Chicken Wranglin'

Question: How many Williams’ does it take to wrangle chickens?

Answer: Apparently more than three.

It all started with the garage chickens.  You know the ones; they laid their eggs on the work bench, the corner under the stairs and the hardware cabinet. 

The two hens co-parenting the nest on the bench had hatched another group.  I don’t like to say anything scandalous about them, but I’m pretty sure S. Truett Cathy would not serve them in his restaurants, if you get my drift.

Rosie, our Rhode Island Red, hatched hers under the stairs.  Poor Rosie isn’t the brightest chicken in the coop.  Last fall, she hatched a nest-full in the front yard and promptly left them to get some food.  They all died.  We almost called DCS (Department of Chicken Services) on her.  Thankfully, this time she stuck with it. 

Both Rosie and the other girls hatched dark black chickens with white chests.  They look exactly like penguins.  Now, the only black rooster we have is Oscar, the silkie.  And because he’s not as fast or as big as the other roosters, he doesn’t usually get to, ummm…socialize as much. So he’s naturally strutting around, beating his chest with his wings.  (Lesson for boys – you can be short and chubby and still get the girl!)

Finally, Drumstick was sitting in the cabinet.   And she was obviously sitting on rotten eggs.  I say obviously because it smelled like the inside of a sewage plant after a city-wide burrito festival.  Peee-ewww!  I couldn’t stand to walk it there.  Not to mention the fact that every time we needed a nail or screw, we had to look around on the floor to find it, since she’d knocked everything out of the cabinet.

All this is my round-about way of saying that we HAD to get those chickens out of there.  So we decided yesterday that we would just shoo them out.  Yeah…that was the plan.

Don started off this rodeo by trying to pick up the lovebirds and tossing them out the door. (Disclaimer: no chickens were hurt in the making of this blog.)  HOWEVER, these girls were not willing to go without their babies!  Nor would they let him pick up the chicks first and then move them.  No siree…they came flying back into the garage, talons first, and straight at Don.  They flogged and cackled, cackled and flogged.  It was a battle of epic proportions!  Finally he got the mommas out and one of the chicks.

If you don’t know it, chicks are fast. Not Olympic-level fast, but certainly college-level fast.  After about 15 minutes, we finally got two more cornered and sent out the door with their family.  The last one?  Well, it eluded us for a few hours.  I’ll get back to that one.

Next was Drumstick.  She was easy; he just reached in and grabbed her.  You see, she had been sitting in the cabinet for days and was practically comatose.  She hadn’t been out for food or water; her feathers were yellow from the eggs she had broken sitting on them; her comb was limp and falling over her face; and, best of all, she had a rotten egg stuck to her breast!  Underneath her was…nothing!  She had either knocked out or crushed all the eggs she had laid there.  All that smell for nothing!  I’m happy to say that she looks much better today.  The wild look is slowly leaving her eyes and the egg has been amputated.

Lastly, there was Rosie.  She was more willing to move, except that she moved into a different corner of the garage and barricaded herself in.  We had a chicken hostage situation on our hands.  Time to call in the hostage negotiators!  I got the skimmer from our luxurious blow-up pool.  Don shooed her out of the corner with it, then held her back while I got her three chicks.  Success!!  If only they all been that way.

The last chick – the one that escaped earlier – was the hardest.  Every time we’d get it close to the door, it would scurry back into some spot that we weren’t able to reach.  We would close the garage doors, wait until we heard it come close again, and then run after it.  The Keystone Cops had nothing on us!

Once Don finally got it shooed outside, it ran…straight into the dog lot.  Sigh…how was a tiny, one-inch chick getting the best of us?  After quite a few stressful minutes of hoping the dogs wouldn’t get it, we had it trapped under the grill.  Don stuck a broom underneath to push it towards the back, and I grabbed it from behind.  What a team!!

To make a long story even longer, all the hens and their chicks are outside and enjoying the bugs, grubs and feed they can find.  Right now, they are all under the giant fir tree next to our gazebo.  I’m sitting here watching them rest.  Some of the babies are up on their mom’s back.  The continual sound of cheeping can be heard.  It’s not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

We might not be chicken wranglers, but we sure are chicken lovers.

Oh, and by the way, we had KFC for lunch.  So there’s that.

P.S. The correct pronunciation of “wrangle” is rain-gull, with an extra-long “a” and a drawn-out “u.”

 

Rosie with a few of her penguins chicks!

The Year of Growing Older

I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.  Or maybe just a realization.  At the very least, a thought.

Here it is: this summer will be forever known as “The Summer of Growth.”  Actually, I’ll probably forget I called it that about two weeks from now, but since it’s in writing and ON THE INTERNET…because, of course, anything you read on the Internet is TRUE. Right?

Anyhoo…it has been made perfectly clear to me that my “little” girl is growing up.  Yes, I already knew that, but I mean REALLY growing up.  As in, making the transition from little girl to young lady.

And I don’t just mean physically, although that is definitely true.  She’s shooting up and out in all sorts of crazy ways.  I’m not even thinking about buying school uniforms until August, for fear she’ll outgrow them before school starts.  I was watching her in a bikini the other day and realized she has a figure!!  WTH???  When did THIS happen?!  At nine years old, I still looked like a little girl with the figure of a boy.

It’s also more than the emotional changes.  Yeah…the emotional.  You know what?  Let’s just skip that for today. You feel me? Word.

No, the thing I’ve noticed the most lately is the maturity.  The changing habits.  The new abilities.  For example, today she took a shower, dried off, got dressed, brushed her hair and teeth…basically got herself completely ready.  Now, I know this isn’t that big a deal; she IS nine, after all.  But usually I’m having to go behind her, reminding her to do this or do that, or prying her attention away from the television.  Today, she was ready in 20 minutes.  Folks, believe me when I say this is paramount to a bona fide miracle! 

She also has learned the joys of sleeping late during the summer.  Formerly known as “The Kid Who Never Sleeps,” she’s started staying up later at night and waking up around 9:00 or 10:00.  No more coming into Mommy’s room at 6:30 wanting breakfast!  No more loud talking before I’ve had my coffee!  I have time!  I have space!  Daddy and I actually get ADULT TIME!!!

One of the best things she’s started doing is feeding herself.  Which is great because I’m not always so willing to get my lazy butt off the sofa just to go fix popcorn.  Once I showed her how to put it in the microwave, how long to cook it, and how to get it out without burning herself, we were set!  She’s also learned how to use the washer and dryer and next I’m teaching her the finer points of the dishwasher!

Yes, watching them grow up is hard.  It’s always sad to see your babies become real people.  But anytime I start to feel that way, I remind myself that this is why I have a kid, especially a girl:  To do chores!!!

 

When did THIS happen?

My Day in Pictures

This was ONE. OF. THOSE. DAYS.  And so, ladies and gentlemen, I offer you this pictorial:



Today, I woke up feeling like this:

I would have stayed in bed, but I knew that I had this waiting:

And this:

After lunch, this happened:

Which made this jump the fence…again:

I was worried he would get in the road and cause this:

I about was ready to do this:

 

I realized that what I really need is more of this:

Without it, I may end up in this:

Or this:

Although the last one might not be so far-fetched, considering my new philosophy is this:

And that, my friends, is this:

Satan, Thy Name is Weed! (The garden variety type; not the smoking kind!)

I decided to work in the garden this morning.  I thought I would see what was growing, pull a few weeds, just take a look around.  I know, I know...it surprised me, too!  But let me tell you, friends...it's a jungle out there!  Witness Exhibit A:

Exhibit A

 

 

That isn't corn, people.  Our corn doesn't grow that well.  This the enemy; Satan's flower; the Green Menace.  These. Are. Weeds!!!

 

Wow.  I guess all the rain we've had this year has really made a difference.  I mean, they have taken over!  I could pull weeds for eight hours a day, seven days a week, and still not get to them all. 

 

We've always had trouble with this plot of land.  It used to be a hayfield.  I know nothing about these things, but apparently hay is hard to kill.  Looking at this photo, that seems like an understatement.

 

Poor Don has tried a lot of different techniques; he just hasn't found the one that will do the trick.  Don't get me wrong...he's a great farmer/gardener!  He's just never had to fight this tough of an enemy before. 

 

Another problem is time.  Hubs works all day, and it's so hot and muggy in the evenings, it's hard to go out there.  I'm busy fighting my own battles with the hormone beast.  Luckily, my little darling(?) has finally begun to sleep late, making it possible for me to get a little work done before the fighting begins.

 

The good news in all this is that we do actually have some vegetables growing!  I found a couple of radishes today, with squash, corn (yes, really), and okra coming along nicely.  It looks like we'll have enough to keep our little family happy for a few months.

 

Maybe there's a lesson here: Even though weeds crowd around us and take up our oxygen and space, we can continue to grow and survive!  We are tougher than those pesky weeds!!  We can persevere against all odds!!!

 

Or maybe they're just weeds.

 

Exhibit B - Proof that I actually did some work today!

 

Our Cup(s) Runneth Over

Being an older parent (I was almost 40 when Tessa was born) certainly has its benefits.  You’re calmer, smarter, more settled and have more income.  It also has a downside.  It’s what I like to call:

THE BATTLE OF THE HORMONES (Duhn, duhn, duuuuuuuhhhhhhn)

By luck or by curse, Tessa has entered into puberty at the same time I have entered into peri-menopause.  Poor Don.  This is similar to mixing oil with water, ammonia with bleach, fire with gasoline…you get the picture.  Things don’t mix, y’all. 

It’s a world of extremes this summer.  We’re either a well-tuned machine or spontaneous combustion – take your pick.  There’s no in-between.  NONE.  There are days I’m worried that one of us will land in jail.  Or at the bottom of a river.

Tessa has many years to go on the puberty train.  I’m getting close to the post-menopausal station, but we keep going back to pick up one more rider.  This is fine as long as we don’t have any stowaways hoping on board.  In any event, we’ve got a loooooooooong way to go before this situation gets better.

So hang on to your hats, folks; it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!

Me Time

I love my family.  I really do.  I enjoy their company and I would throw myself in front of a train for them.  But folks, let me say this straight: I. LOVE. TIME. ALONE.

Let me give you the details of the last 15 hours of my life, in all its glorious spectacularity:

1.       I took an hour-long bubble bath without any interruption;

2.       I finished the book I’ve been trying to read for two weeks;

3.       I was able to lay on the sofa and watch whatever I wanted on tv;

4.       I slept until 8:30 this morning;

5.       I had bacon for breakfast and didn’t have to share;

6.       I haven’t heard anyone ask me to do something, get something or “come here”;

7.       I’m getting ready to put on my swimsuit, grab the Sunday paper and lay in the sun without the hubs ogling me and the kid wanting me to get in the pool.

Ahhhhh….I told you it was spectacular!  Everyone needs alone time.  EVERYONE!  I even try to convince my daughter of that.  She needs time to spend in her room, playing or reading or watching TV without mean ole mom telling her to clean up.  I try to give Don alone time in the evenings when he gets home from work.  I try to catch my time at night after everyone has gone to bed. 

But I have to tell you, a whole night of just me and the cat??  YES!!!  I feel refreshed, happy and energized.  And now I’m ready for them to come home.  But check back with me about 5:00 this evening.  Cause you know I’m gonna be ready to kill them both by then.

Shame...

So this happened today...

I don't like to gossip, but I'm pretty sure this ole gal has been messing around with a penguin!  Tramp.