Confused or Considerate?

Here it is, Christmas Eve Day. In Ohio, we are enjoying a balmy 55 degree day with not a snowflake in sight. The wood burner is dark, I'm sitting here sweating, and thinking about opening the windows. (However, I'm sure that within the next few minutes I will be feeling a little chilly, so the windows will stay closed. At least for now.) Yes, it will be a Green Christmas this year. No complaints here.

My opening paragraph is completely off-topic, because I'm really going to write about chickens and cats.  We have two cats. They are supposed to be outside cats, but one, Rascal, is working her way to becoming an inside cat.  OK, she's practically an inside cat. Our other cat, Lutrell, is an outside cat. Hubby made them some very nice boxes, stacked one upon the other, which sit on our deck. Lutrell, our yellow cat, makes the most use out of them. Rascal is usually inside, or finding herself locked in the garage (which was the case last night.)

We also have about a dozen chickens.  They were fenced in,  but after we got some hogs, and after the hogs rooted all around the fence line, they made a way for the chickens to escape.  When the chickens get up in the morning, usually around 7:00 or so, they make a bee-line to my flower patch where there just happens to be a bird feeder, and scratch and dig for all the fallen sunflower seeds. They eventually make their way to the deck and find the cat food dish, and peck away at any remaining food that has been left there by Lutrell.  (Chickens LOVE cat food!)  When I get up in the morning, usually around 6:00, I feed Lutrell, so he can eat, unmolested, before the chickens arrive.

The other morning, as I opened the door to the deck to feed Lutrell, I couldn't believe it.  There was a chicken.  I call her "Little Red", short for Little Red Hen. I asked her what she was doing up so early, but she just clucked at me.  I told Hubby, "The chickens are up already.  It's still dark outside."  He was amazed, too.  So, I let Lutrell come inside, just to eat. Otherwise, the chickens scare him away and eat his food.

Yesterday morning, while going through the same routine, I heard a rustling noise as I started to feed Lutrell.  I looked in the direction of the noise, and saw Little Red emerging from the cat box! (You have got to be kidding me!)  So again, Lutrell got to eat his breakfast inside.  Later on, as I was getting ready for work, I glanced outside, and this sight caught me eye:

Wait. What? Oh my goodness! Crazy chicken!  Then my eyes were directed to the lower box.  At a quick glance, I thought it was Lutrell, sleeping.  But, upon closer inspection I saw this:

What in the world is going on??  And, for how long?? (This explains our recent low egg count.) Apparently, for a week!  And, Lutrell has been doing his part being a surrogate father, by keeping the eggs warm...if only we had a rooster!

Ever since the time change, the chickens have been going into their coop to roost, usually around 4::00, as soon as it starts getting a little dark outside. Last night, before going to bed, I decided to check the box to see if Little Red was spending the night on the deck. Nope, both boxes were clear. I felt around for an egg just to be sure.  Nothing.  Good. Maybe she was done with venturing down to the cat boxes.  Au contrair.  This morning, as I went to feed Lutrell, who popped out, but Little Red! And yes, she left another egg!

While I appreciate her thoughtfulness and consideration on making egg gathering easier, all the chickens will have to pay for Little Red's crazy adventure. They will have to stay locked up in the chicken coop for a few days until she remembers the proper place to lay her eggs.

Wishing you a Very Merry Christmas!

Darlene

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This Will Never Happen Again!

I know the rule is never say never, BUT, I'm quite confident that this particular event will never happen again. In fact, I'm quite surprised that it even happened at all! So, what is this momentous, once-in-a-lifetime  event, you ask?  Well, let me tell you.

Back story:
Hubby and I have a little six acre mini-farm.  We are raising our own beef, and chickens, (for the eggs), and now we have added pigs to our little e-i-e-i-o farm.  Two nights ago, we picked up two Berkshire feeder pigs.  By definition, a feeder pig is generally 40 to 50 pounds.  When we arrived at the farm, the farmer was plowing his field. He jumped off his tractor, greeted us, then pointed out the direction to drive. We offered to give him a ride on the tailgate of the truck, but he declined, saying he had been sitting on the tractor all day, and he would just meet us there. By the time we arrived at the barn, I turned to see four more people following him, which turned out to be his wife and three daughters.  We picked out the two pigs we wanted, and the girls grabbed them and put them in our make-shift pig transporting cage.  Hubby joked about making it out of pallets, but the farmer just replied, "Hey, that works just fine". Later, I noticed that he had done the same thing with his pallets. Great minds!

Wood pallet pig transporter cage

 We got to talking to him, and were happy to discover that he farms by the Joel Salatin method. He then gave us a quick little tour of his farm and showed us the turkeys his daughter is raising. One daughter is studying to be a herbalist, another daughter is working on breeding Heritage breeds, especially chickens and turkeys.  (Not sure about the third daughter.)  Anyway, he showed us the turkeys. Red Bourbon turkeys.  I'm not a huge turkey fan, especially eating, and I've not paid too much attention to the different kinds of turkeys, but, let me tell you, the Red Bourbon male is one beautiful bird!  I wished I had my camera with me, but then again, I wasn't sure if they would want me to take its picture.  But, I couldn't take me eyes off of it.  I told  Hubby that I would like to have one of those around just to look at it.

So, after our nice visit, (He even offered to help us when butchering time comes around, yes, we plan to eat our pigs), we left with our two pigs, and more knowledge.

When we got home, we drove them into the front pasture, with the intention of keeping them separate from the cows and chickens, for now.  First, we gave them their little earrings, then we set them down out of the truck.    Piggy Number 1, who shall be named Bacon, hightailed it to the back corner of the field, with Piggy Number 2, who shall be named Porky, close behind him.  The cows quickly came running down to see what all the ruckus was about, and they had some cute moments getting to know each other. The pigs continued running the fence line back and forth, together (key word), saying "hi" to the cows, then running away from them. The chickens were unimpressed.  We made sure they had bedding, feed, and water, then said "goodnight" while they continued snorting and grunting around.  All was well.

Pigs have about two weeks of cuteness in their lives

Look at those cute little tails!

Who are those intruders??

A bit blurry, but wearing their earrings

Berkshires

So far, no disaster, which is a bit miraculous.

The next morning, Saturday, began at the ridiculously early hour of 5:30.  Ugh. I know! But, we've kinda gotten used to that early hour.  Maybe because we're usually in bed by 9:30.  It's a vicious cycle.

We had two more pigs to pick up from someone else.  These pigs are mule hoofs, another Heritage breed.  Hubby left by 6:30 to go get those little piggies. This time I stayed home because I had to leave for work by 9:00.  Remember my definition of feeder pigs?  Yeah, well, these little piggies are no where near that weight. They truly are little piggies, maybe, 20 pounds. Tiny.  (But, cute.)  Hubby was back home by 7:30 a bit irritated disappointed that the pigs were so small. Not only will it take longer to reach the desired weight of about 300 pounds, but we weren't entirely confidant that our fencing, which was designed for larger animals, would keep them in.. We also decided to wait till they grew a little before they got their earring, which was about the same size as their ears.  Did I mention that they are cute?

Trouble is coming...

I grabbed one, which was an armful of squealy, squirmy bundle of pork.  I put him down, and he took off running. Fast. Hubby put the second one down, and he took off running in the opposite direction. Fast. They did not stick together at all! We watched them for a few minutes, admiring how cute they were, then it was time for Hubby to drive out of the pasture.

 I am the official gate opener/closer, whichever is needed at the time.  As Hubby drove towards the gate, I ran to open it, keeping an eye on the one pig that was closer to the gate than I wanted him to be, but I did not think it would be a problem.  I thought wrong. (Here is where the disaster part kicks in, just in case you were wondering.)

The next thing I knew, that little oinker  had made a bee line through the gate at 80 miles an hour. The last thing I heard was Hubby yelling, "How could you let that pig get out?"  Umm, he's faster than I am, and I wasn't expecting him to make a run for it?  No, I did not say that.  I don't think I said anything.  Apparently, I did a funny little dance, then just took off running after that dumb idiot.  He ran through our property lickety-split, then through the neighbor's corn field.  Beyond the cornfield is a little woods, which I think he managed to veer around, then into a field of clover, which was about 24 inches high.  Little Oinker is about 12 inches high. You see my problem?  I kept envisioning my bacon running away, and Hubby killing me if that happened.  Hubby saw a 100 dollar bill with wings on it. Not sure if he was envisioning killing me.  I didn't ask.

Now, allow me to pause here, just to make this long story a little bit longer.  I'm nearly 60 years old, and I haven't run since I gave birth to my last child 30-ish years ago.  I've tried to run from time to time, but, well, I have this little embarrassing problem. I'm sure you can guess what it is. Don't make me say it!

So, I'm running like a madwoman, after this pig. No time to be embarrassed. No time to be vain. Meanwhile, my dignity is dribbling down my leg. I'm focused. Eyes on the pig. Eyes on the pig. I don't know what happened to Hubby, but suddenly I see him out of the corner of my eye.  He's been behind me all the time.  As the little escapee turns toward Hubby, Hubby tries to corral him back towards me. He's getting closer and closer, and I suddenly realize what I must do. I must hurl my poor, old body down on top of this pig. I've never been able to comprehend the idea of tackling in football, or sliding in baseball. How do you just make yourself hit the ground?  I don't get it.  But, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that is what I had to do. (And, here is the "this will never happen again" part.) So, I took a flying leap, didn't even have time to pray for a safe landing, and landed right on top of that football sized pig.  I didn't stop to think of the possibility that I might have squashed it to death.  I held onto that little trouble maker until Hubby came up to me, and grabbed him. Disaster was averted. My life would be spared. I had redeemed myself.

More than one person, okay, everyone who has heard this story, has expressed that they would love to see that on video.  I am not among them. In my mind's eye, I looked very graceful as I stretched out and floated through the air, landing gently on the stupid idiot. I don't want my vision to be shattered.
'
Anyway, Hubby carried him by one leg, because they are squirmy little stinkers, and we didn't want to chase him again.  And, do you know what? The nursery rhyme is true.  He went "wee wee wee" all the way home.
.

The Mule Hoofs look like footballs with feet

Everybody getting acquainted

Ferdinand just wanted to say hello

I see bacon and sausage and pork chops and pork loin and spare ribs and...

Darlene  (I accidently deleted my fancy signature, so I'll just have to type it in this time.)

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Eye Candy for You

I understand if you want to take a few minutes to just gaze into those beautiful baby blues. I know I've been mesmerized for a while, now....
Ahh, yes, here is the epitome of good looks. 

I received this as an email, and thought you might enjoy it. Both the picture and the story that follows.

Paul Newman Only women of a certain era will fully appreciate this ... true story. (if you don't understand this, tell your mother, she'll get it) A Michigan woman and her family were vacationing in a small new England town where Paul Newman and his family often visited. One Sunday morning, the woman got up early to take a long walk. After a brisk five-mile hike, she decided to treat herself to a double-dip chocolate ice cream cone. She hopped in the car, drove to the center of the village and went straight to the combination bakery/ice cream parlor. There was only one other patron in the store: Paul Newman, sitting at the counter having a doughnut and coffee. The woman's heart skipped a beat as her eyes made contact with those famous baby-blue eyes. The actor nodded graciously and the star struck woman smiled demurely. Pull yourself together! She chides herself You're a happily married woman with three children, you're forty-five years old, not a teenager! The clerk filled her order and she took the double-dip chocolate ice cream cone in one hand and her change in the other. Then she went out the door, avoiding even a glance in Paul Newman's direction. When she reached her car, she realized that she had a handful of change but her other hand was empty. Where's my ice cream cone? Did I leave it in the store? Back into the shop she went, expecting to see the cone still in the clerk's hand or in a holder on the counter or something. No ice cream cone was in sight. With that, she happened to look over at Paul Newman. His face broke into his familiar, warm, friendly grin and he said to the woman, 'You put it in your purse.'

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The Face of Intimidation

I will make another attempt to post a blog today. I think the computer gods are against me because lately, every blogging attempt has ended in disaster. Maybe "disaster" is too strong a term. Let's just say that my computer freezes up on me, causes lots of frustration, and leaves me with nothing to show for my hours at the computer!

source

Intimidate: to make timid or fearful; frighten. 

I've been debating with myself on whether or not I should share this little story, with the only reason being that it may not be quite as hilarious to someone who doesn't really know me personally. But, maybe I've been able to translate my personality onto my blog, and, if so, you will find this hilarious.

The other day, I was leaving the library, when a car snuck up behind me. Oh yes. It was very sneaky, and tried to run me down. Actually, turns out it was being driven by my Amazing Daughter. 

She informed me that she was not coming to see me, but that she was meeting a friend, so that they could go on a hike together. We were chattin' it up a little until he arrived. I asked what kind of car I should be on the look-out for. She said that it was kind of a combination of both of our cars. That was a bit confusing to me. She clarified that his car was like mine, but about the same color as hers. He arrived, parked on the other side of my car, and as he was walking over, said, "I like your car." That comment flew right over my head, because I had already forgotten that his car was the same make as mine. In my defense, his is an older model, and also in my defense, I can't tell one kind of car from another.

Amazing Daughter makes a quick introduction, we shake hands, say hello, then she orders him into the car saying, "We're wasting daylight if we're gonna go on a hike."

So, we both go our separate ways. Inside her car, he is saying, "Is that really your mom?"

"Yeah, why would I lie about that?"

"Well," he responds, "she seems so intimidating." 

Amazing Daughter bursts out laughing, and continues laughing for a good five minutes. "Why do you say that?" she asks, between guffaws.

"She just looks so sophisticated, and intelligent, and stylish... 

More laughter. "And, like a librarian? Yeah, it's the glasses." Poor Daughter could barely drive the car.

I'm sorry to say, for her friend's sake, that this story has been told many times, and it always gets the same reaction! Great, uncontrollable bursts of laughter.

My son, B.D., said it best, after catching his breath, of course. "You are about as timid as they get!" 

True story. 

Until next time,

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Gotta love grandkids!

Hubby (aka Pappy) and I (aka Grammy) just got back from a visit with our granddaughter and son. She is now four and a half. She loves to play in enclosed places. Sometimes we have to play "Witch". I have to be the witch and put her in the closet. This is not my favorite game! Mostly because I have to be the witch!

I'm the witch!

In the closet. She's cuter so her picture is bigger.

                

This week, she found the clothes dryer. She crawled in and just sat there. It brought back memories of her dad when he was a baby. He liked to crawl into small places. He would crawl into the kitchen cupboards and push out all the pots and pans so there would be plenty of room for him. He also liked to crawl into the dryer every time I did laundry. I would post his cute little picture, but it is in his scrapbook.

I told her this little story about dad. I pulled out the scrapbook so she and dad could find the picture. She found the picture of dad in the dryer, and thought it was funny. She and dad continued to look at pictures. She saw pictures of Hubby and I and asked dad, "Who are they?".  Dad said, "That's Grammy and Pappy." Without missing a beat, she looked at me and said, "What happened to you?"

Before

After

 We got old, Sweetie! Yep, gotta love the grandkids!

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