a neck massage with teeth. I heard the distinct shrieks of a rabbit screaming, a horrifying sound that would send chills through even the most hardened of hearts, and raced to the rescue. Grabbing the dog by the scruff, I tossed him out on the front porch unleashing a string of expletives that I probably should have refrained from uttering in front of my six year old. I found Julio scrunched in a ball, frozen stiff, eyes not moving. But other than a slight abrasion on the cheek and a small non-bloody puncture in one ear, Julio escaped relatively unscathed. I was relieved, to say the least. Scared the piss out of the poor bun, though. Literally.
The cat is displaying her dissatisfaction with the situation by shitting in the bathtub. Nice.
As for giving the bunny back? Sorry, he's my man now.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
They're Back
Ute and I drove up to Lake County this past weekend to retrieve our lovely goats. We went up a day early to spend some time with our friend Tina in Santa Rosa and to give the Disgruntled Farmhand some space because frankly, we don't want to find out what happens when you push a person past disgruntled. I'm sure it's ugly.
What a gorgeous weekend it was with the sun beaming full glory and not a cloud in the sky to diminish its radiance. We took a lovely afternoon stroll through the Luther Burbank Gardens in downtown Santa Rosa. Spring was in the air with all of Burbank's assortment of flowers and veggies in full bloom. For those of you not in the know, Mr. Burbank was the creator of many a splendid varieties of plants, including the ubiquitous Russet Burbank potato of french fry fame. I would hold this against dear Luther, since his potato has probably been the main force in driving out a vast number of potato varieties. But how was he to know that when deep fried, his bulbous starchy creation would become the closest thing to heaven for anyone under the age of 18, while simultaneously being a major contributing factor to our current obesity crisis in the U.S.? Who could have predicted that the Russet Burbank would become the equilvilant to a nutritional hydrogen bomb, as the repercussions would only begin to reverberate in a distant future (Burbank died in 1926)? But I forgive Luther for all of his blind transgressions solely for the invention of the plumcot, a glorious fruit with all the tastiness of an apricot combined with the crisper, juicier texture of the plum. Let's face it, where the Divine fell short, Luther Burbank took over.
Next we headed off to Sebastapool's Rose and Thorn. Trust me when I tell you that you've never been to a shop quite like this one. The store itself is loaded with more tchotchkes than a Hindu temple, but the main attraction is the animal yard where over 50 chickens and several dwarf goats, all named after famous movie stars, roam the grounds. It's an enticing stop for a picnic replete with country charm; they've got tables and everything. They even offer up the property for getting hitched, as long as you don't mind some feathery, furry bridesmaids and groomsmen clucking and bleating throughout the proceedings. Here's some of the exotic farm friends:
We left Santa Rosa early Sunday, but not before Tina sent us off with a mini library of gardening and homesteading books from the collection of Celeste West, a radical librarian who edited the desktop published Revolting Librarians and wrote a handful of books on lesbian polyfidelity. Since the gardening books I inherited are such gems and Celeste such an interesting character, I think I will save description for a later post. Stay tuned.
When we arrived at Oops Ranch for our girls, we were greeted by Mary Jane, who could pass as the twin of the mean lunch lady, Alice, on Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, except for the fact that Mary Jane is a NICE lady. She regaled us with entertaining, albeit troublesome, tales of Ethel and Lucy's exploits. Apparently, Ethel reigned queen over the young does, always getting to eat first and teaching the youngins' all kinds of mischievous tricks, such as how to jump through the nine inch space near the top of the gate. Yes, that's my naughty, naughty goat. Meanwhile, Lucy slogged through her stay with the rest of the herd somewhere near the bottom of the totem pole. She lost a bit of weight with all the competition, while Ethel has clearly packed on some pounds. But Lucy got her job done with incredible efficiency, breeding with the buck several times the day after we dropped her off! She's my good girl.
While getting the lowdown on the girls' vacation, Mary Jane's husband Mel sauntered over to try and convince us that we needed a mini cow. Though a tempting offer from this gentleman who has probably done more than his fair share of time in a Santa Claus suit, we had to pass it up given that this doe-eyed boy might grow to 300 pounds. If you have at least an acre, you might want to think about taking him in (I can provide contact info). He looks a little wild in this pic, but he's really a sweetie.
He was terribly difficult to resist. But even more of a lure was his jealous pal Buddy who began to make the most obnoxious choking noises in a ploy to get a scratch around the ears. Poor thing. He sounded like he got one of his treat biscuits trapped in his throat and was trying to push it out through his nose. I had no idea the lengths a donkey would go to for a bit of attention. It was kind of charming, if not a little frightening.
All of us girls made it home safe and sound. To our utter amazement, we returned to a brand new/old set of stairs in the backyard made with recycled cinder blocks, a car so clean you could eat off the floor, and a spotless house. We love our Disgruntled Farmhand and suspect that maybe he's not THAT disgruntled after all.
What a gorgeous weekend it was with the sun beaming full glory and not a cloud in the sky to diminish its radiance. We took a lovely afternoon stroll through the Luther Burbank Gardens in downtown Santa Rosa. Spring was in the air with all of Burbank's assortment of flowers and veggies in full bloom. For those of you not in the know, Mr. Burbank was the creator of many a splendid varieties of plants, including the ubiquitous Russet Burbank potato of french fry fame. I would hold this against dear Luther, since his potato has probably been the main force in driving out a vast number of potato varieties. But how was he to know that when deep fried, his bulbous starchy creation would become the closest thing to heaven for anyone under the age of 18, while simultaneously being a major contributing factor to our current obesity crisis in the U.S.? Who could have predicted that the Russet Burbank would become the equilvilant to a nutritional hydrogen bomb, as the repercussions would only begin to reverberate in a distant future (Burbank died in 1926)? But I forgive Luther for all of his blind transgressions solely for the invention of the plumcot, a glorious fruit with all the tastiness of an apricot combined with the crisper, juicier texture of the plum. Let's face it, where the Divine fell short, Luther Burbank took over.
Next we headed off to Sebastapool's Rose and Thorn. Trust me when I tell you that you've never been to a shop quite like this one. The store itself is loaded with more tchotchkes than a Hindu temple, but the main attraction is the animal yard where over 50 chickens and several dwarf goats, all named after famous movie stars, roam the grounds. It's an enticing stop for a picnic replete with country charm; they've got tables and everything. They even offer up the property for getting hitched, as long as you don't mind some feathery, furry bridesmaids and groomsmen clucking and bleating throughout the proceedings. Here's some of the exotic farm friends:
We left Santa Rosa early Sunday, but not before Tina sent us off with a mini library of gardening and homesteading books from the collection of Celeste West, a radical librarian who edited the desktop published Revolting Librarians and wrote a handful of books on lesbian polyfidelity. Since the gardening books I inherited are such gems and Celeste such an interesting character, I think I will save description for a later post. Stay tuned.
When we arrived at Oops Ranch for our girls, we were greeted by Mary Jane, who could pass as the twin of the mean lunch lady, Alice, on Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, except for the fact that Mary Jane is a NICE lady. She regaled us with entertaining, albeit troublesome, tales of Ethel and Lucy's exploits. Apparently, Ethel reigned queen over the young does, always getting to eat first and teaching the youngins' all kinds of mischievous tricks, such as how to jump through the nine inch space near the top of the gate. Yes, that's my naughty, naughty goat. Meanwhile, Lucy slogged through her stay with the rest of the herd somewhere near the bottom of the totem pole. She lost a bit of weight with all the competition, while Ethel has clearly packed on some pounds. But Lucy got her job done with incredible efficiency, breeding with the buck several times the day after we dropped her off! She's my good girl.
While getting the lowdown on the girls' vacation, Mary Jane's husband Mel sauntered over to try and convince us that we needed a mini cow. Though a tempting offer from this gentleman who has probably done more than his fair share of time in a Santa Claus suit, we had to pass it up given that this doe-eyed boy might grow to 300 pounds. If you have at least an acre, you might want to think about taking him in (I can provide contact info). He looks a little wild in this pic, but he's really a sweetie.
He was terribly difficult to resist. But even more of a lure was his jealous pal Buddy who began to make the most obnoxious choking noises in a ploy to get a scratch around the ears. Poor thing. He sounded like he got one of his treat biscuits trapped in his throat and was trying to push it out through his nose. I had no idea the lengths a donkey would go to for a bit of attention. It was kind of charming, if not a little frightening.
All of us girls made it home safe and sound. To our utter amazement, we returned to a brand new/old set of stairs in the backyard made with recycled cinder blocks, a car so clean you could eat off the floor, and a spotless house. We love our Disgruntled Farmhand and suspect that maybe he's not THAT disgruntled after all.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Low Budget Irrigation
The rats' destruction of the garden wasn't all bad; it did enable me to make some amendments to the raised beds that I should have taken care of before the plants went in, i.e., irrigation. Should have been a top priority seeings as we are dry as dead leaf come summertime.
My dream was to purchase a slew of ollas from the Dervaes family this year, but financially we couldn't swing it with all the other backyard costs. I decided to go super low tech with the plastic milk jugs I have been saving. Basically I took all the containers
and used a push pin to poke a load of holes in them with a fervor I might use to stick a voodoo doll of Dick Cheney. The little pin was easy to get through the plastic, which enabled me to finish all seven jugs in under 10 minutes. (If they would have been voodoo dolls, Dick would have certainly met his demise. Muuuuahahahahah!!!) I then buried the containers about three feet apart in the veggie beds.
For some reason I thought that the earth pressing against the jugs would slow the water drainage down and I grossly overestimated the number of holes that I needed. After I filled the bottles, the water ran out faster than it took to fill them. Crap. Not what I was hoping to achieve here. I guess next time I won't get so zealous with the push pin.
That's the cool thing about the clay ollas, they slowly release water through their walls, which encourages the roots of plants to hug the sides of the pot and suck up all the moisture. Maybe I'll pick some up the next time we are in SoCal.
My dream was to purchase a slew of ollas from the Dervaes family this year, but financially we couldn't swing it with all the other backyard costs. I decided to go super low tech with the plastic milk jugs I have been saving. Basically I took all the containers
and used a push pin to poke a load of holes in them with a fervor I might use to stick a voodoo doll of Dick Cheney. The little pin was easy to get through the plastic, which enabled me to finish all seven jugs in under 10 minutes. (If they would have been voodoo dolls, Dick would have certainly met his demise. Muuuuahahahahah!!!) I then buried the containers about three feet apart in the veggie beds.
For some reason I thought that the earth pressing against the jugs would slow the water drainage down and I grossly overestimated the number of holes that I needed. After I filled the bottles, the water ran out faster than it took to fill them. Crap. Not what I was hoping to achieve here. I guess next time I won't get so zealous with the push pin.
That's the cool thing about the clay ollas, they slowly release water through their walls, which encourages the roots of plants to hug the sides of the pot and suck up all the moisture. Maybe I'll pick some up the next time we are in SoCal.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Catching Up with the Farm
My dearest, loyal IBFITC readers (I guess I'm talking to you mom and dad), I profusely apologize for the posting desertification. All I can say is that it was tax time, my busiest time of the year. I believe I've mentioned here before that I am a die-hard procrastinator. I don't just wait until the last minute to do the taxes, I wait until three weeks before taxes are due to start entering last year's books for our businesses. What can I say, I'm highly motivated by deadlines. So I guess I'll just give you all a run down on what's been happening around here over the last three weeks.
Here Comes the Sun
We've been approved! For our solar project that is. I know I never even mentioned it before, but it was one of those things I was meaning to get around to. The gray water system was supposed to come first, but then I found out about this great deal.
I've dreamed of living in a solar powered home since my college days, which was *cough cough* 20 years ago or there abouts (Yeah, I may be middle-aged, but I still have the butt of a 20 year old, so there!). With the $17 grand price tag being the cheapest deal I could find, I figured I'd be waiting another 20 years to realize my dream. But then I ran into this guy at a local Meetup for chicken owners in the Bay Area who works for 1 Block Off the Grid and he told me that I could get the whole thing financed through this company called SunRun, all for the low low start up cost of $3 grand. In a nut shell, the dealio is that you pay this up front cost for installation, SunRun purchases and owns the panels, and then you buy back the power your panels produce from SunRun for a monthly flat fee, which is pretty much the same as your current electric bill. The super awesome perks are that it's an 18 year contract where SunRun is 100% liable for the maintenance and upkeep of your system, including any damage that might incur to other people's property (you know, just in case those gargantuan panels blew off your roof and landed on your neighbor's). And your bill will not go up unless you are using more energy than you are producing with your panels so you avoid the yearly rate increases saving a ton of money in the end. Not to mention that all that guilty pleasure Facebook time won't be powered by dirty coal. Although it will cost more than buying the panels outright, we love the flexibility of not being responsible for them and that we can choose to buy the panels at the end of our contract or just let SunRun take them back. Who knew chickens could lead us directly to solar power?
Chickens
I would like to report that the chickens are grieving the absence of the goats, but alas, I think they're a touch relieved that they don't have to worry about being stepped on when the nutty goat antics start in. Every morning Pop Tart greets me with the "mount me" pose so I give her a back scratch and a little rub on the sides of her tail, a daily ritual as regular and scheduled as teeth brushing around here. But that's the best I'm going to do for her when it comes to beckoning to be bred. However, I did have to cross that line with Sweet Pea this week.
I found my darling bird straining one morning and was wondering if she had an egg stuck or something. I fear egg binding like a rooster fears the presence of a fox in the hen house. The removal procedure is beyond unappealing (***WARNING*** graphic discussion to follow.), as it entails sticking one's fingers as far up the chicken's backside as it will go, feeling for the egg, and trying to carefully guide the egg out without breaking it since that could cut up the intestines and cause death. You all know how I feel about more death. So I picked up Sweet Pea to get a gander at what was going on.
Well I found half a poo hanging out of her vent along with a bunch of her insides. "Damn it," I thought, "Another freakin' prolapse!" Yes, this was not my first experience with cloaca prolapse. When Eggo laid her first egg, the shell was soft and rubbery so the poor little babe strained so hard that her insides came out. Think of it as a really bad chicken hemorrhoid, like the kind ladies get when they give birth (consider yourself beyond fortunate if you have no idea what I am talking about). Most of the advice on the intraweb recommended culling, mainly because chickens get all riled up about blood and will peck an injured bird to death. I thought culling sounded a bit harsh and was glad that wasn't the prognosis for me after I gave birth to my daughter. Damn, that was ugly. Then I found some other handy advice that suggested sugar, witch hazel / Preparation H, triple antibiotic ointment, or honey to reduce swelling by slathering some on the vent and popping the innards back in. I like to cover all bases and thus made a concoction including all the above indications, washed down Eggo's back end, put the mixture on the bird's butt, and removed her from the others for a few days. She hasn't had a problem since.
In Sweet Pea's case, I didn't bother with the bath or the cover-all-bases remedy. I just stuck my finger inside to see, or I guess feel (strange how the inside of a chicken feels just like a vagina) would be the appropriate verb, what was going on and it seemed like she had a big crap that was distending her intestines (at least I think chickens have intestines) at a weird angle, kind of like diverticulitis, making it hard for her to get the doodie out. So I did what any caretaker would do and removed it for her. The DF feigned tossing his cookies as I scooped out a finger full of crap and flicked it on the ground. He swore he would never eat my cooking again. After all poop was removed, I pushed the bulge back in, which was a bit bloody from all the man-handling, and prayed that she would be fine. I couldn't properly tend to her that day as I had a shitload of errands to run. I'm happy to announce that her butt is fine and that she started laying eggs again the day after her injury.
OROAR Update
That electric fencing is really doing its job keeping out all the undesirables. In fact, most of the garden is recovering nicely with some peas and favas returning from the dead. The Zimbabwe bucket method was not as promising as I had hoped. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I used a toilet paper roll core smothered in peanut butter instead of a corncob (where the hell would I find a dried corncob at this time of the year I'd like to know) and placed it on a wooden skewer instead of a metal one, which enabled the critters to knock the stick into the bucket, thus ruining the trap. Well the electric fence is working. It's actually working so well that when I tried to put in some transplants, I kept getting a jolt every time I touched the wires. It's only on at night, but I guess the system will continue to discharge during the day. I'll post some garden pics once things get a bit taller.
Goats
According to the breeder, Lucy has been successfully bred! And as I suspected, she got her love on the day after we dropped her off. I admire her efficiency with the whole endeavor. Since she hasn't shown any signs of estrus in the past four weeks, it's probably safe to pick her up. We plan to head up there the weekend of May 1st, which is of great relief to the CW as her teacher has informed me that she has been crying at school because she misses her goats so much. We all miss them. Even the DF has remarked that things just aren't the same without all the "maaaaaah"s echoing throughout the backyard.
Well that pretty much wraps up things for now. Look for future posts on low budget drip irrigation, self-watering containers, and my family's farming background. It's good to be back.
Here Comes the Sun
We've been approved! For our solar project that is. I know I never even mentioned it before, but it was one of those things I was meaning to get around to. The gray water system was supposed to come first, but then I found out about this great deal.
I've dreamed of living in a solar powered home since my college days, which was *cough cough* 20 years ago or there abouts (Yeah, I may be middle-aged, but I still have the butt of a 20 year old, so there!). With the $17 grand price tag being the cheapest deal I could find, I figured I'd be waiting another 20 years to realize my dream. But then I ran into this guy at a local Meetup for chicken owners in the Bay Area who works for 1 Block Off the Grid and he told me that I could get the whole thing financed through this company called SunRun, all for the low low start up cost of $3 grand. In a nut shell, the dealio is that you pay this up front cost for installation, SunRun purchases and owns the panels, and then you buy back the power your panels produce from SunRun for a monthly flat fee, which is pretty much the same as your current electric bill. The super awesome perks are that it's an 18 year contract where SunRun is 100% liable for the maintenance and upkeep of your system, including any damage that might incur to other people's property (you know, just in case those gargantuan panels blew off your roof and landed on your neighbor's). And your bill will not go up unless you are using more energy than you are producing with your panels so you avoid the yearly rate increases saving a ton of money in the end. Not to mention that all that guilty pleasure Facebook time won't be powered by dirty coal. Although it will cost more than buying the panels outright, we love the flexibility of not being responsible for them and that we can choose to buy the panels at the end of our contract or just let SunRun take them back. Who knew chickens could lead us directly to solar power?
Chickens
I would like to report that the chickens are grieving the absence of the goats, but alas, I think they're a touch relieved that they don't have to worry about being stepped on when the nutty goat antics start in. Every morning Pop Tart greets me with the "mount me" pose so I give her a back scratch and a little rub on the sides of her tail, a daily ritual as regular and scheduled as teeth brushing around here. But that's the best I'm going to do for her when it comes to beckoning to be bred. However, I did have to cross that line with Sweet Pea this week.
I found my darling bird straining one morning and was wondering if she had an egg stuck or something. I fear egg binding like a rooster fears the presence of a fox in the hen house. The removal procedure is beyond unappealing (***WARNING*** graphic discussion to follow.), as it entails sticking one's fingers as far up the chicken's backside as it will go, feeling for the egg, and trying to carefully guide the egg out without breaking it since that could cut up the intestines and cause death. You all know how I feel about more death. So I picked up Sweet Pea to get a gander at what was going on.
Well I found half a poo hanging out of her vent along with a bunch of her insides. "Damn it," I thought, "Another freakin' prolapse!" Yes, this was not my first experience with cloaca prolapse. When Eggo laid her first egg, the shell was soft and rubbery so the poor little babe strained so hard that her insides came out. Think of it as a really bad chicken hemorrhoid, like the kind ladies get when they give birth (consider yourself beyond fortunate if you have no idea what I am talking about). Most of the advice on the intraweb recommended culling, mainly because chickens get all riled up about blood and will peck an injured bird to death. I thought culling sounded a bit harsh and was glad that wasn't the prognosis for me after I gave birth to my daughter. Damn, that was ugly. Then I found some other handy advice that suggested sugar, witch hazel / Preparation H, triple antibiotic ointment, or honey to reduce swelling by slathering some on the vent and popping the innards back in. I like to cover all bases and thus made a concoction including all the above indications, washed down Eggo's back end, put the mixture on the bird's butt, and removed her from the others for a few days. She hasn't had a problem since.
In Sweet Pea's case, I didn't bother with the bath or the cover-all-bases remedy. I just stuck my finger inside to see, or I guess feel (strange how the inside of a chicken feels just like a vagina) would be the appropriate verb, what was going on and it seemed like she had a big crap that was distending her intestines (at least I think chickens have intestines) at a weird angle, kind of like diverticulitis, making it hard for her to get the doodie out. So I did what any caretaker would do and removed it for her. The DF feigned tossing his cookies as I scooped out a finger full of crap and flicked it on the ground. He swore he would never eat my cooking again. After all poop was removed, I pushed the bulge back in, which was a bit bloody from all the man-handling, and prayed that she would be fine. I couldn't properly tend to her that day as I had a shitload of errands to run. I'm happy to announce that her butt is fine and that she started laying eggs again the day after her injury.
OROAR Update
That electric fencing is really doing its job keeping out all the undesirables. In fact, most of the garden is recovering nicely with some peas and favas returning from the dead. The Zimbabwe bucket method was not as promising as I had hoped. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I used a toilet paper roll core smothered in peanut butter instead of a corncob (where the hell would I find a dried corncob at this time of the year I'd like to know) and placed it on a wooden skewer instead of a metal one, which enabled the critters to knock the stick into the bucket, thus ruining the trap. Well the electric fence is working. It's actually working so well that when I tried to put in some transplants, I kept getting a jolt every time I touched the wires. It's only on at night, but I guess the system will continue to discharge during the day. I'll post some garden pics once things get a bit taller.
Goats
According to the breeder, Lucy has been successfully bred! And as I suspected, she got her love on the day after we dropped her off. I admire her efficiency with the whole endeavor. Since she hasn't shown any signs of estrus in the past four weeks, it's probably safe to pick her up. We plan to head up there the weekend of May 1st, which is of great relief to the CW as her teacher has informed me that she has been crying at school because she misses her goats so much. We all miss them. Even the DF has remarked that things just aren't the same without all the "maaaaaah"s echoing throughout the backyard.
Well that pretty much wraps up things for now. Look for future posts on low budget drip irrigation, self-watering containers, and my family's farming background. It's good to be back.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Love Is in the Air
The goats were successfully dropped off for their month long lovefest. Well it's really Lucy's romantic getaway. Ethel is with the young does, showing off her impressive relative size, while Lucy is frolicking with the buck and nursing does. Fortunately, they are only separated by a chain link fence as they are very attached to one another. As they stood nose to nose at the fence line, I felt quite sorry for them; it's the first time they've been apart in eight months.
We had a wonderful time visiting the birth home of our girls, especially with all the one and two week dwarf goat babies running around. I can't wait until we have our own kiddies frisking about. However, the thought of having to inevitably give them away is already weighing heavy on me. Some people collect Hummels, stamps, comic books and whatnot; I collect pets. I know, I know, we're overrun with animals here, especially with the rats and everything. But seriously, how am I going to give up these 15 inch long, not more than 10 inch high, cubes of cuteness? Look!
In the right hand corner of this pic, you can see a blurry image of the stud who is going "to service" Lucy. He's quite a looker. I think they will have totally adorable babies. He might actually be Lucy's dad. Don't say "Ewww!" It's not like that with goats. I think...
I mentioned to Mary Jane, the queen of goats at Oops Ranch, that I thought Lucy was in heat a couple weeks ago so didn't know when she would come back around again. Mary Jane told me that it was common for a doe to quickly go back into estrus once she caught whiff of a buck. We took a little tour to see all the animals, mostly miniatures, that they breed and raise on the farm and when we returned to give our ladies one last goodbye (Ute teared up as if this were a final farewell, poor baby), I noticed that Lucy was showing signs that she was... well... um... ready. That didn't take long! 15 minutes of male goat stink and Lucy was in the mood for love. Look closely at her backside.
Before we left, I saw that the buck himself was noticing Lucy's odor as it blew downwind in his general direction. I suspect this will be a successful arrangement, though I am anxious for the girls to return. I miss their silly mugs.
We had a wonderful time visiting the birth home of our girls, especially with all the one and two week dwarf goat babies running around. I can't wait until we have our own kiddies frisking about. However, the thought of having to inevitably give them away is already weighing heavy on me. Some people collect Hummels, stamps, comic books and whatnot; I collect pets. I know, I know, we're overrun with animals here, especially with the rats and everything. But seriously, how am I going to give up these 15 inch long, not more than 10 inch high, cubes of cuteness? Look!
In the right hand corner of this pic, you can see a blurry image of the stud who is going "to service" Lucy. He's quite a looker. I think they will have totally adorable babies. He might actually be Lucy's dad. Don't say "Ewww!" It's not like that with goats. I think...
I mentioned to Mary Jane, the queen of goats at Oops Ranch, that I thought Lucy was in heat a couple weeks ago so didn't know when she would come back around again. Mary Jane told me that it was common for a doe to quickly go back into estrus once she caught whiff of a buck. We took a little tour to see all the animals, mostly miniatures, that they breed and raise on the farm and when we returned to give our ladies one last goodbye (Ute teared up as if this were a final farewell, poor baby), I noticed that Lucy was showing signs that she was... well... um... ready. That didn't take long! 15 minutes of male goat stink and Lucy was in the mood for love. Look closely at her backside.
Before we left, I saw that the buck himself was noticing Lucy's odor as it blew downwind in his general direction. I suspect this will be a successful arrangement, though I am anxious for the girls to return. I miss their silly mugs.
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