Overwhelmed

So here we are nearing the end of May and I am overwhelmed to the point of stagnation. All my big plans came to naught. In order to plant the garden I started with the idea of a simple fence. Well in the midst of that, with only weekends to work with, we had visitors two weekends in a row. So the fence went up sporadically at best.

Near done now, thankfully, as it grew from a little fence to quite a monster, I was planning to get the garden in. Then my cars ebrake needed replacing and my washing machine took a nose dive. Perfection! So two days into my glorious 3 day weekend,  brake job completed finally, washing machine hunting in progress and the downstairs refrigerator decides it needs attention. Seriously?!

I could just scream. So my garden, it looks like tomorrow I will just be filling in my three raised garden boxes and calling it a weekend. 

So where am I on my check list for the spring.

Garden Fence : near completed

Garden : diverted to raised garden boxes

Raised Garden Boxes: mulling it over

Driveway: who needs visitors anyway

Boundary fencing: hopeful

Entryway refurbished Arbor gate: a dream

Back patio: wish and a prayer

New Goat house: dream on!

I guess tomorrow is another day. I have to just accept it, make an unrealistic list and reality will come sit in your lap!

My Goats Have Lice, Oh the Horror!

Oh the Horror, my goats have lice!

Well every day brings new challenges. I noticed my shy little girl Chloe was doing quite a little stamping dance out at the corral, which usually means external parasites.
So right away I went in search of my two black goats Matilda and Lucy, which makes an inspection for lice much easier to view. I sifted through the hair on the back of their neck and found myself some little white nits of nasty.
If you find that your goats have lice and you are closing in on the sunny weather season, often the sun and fresh air work to rid your goats of the lice without any treatment at all.

As we are entering the warm season we could have opted to let the situation rectify itself, but Chloe seemed quite miserable and with the recent loss of one of our little doelings, her mother's stress over the loss and her remaining doeling, little Lucy, being so small, I decided to go ahead and treat the goats for lice. When deciding to treat or not I would normally let the sunshine handle it during the spring and summer because I don't want to over treat anything that could work against me in the future. Using chemicals too frequently causes a build up of resistance to treatment and I don't want to sacrifice that and find myself at a loss when it is truly needed. We surely don't want to have a difficult infestation take hold right now due to the recent stress factors and age vulnerability, so it felt safest to just nip it in the bud, because stress can weaken the goats disposition and allow them to become infested.
There are two types of lice to contend with, sucking lice and biting lice. The sucking lice are more troublesome as they bite the goats and ingest their blood, which can transfer disease to the goats and as well cause anemia. The biting lice eat skin, causing itching and irritation. Excessive itching can cause open sores which could lead to infection, this you want to avoid. Lice tend to begin populating the host in the fall and depending on the winter weather they can take hold in the colder months where goats tend to stay indoors more and with the sun's strength diminished you can find yourself quickly in a situation that gets out of hand.

You need a microscope or magnifying glass to determine which type of lice you have. The biting louse are pictured on the left and the sucking to the right in the photo. As I am going to treat either louse the same, I did not bother to determine which it was.
I like to do things naturally. My typical go to would be neem oil, but with recent stress factors I decided to apply permethrin.
Permethrin is a synthetic version of pyrethrin which is essentially dried chrysanthemum powder. Pyrethrin would again be my choice over the synthetic version as it is environmentally friendly, has low toxicity, but it is unstable and exposure to the sun will lead to ineffectiveness. As we are still in between two seasons I used the synthetic version, which is stable with exposure to the sunlight. If I am treating for lice it would make little sense to apply and not be assured if it will do it's job. also have the option of using ivermectin. I am not a fan.
So I put on my rubber gloves and filled a sock with permethrin powder and proceeded to rub, rub, rub my little darlings coats. Most of the goats where very pleased with this. To them they were receiving a nice scratches. I applied the sock rubbing everywhere bar the face and genital region. The goats essentially lined up saying " Oh nice Mum, your going to scratch our back?". It took me all of 10 minutes to move through the herd, then it came time to do Chloe and little Lucy. First let me say a little goat the size of a chicken is not an easy catch when she clearly sees something wonky
coming at her, yet Chloe certainly put our little Lucy to shame! It took us two hours to delouse my little blue eyed paranoid, flighty, suspicious little luvbug!
Chloe is the one goat in my herd who does not care for love on a good day, let alone a day with a suspicious sock clasped in a rubber gloves. Chloe is always my personal challenge. I spend afternoons bribing her with sunflower seeds, just to get her to come to me. Her mother Flower was much like this when she was younger. There always seems to be one in a bunch who cling to their mother and cast a doubtful eye at the humans.
My husband feels that you must pick them up and they will get over it. Foolish man, you simply can not force a goat to do anything they do not want to do. A goat must think every actions is of their own volition. With Chloe's mom Flower, it took her very first freshening (delivery) to look at me as a good entity, now she follows me around forlorn.
Chloe I have been working on daily with my bribes of sunflower seeds, finally having discovered the one thing she likes enough to be willing to tolerate my advances. So you can see how difficult it would be to delouse her. It is hoof trimming time now as well, so this should prove even more challenging as the only way I was able to delouse Chloe was to put sunflower seeds in a small trough and let all the goats huddle in to eat. When Chloe would immerse herself in the trough I would, as fast as possible, rub the sock across her before she realized it wasn't one of her herd mates rubbing against her in a goat death match for sunflower seeds.
In the end she caught on to what I was doing after I had only gotten a few good swipes over her. I then resorted to having my middle son chase her towards me and I would shake the sock in the air which she would run through covering herself, pretty much a no no if you are within breathing range but at this point I was just willing to poison myself and my little blue eyed brat in an effort to just have the deed done. I can only assume she would be further deloused as the herd snuggled in for the night, so at some point I convinced myself she was done and called it a day.

So essentially 10 minutes to delouse the entire herd and a wee two hours for Chloe.

Now lice have a life cycle so one treatment alone  is not going to do the trick. I may need to go back in a second, or third time even if it was winter. Today we may have taken out the adult louse, but there were definitely eggs which will hatch out anywhere between now and 12 days.
All depending on when they were laid. So I will go back in 10 days and retreat the herd and unfortunately Chloe. This way I am getting the unhatched eggs, when they hatch. I will not treat a third time because at that point the sun will be nicely assured and much of their winter coat will be shed letting the sun do it's job.
So when your goats have lice, not to panic, just check the rate of infestation, the time of year and choose your method of advancing and just remember goat lice will not find a home on a human this is assuredly a goat loving lice, it is perfectly normal and part of goat husbandry. Louse On!

Is My Goat Sick?

Some days are just bad days, very bad days...

Sansa and her little girls Annabella and Lucy

I love my animals and care for them the best that I can, so when the unexpected happens it takes me completely off guard. 

This morning I went down to the barn and found one of my little girl goats Annabelle, dead. 

There honestly is nothing that can prepare you for that, just nothing. I am no less than devastated at the moment. 

This little love had been bouncing around, pooping and peeing normally. The inside of her eye lids were nice and pink as any doeling's should be. No runny nose, eyes or rear, no bloating detected. 
In all regards she was a happy healthy bouncing little goat.

I check over my goats every day. Nothing complicated, it is just part of the routine to give you the best possible opportunity to nip things in the bud before they become a problem. 
In all my years, contrary to popular belief, I have found goats to be a hardy bunch, but when they go down, they can go down fast. With goats, an ounce of prevention is truly worth a pound of cure. 
The faster you intervene in any developing issue, the more likely you will obtain a good outcome.

After I got myself together this morning, with a heavy heart I went carefully over my little doeling's body for any clue as to what had gone wrong and I just couldn't find anything amiss. There was nothing to indicate what could have caused this, which in a way makes it just a little more difficult to accept. All I can fathom is some unseen damage from a butt delivered by one of the other goats. Or a possibility of entertoxemia. We have never just lost an animal like this and so I have to tell myself that indeed some days are just bad days, very bad days.

As I have gone over the events of the last few days and see nothing that would indicate a problem brewing and on reflection can not conclude what has caused the loss of my little love with any assuredness, I felt the best way I can pay homage to my little Annabelle is to share with others my routine that keeps my goats healthy as most issues are quite easily treatable in the early stages.

Signs of a healthy Goat

• Up & Active
• Eating & Drinking
• Pooping in pelleted form
• Peeing with a sufficient stream, without strain
• Chewing Cud
• The inside of their eyelids and gums are a nice healthy pink
• Belching and Farting (signs of an active rumen)

Normally one of the first things that tips me off that something is brewing, will present itself when I arrive at the barn in the morning. Number one sign is a goat that does not eagerly come to eat.
I have 10 goats in my doe (female goats) and wether corral (fixed boys) and 5 bucks (intact boy goats) in the buck side. They all readily come in a rush at feed time. If one lingers behind I feed everyone and make my way back to them. 

The first thing I check is to see if there are any obvious injuries.

If there are no signs of injuries I get the goat up, if they are down, and check for Bloat. Does the goat appear to be bloated on one side, or in worse case, all around. Normally the left side of the goat will
become tight and extend out with bloat. The left side is where their rumen is located. With bloat they are normally uncomfortable and grinding teeth.

BLOAT

If the goat appears slightly bloated, the first thing I administer is baking soda. I just scoop up a handful and try and get the goat to eat some of it. Then I get them moving and I rub their rumen area to get things active. I listen for gurgling in the throat and rumen by pressing my ear to their left side at intervals. A normal rumen churns a minimum of once every minute but normally quite a few.
Bloat is caused by a build up of gas that becomes trapped and can not be released through belching and farting. This situation can go bad very quickly and will lead to death without speedy treatment.
Bloat can be caused by too much of a good thing, as much as a bad thing.
Too much rich browse which causes frothy bloat, too much good feed causes gassy bloat, or a quick change in their diet. I have heard of many a goats who fell ill to bloat by accessing feed they should not be eating such as chicken pellets. So I am very controlling in my animals feeding regimens and my goats can not access any feed on their own.
If I do not see relief quickly with baking soda, I switch to therabloat or bloat release according to dosage on the bottle. A bloat relief agent is something every goat owner should have on hand. In a pinch you can substitute for vegetable or mineral oil. It must be administered as a drench, another item every goat owner should have on hand is a drench, but a syringe sans the needle can be substituted. Again keep the goat up, moving and rubbing that rumen.
If the goat does not appear to be bloated I move on.


ANEMIA

I then check the inside of their eyelids to see the color. It should be a nice dark rosy pink. If the color is not, it can indicate anemia and a heavy worm load, internal and external parasites. At this stage it is best to bring the goat to a vet as the animals is already in trouble and you don't have the time afforded to send out a fecal sample on your own to check on a worm load and deworming and/or vitamin mineral restoration.

TEMPERATURE

A goats temperature should be taken. Goats do not have a steady temperature so there is a range, but you want to see it in the area of 101.5-103.5. A higher temperature usually indicates infection and normally is treated with antibiotics. A lower temperature is more challenging and typically indicates something is amiss in the digestive area.

URINARY CALCULI

One of the biggest issues for male goats is urinary calculi. Boys are susceptible to stones that will block the urethra. Very early on in our goat keeping we learned this lesson the hard way, through the loss of a little wether who was being treated by an uneducated vet for bloat. I want to add right now, that you want to find yourself a good vet in the beginning of goat husbandry. There seems to be quite a deficit in regards to vets in the knowledge area of a goat's anatomy and treatment. So you may find yourself having to find a good vet who is willing to work with you in becoming adept at their anatomy. You do not want to be searching for a good vet when in the midst of an emergency.
I spent many years without a vet after a few tragic incidents by the hands of the not so good ones and far from forthright ones. Although I now have a wonderful vet, we even call her the angel, we rarely need see her because we became so self sufficient in their care ourselves that we rarely find a need
for her. With the little wether who had Urinary Calculi, by the time I discovered he wasn't peeing it was too late to treat and the Vet we had at the time did not even have the Ammonium Chloride necessary or knowledge to treat him. This was a sad lesson for us all. So I encourage you to find yourself a good vet early on and educate yourself most importantly.
If the urethra becomes blocked the goat will not be able to urinate causing a backup of urine ending in the goat's bladder bursting. To ensure the prevention of Urinary Calculi many do not feed grains to male goats, intact or neutered. I do feed my boys grain along with their hay, as they are not on pasture.
Ammonium chloride is an additive on some goat feed that is a preventative in the formation of urinary calculi so I purchase a feed that has the addition of Ammonium Chloride and I mix it in a fifty, fifty ration with purina goat chow so that I do not have to offer a special diet indivudually for the herd my does, wethers and bucks all eat the same. One must always have plenty of water available for your goats. Above all, I make sure they are drinking and peeing as this is critical.
Boys are constantly peeing so when your out feeding them pay attention when they do so to see if there is a strong stream present.
The treatment of urinary calculi is the administration of ammonium chloride in higher doses according to label, and if all else fails the removal of the pizzle at the end of their penis, or a reroute of the urethra all to be handled by a vet. If your boy is not peeing get him to a vet post hast.

PREVENTION CHECK
Every morning when I head down to the barn I do a quick check. If everyone comes, I fill bowls and then walk around and pat them and do a quick swipe over the boys bellies to make sure they are wet. The boys belly will always be wet because of their basic anatomy, urine tends to hit the belly. The potential they just rubbed it dry exists, so a dry belly means I need to hang around and watch to see if that particular goat is peeing a good stream.
If all boys have wet bellies I check over all their coats to see if they look healthy shiny and not shaggy. I am looking to see if they have external parasites and a potential mineral deficiency. I then check the inside of everyone's eyelids to make sure they are a dark rosy pink. It is honestly a small amount of time taken within the regimen of feeding time.
Make sure you pay attention while out with the goats to take note of their bodily functions.
Are they chewing cud? Are they pooping and peeing normally? Any runny noses or eyes?
This is honestly just something that should become habitual.
If anything is amiss, now is the best time to treat it, when it is a minor issue.

CARE

With my goats prevention through proper care is invaluable. My goats are fed hay, which is available at all times. I feed them a 50/50 mix of purina goat chow and noble goat which includes ammonium chloride, twice a day. They have a mineral block in the barn. I put out free choice minerals as well mixed with black oil sunflower seeds (selenium) periodically. I keep snacking at a minimum and with that perhaps apples or carrots. I never give human treats to my goats, they are not human. I also do not give scraps to my goats. My goats do browse pine needles seasonally, which I understand is a natural dewormer. This must be true as in 7 years I have never had to worm my herd.
Send out fecal samples periodically yourself or through your vet to ensure there is not a worm load. I do not just worm for good measure, we all build up immunity to medications used for good measure. If I was to use an antibiotic or a wormer, I would use it because it is needed. I try my best to care for my animals naturally if at all possible. I would worm if and when needed by presentation of a worm load. Many goat keepers worm seasonally. That is just not my personal regimen. I check for mites and lice and have found neem oil works as a nice preventative to treat lice and mites successfully. If you have a difficult case of lice or mites there is always, permethrin, pyrethrin and  ivermectin at your disposal as well. You can look into that with the manufacturer. I myself have not used it, but many swear by it.
Be aware of the mineral needs of your goats such as Copper, Selenium and Niacin as you may need to diversify your feed with vitamin and mineral supplements.
Above all else, know what your goat looks like healthy, each one individually. Know their behavior and habits so you can see right away when something is off with them. Goat Keeper know your charge.

In Conclusion....With the loss of my little doeling I have to accept that even if you are diligent things can happen and you have to just accept that in animal husbandry, unfortunately, some days are just bad days.
I am going to miss my Little Annabelle, may you rest in peace precious.

Word of the Day: Uropygial

The word of the day is uropygial.

u·ro·pyg·i·al glandˌyo͝orəˈpijēəl ˌgland/noun another term for preen gland.

preen gland 

noun ORNITHOLOGY

(on a bird) a gland at the base of the tail that produces the oil used in preening.

1. 1. 
      

      Most birds have a gland called a uropygial gland that secretes oils near the base of their tail, Chickens are no different. You can check for yourself where the tail feathers begin, it looks somewhat like a little pimple. How do they keep their feathers so sleek, prim and proper? 
      Why by preening, silly.
      The uropygial gland secretes oil, the main compound which is called Diester waxes. The chickens use their beak and the tufts at the top of heir head to extract the oils from the gland. The chickens then proceed to use their beak and tufts much like a brush, combing it through their feathers to keep them clean and dry. I wonder if their mother hen taught them 100 strokes a night will bring Prince Charming!?
      Ducks have a quite productive uropygial gland that keeps their feathers just beautifully waterproof, when merged with air allocation and bone density it allows them the advantage of 
      swimming without becoming waterlogged. A chicken has sufficient enough oils to preen themselves to withstand a sprinkling of water which will bead up and roll off, however you won't see any hens doing the backstroke nor swan dive anytime soon.
      Don't worry about your girls feeling greasy, from all their preening as the Diester waxes simply keeps their feathers smooth and shiny, but dry to the touch. 
      Apparently this little gland is responsible for much more than feather protection and maintenance as it was concluded in a study done wherein they removed the uropygial gland (who thinks to do this stuff?) from chickens to see if the gland had any effect on their sexual response and it was concluded that the oil secretion acts as a source of social odor cues, even more so with the roosters ability to receive a response from the hens he is attempting to court. It is deduced that the oil itself is an attractant and plays some sort of role in their courting. Reminiscent it seemed to me of pheromones in humans. 
      Watching my own chickens I notice my roosters have favorites and with this I venture to guess they prefers the girls who preen frequently and coat themselves well in preen oils that are most conducive with their own chemistry. My hens tend to prefer to follow one rooster about
      over others when free ranging. 
      Preening appears to also be a social thing with my girls. They love to preen one another just like besties! I see in my own flock the groups that divide and travel together preen one another and choose a rooster they follow about, or whom keeps watch over them. 
      On a final note there is an interesting study done on meat birds that basically concluded that chicks exposed to mother hens uropygial gland secretions grew larger and their meat was less yellow.
      So we have learned that chickens have a gland that secretes a waxy oil compound that they preen themselves with, which just so happens to keep them beautiful, healthy, happy, their young thrive by exposure to, and it apparently helps them to get lucky!
      Preen on my fine Ladies, preen on!
      
      
      

      

      
      

      
      

      Uropygial Gland

      
      

      Resources: http://chemse.oxfordjournals.org/content/35/5/375.full  http://www.researchgate.net/profile/Dominique_Saffray/publication/221972377_Influence_of_a_preen_gland_secretion_on_growth_and_meat_quality_of_heavy_broilers/file/79e41505b2558a4f62.pdf

      
      

      
      

The End of An Era,..Bye Bye Duck Pond!

No more drowned chickens! 

Today we finally decided that we needed to simply fill in the duck pond located in the chickens run. It is sort of a sad affair, look at Daphne and Ginger giving it a forlorn send off. Poor babies! 

Year after year I try adding silkie chickens to my bunch and I honestly can not count how many times I have lost a silkie to that pond. The stronger silkies, which are few and far between have endured. I have one little girl fawn in particular who is a quarter of the size of the rest of my hens and is the biggest bully in the bunch. 

A few years ago I had my two very favorite hens we called the pufferlumps. They were a beautiful caramel with blue green cheeks. Just the sweetest little things. We lost not one but both of them at different times to the pond.

So after waiting many years for the original breeder to have buff silkie chicks available
(Thanks Mike) he finally did just this passed March and we were lucky enough to purchase 4 of them. What a score!

They were finally ready to move out of the house brooder into the outdoor mini coop we keep in the run for newbies. Today was their first big day loose in the run with the big girls. On our little chicks first days out we have to watch over them because finding their way in the pecking order can be brutal and you want to watch over to make sure none of them get seriously hurt by the older hens.

Along with the 4 silkies which we now collectively call the new puffer lumps, we have two golden 

polish, the Gabor sisters, Zsa Zsa and Ava. They are about a week younger than their silkies sisters and this little cluster, as they brooded together, will be their own little flock within my bigger flock.

I sat out there watching the little flock move their way around and I realized I am just not willing to risk another loss. My husband, I know, will not be able to stand the temptation of filling the pond for the ducks and as the whole flock is in lock down from the lurking fox, I asked him to fill it with sand. Which he did quite unhappily.

So the duck pond is now filled and my little mini flock should be safe from any future drownings. They just need to contend with the bigger girls.

Rainy Days

Rainy Days and Thursday Always make me,.... Lazy! 

 

10 Things that make you want to stay in bed on Rainy days...

 1:  Water Filled Feed Bowls, Yummy!

 2: Goats that refuse to leave the Goat barn to eat and prefer breakfast in bed, literally.

 3: A rooster named Gladys who has been just waiting for me to come in the run to attack me!

4: a wet pig slopping in the mud

5: Getting your muck boot stuck in the mud and falling face first onto the pig

6: pigs with tusks

7: lightening flashing while your near a wire covered chicken run.

8:  empty hay bins, nice just what one wants to do In the rain, fill hay bins!

9: A husband working,..he could have filled the hay bins if he was home

10: Being an adult!      

Oh lovely start!

mum weez not coming out, it's raining!

That's my boys!

    

 

 

 

Brown Eggs Are Local Eggs,...Liar

Eggs, eggs, eggs...

I still get the little commercial jingle in my head "brown eggs are local eggs and local eggs are fresh!". I believed it, I mean why would "they" whoever they are,  say it, if it wasn't the God's honest truth. 

Well it isn't the truth, in fact it is an outright lie. Brown, white, green, terra cotta, blue eggs and all the other hues have nothing to do with the current geography. Brown eggs are brown because of the breed of chicken that produces them. White eggs are white for the very same reason.

Before I raised chickens I wasn't even aware of the fact that chickens laid anything but brown and white eggs. When I shopped at the grocer I would always look for brown eggs, why?... well because they
were local, silly.

Well now all my eggs are local. They are laid right in my own back yard, doesn't get any more local than that. Better still from my own wonderful little flock of backyard chickens. My girls eggs are white, brown, blue, green, pink and chocolaty terra cotta.

When I brought home my very first 9 chicks, I had absolutely no clue whatsoever that chickens laid a wide array of colored eggs. All I knew for certain when I began was that I wanted free range, all natural, organic eggs and by George I was for going to have them.

I called around to local feed stores and located one stocked with day old chicks, which are actually a few days old by the time they make their way to you. I called my poor husband who just so happened to be driving by the feed store and asked him to pick up a box for me. That's right a box of chickens. We quickly built a brooder and started our journey of becoming little farmers.

While I waited for my new hens to be old enough to lay,  impatiently, I obtained 4 adult Rhode Island reds and immediately was satisfied with their lovely brown eggs, farm fresh, daily.

It wasn't until 4-5 months later I realized that my 8 hens, yes that is 8 because one of my " I garontee it" hens was a roo, sadly named Gladys. 

One day I went down to collect eggs and found some white eggs mixed in with the Rhode Island reds brown eggs, ...nice! I mean there are white eggs, so no surprise there, then those brown ones, those ones are local, ha!
Within days I came down to the coop and I was just in Gobsmacked, because in my nesting boxes were those white eggs, and yup, those brown eggs, the local ones and OMG, pinch me blue ones!  I looked at the blue ones in all sorts of differing light, because I just simply could not believe they were really blue. I came to learn of course, that when I chose my chickens I had by one of those rare lucky accidents chosen 3 araucana hens, which were responsible for my lovely blue eggs. My 3 barred rock hens produced the pinkish brown eggs in the nesting boxes that soon after followed, and our 3 leghorns were the ones producing the beautiful bright white eggs. 

So I researched why do the eggs produce different colors and what I discovered was that all eggs start out white. Egg shells are made up almost completely of a white mineral called calcium carbonate. At various stages of the egg development, in hens that produce different colors eggs, natural pigments are introduced into the shell at certain points in the formation of the shell. 

For instance, in the blue egg layers, the Araucana , a blue gene called oocyan produces a bile pigment called biliverdin which is introduced early on in the stage of egg formation, so the inside and the outside of the egg is blue. 

Brown eggs, contrarily, have the pigment protoporphyrin, a byproduct of hemoglobin deposited during the final stages of shell formation. So when you crack open brown eggs, the inside remains white because the pigment was introduced later on in the development of the egg. 

I have since become quite a little egg color collector. I have added a black French copper Marans which produces a nice chocolate egg. An olive egger which was produced right here from the pairing of my Araucana rooster, which has the blue egg gene and my black copper Marans who produces the chocolate eggs. The combination of the blue pigment and the addition of the chocolate pigments proved to produce an olive tinted egg. I have three new additions on order now for welsummers which produce a nice dark brown egg and I am currently hunting for black langshams which produce violet tinted eggs. My little silkie mix hens produce pink eggs. I certainly don't have any need to color eggs at our house at Easter, my girls do all the coloring long before they hit the nesting box. Thanks Ladies!

So the next time someone tells you that brown eggs are local eggs, you can educate them that there is nothing further from the truth!

Crows Manning The Wall!

Much like the Game of Thrones, I have Crows manning my Wall!

The chickens and ducks are still on lock down in the run and I am going to try my best to keep them safely tucked away until we can manage to finish fencing in the property completely. The fox's free lunches are officially over, I hope.
This morning as I was sitting on the goat lift I noticed the crows over head. It looks like we have some juveniles up there being directed by an adult on the do's and don'ts here. We do eat the chicken food, we do not eat chicken food until the area is deemed safe.

I honestly have such high regard for the crows. I learned very early on in homesteading that crows can either be friend or foe.

My father in law, rest his soul, was an interesting man. He was a farmer through and through. I don't think he ever knew much what to do with me, because I am a yuppy farmer, not of necessity but of an altruistic desire. I can say, his love for me afforded me a lot of leeway. My dog was allowed in the house as much as it must have tortured his good sense. Dogs in my father in laws mind did not belong in a house. My little beagle Barney would travel in behind me and I could see my father in law stiffen and yet at the very same time act like he was wearing an itchy sweater. To his credit he wouldn't say a word in protest.

Dogs were not pets or companions in his eyes, they protected his animals. That was their purpose. A female dog did not have a purpose at all, as it would only reproduce
more dogs and further mouths to feed. It was not my way, but I understood his way. 

My father in laws goats and cows were not loved pets either, surely never doted upon. They were a commodity and he at one point in time had hundreds of them.
They supplied him with milk and offspring to sell.

When I entered my in laws lives they were later on in years and had come upon harder times. The town had taken up his land and grazing rights and sold them to the wealthy. The town, I was told was still in the midst of a bitter battle trying to reclaim the land the government had scooped up from under them.
My father in law had only a few acres left that surrounded his house; the cows, goats and his livelihood a thing of the past. My mother in law had a few chickens for personal use and she promptly taught me to never name your food. Of course all my animals have names. What I could see with my Father in law was that there was a definite sadness about this turn in his life. My mother in law, the very same circumstances brought her happiness and relief as my father in law was now home instead of away on the land where the animals grazed.
My husband and I brought my father in law a rototiller. I remember that day so clearly, three generation my Father In Law, Don Melchor, my husband and our children out in a field disturbing the soil of lost aspirations, in an attempt to plant new seeds of hope. We joked about the three Melchor's tilling the fields, as my youngest son, at the time, was the third.

 

I could see a change in my father in laws stature. He stood just that much taller. His shoulders held just a bit squarer, hand firm on his hip and a sense of purpose in his eyes.

A rototiller was out of place at my father in laws and even in the town itself. My father in law was not the only one who had his land swindled out from under him, but a whole town full of people. The whole town had come upon hard times. So this caused a stir. It grabbed a lot of attention. People would come around wanting to see what Don Melchor was doing out in his fields. The answer, why Don Melchor is planting calabaza (squash) ! 

Such a simple thing, planting squash, but it was not simple. It was not small. This was huge!

We would return week after week to visit my in laws where we would stay a week or two at a time. The squash grew huge, I mean I truly had never seen such impressive squash. It spread across the field far and wide just covering the land. My Father In Laws fields were full and lush. This was a garden! This was pride, this called out to the rains! 

I remember many a nights walking barefoot through Don Melchor's garden in the moonlight, to everyone's dismay, because there were snakes and even  scorpions in the garden. I was oblivious to such things and luckily I was never bitten. They say ignorance is bliss and blissful I was in those lush rows of squash.

One week we arrived at my in laws and as we pulled in I looked up and there hung lifeless from a tree a huge sleek dead black crow just staring down at me.

I just couldn't believe my eyes. I wasn't necessarily surprised, not much surprised me about my father in law, but it still was a startling sight. I exited the car and asked my Father In Law "Pa, que es eso"? What is this? He explained to us matter of factly that the crows were coming after his squash. So he quite simply picked one off and hung it as a warning to the others. 

It made perfect sense to him. Normally my father in law would hide such feats from me, but with our unannounced visit coupled with the need to protect his precious squash, the crow remained. 

Day in and day out I would sit in the back. I could hear the chatter of the crows, from what I could guess plotting and planning the demise of Don Melchor.  Honestly I am telling you, they had it in for him. I would hear the thwack of the back screen door and then the incessant alarmed chatter of the crows and I knew without even looking that my father in law stood behind me.

I would tell him often "Pa, Quieren Matarte!" The want to kill you. He would just laugh. I would tell my children to stay away from their grandfather's disgrace. You don't want the crows to associate it with you. 

One day he finally cut down the crow and disposed of it. I am not sure if he did it because of my chatter or that of the crows, he never would tell. I suspect it was more because it was finally time to harvest.

As the squash grew so big you could barely carry them, Don Melchor began to harvest his pride. As his stockpile of calabaza grew my mother in law became clearly distraught. My mother in law Carmen ran a little store out of her home where she sold old fashioned glass Coca colas, fritos and candies to the locals. She saw the squash as a hot commodity to fill her cash drawer with and my father in law had taken to giving them away to anyone who walked by the house. 

He once was this big farmer, so I don't think he ever got accustomed to worrying about what was on the table for dinner at night. My husband and I cared for the little bills they had, but my mother in law wanted to have her own and I can understand that. Don Melchor had his squash, but for Carmen, her little store, that was her pride. 

My father in law the generous guy, my mother in law the sour puss. Isn't that always the way in a couple? Good guy, bad guy. The one who everyone loves, who if given their way would have them out on the streets without a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out, if it wasn't for the bad guy running around behind them holding it together.

I recall one day my father in law asking me to hold out my hand and when I did he slid a beautiful ruby ring on it. Here they were with very little means and I came to know that my father in law had spent ten years making payments on a ring he had made just for me. I cherish that ring, it reminds me on days I forget that someone thought that much of me,  at the same time I appreciate my mother in laws frustration because her son is just like his father. 

The ring has two eagles on each side of the centered ruby, which looks more to me like a crow, which reminds me every time of the thwack of my in laws screen door and a chatter of the murder and I laugh at the memories and sometimes I cry for their loss and the longing for another time.

On our little homestead when my back door goes thwack there is a very different chatter from the crows. It is more excitement of what is to come. The crows, to me are friend, no foe. They raise their young here on my land, they probably view it more as their land than mine. 

I am just the lady who feeds them and their charges.  They eat with my chickens in front of the run every day. In exchange they watch over my flock, chasing off crows and sounding an alarm when that fox slinks around. Unfortunately with the fox all they can do is call alarm. 

I think they view the chickens, which could very well serve as food, as theirs to protect and frankly they are well fed and full bellies don't eat fuzzy little babies. 

This is their territory and they are very territorial so no one hunts their ground without it causing a racket. 

Today as I was sitting watching the crows, after a much excited chatter from tree to tree, one swooped down and landed on the goat corral door and I  realized it was reminding me that with the chickens in the run, there was no food out for them. I got up right away and sifted some feed out in front of the run for them and promptly returned to my seat on the goat lift. In no time down came the adult crow and soon after it called out to two juveniles to follow. One adult remained in the trees over watching, even with me they remain quite cautious.

When it comes to crows, if you have chickens I suggest you make friends. 

Feed them well and encourage them to man your wall. You can start by putting out sunflower seeds and peanuts where you want them to congregate. 

It may take a bit of time to bring them to your land and other birds might first feast on your snacks, but eventually the crows will catch on to the other birds gatherings for food. 

Thwack,..chatter chatter chatter!

Goat Photo Bomb...

Goat Photo Bomb! Why?... Why Not!

Baby goats in a wheel barrel Anna Belle & Lucy

Flower, truly the sweetest goat in our herd

Boys, Boys, Boys...

 

Lucy and the Hens

Cuinn & Chloe

Sansa teaching Lucy how to eat from the hay bin

Annabelle finds her own way into the hay bin

Pretty Matilda, awwww Tilly isn't that nice

Murphy Nibbling Away

My daughter Naomi trying to score goat kisses with Sophie, Nemo and Murphy

Hungry babies Cuinn, Murphy & Chloe

Wilbur, because he thinks he is a goat!

And finally Flying Goats

A Rooster Named Gladys...

Well when it rains it surely pours, doesn't it?

My chickens are still in lockdown with the not so friendly neighborhood fox laying in wait. 

My husband, ever the sympathetic one, decided he had himself a great solution to chicken lock down. 

Why he would open up a  spot in the chicken run, straight into the goats corral. 

Oh brilliant!  

You know, this certainly could have been the best of both world. 

The chickens & ducks would be safe AND have plenty of room to roam during the day. My husband wouldn't feel guilt ridden at their no free range plight, a win win right across the board. You know what they say about best lain plans.

My husband doesn't understand something. A critical component missing in his brilliant little compromise. It just so happens that my husband does not have a target painted on his back by a Rooster named Gladys. 

Now Gladys and I coexist simply because we have a system, a mutual agreement if you will. I keep my golf club with me and he won't impale me,..again. 

Every morning I head down to the barn. I fill all the waterers, scatter chicken food and then open the
chicken run door with my trusty golf club in hand. 

Gladys ever Gladys always makes a few attempts at impaling me for good measure just before putting his attention to overseeing the feeding of his girls. Me, I head off to the girls side of the goat corral. I leave my golf club at the corral gate. In the goat corral I am safe. I can go mindlessly about my business of feeding the goats, making sure everyone is a 100% with pink eyes, wet bellies and ravenous appetites without even a thought in Gladys's direction. Finishing up, I reclaim my golf club and head back to the house. 

Gladys and I walk ever so "well ain''t that nice " up to the hill with my the golf club squarely planted on Gladys chest. Side by side we go until we reach the back deck wherein Gladys waves his wing while letting out a palpable little snicker and I give him my one finger salute and we ceremoniously part ways. It is ridiculous, tedious even, but it is our system of coexisting and it has worked for years. 

Well my husband great plan has completely thrown our little system for a loop.
Here I was unsuspecting, basking in the first light of a lovely spring day, the birds singing, the sun shining, my golf club clutched loosely in my fist as I skipped on down to the barn. A short lived embrace of the morning came to a halt as my heart stopped, breathe caught in my throat to have my eyes come to rest upon the sight of an empty run. 

No, not from the fox, but from my husband and his big brilliant idea. I quickly scanned the area and my eyes came to rest on a horrific sight in the goat corral, there stood Gladys, with a big old now whatchagonna do smile spread across his beak. 

You have got to be kidding! What the heck is this! 

I headed for the run while I mulled over my options, fed the little chicks in the brooder, cursed my husband, called my husband to complain, then scattered some seed in the run in hopes of coaxing Gladys and his hens back in. Oh yes every single hen headed into the run according to plan, everyone that is but Gladys. 

So I had to just suck it up, put on my big girl pants and move forward. Gladys as ever Gladys decided it was full on attack. So I dropped my golf club and picked up a snow shovel, this was definitely a war and only a fool brings a knife to a gun fight. So here I stood, the mighty shovel in hand, undies in a bunch, 11 goats circling my legs with murder, that's right murder in my heart. My neighbors were probably covering their ears in attempt to keep my truck driving tirade at bay, or more likely aiming their iPhones right at the whole fiasco with great anticipation of posting my morning rumble later on YouTube for all their friends and family to indulge in, as a nice follow up to their most recent post "my neighbor checks her goats who ha's dressed like Mrs. Lupner from SNL".

Just another day at Farm Fresh Daily. I honestly was never so relieved to make my way to the top of the hill, and I did, yes I did stop and turn back to the corral and in keeping with tradition I wholeheartedly gave my little salute with the gusto of any self respecting Italian from Jersey!

The afternoon is coming and I am honestly just sick to my stomach about it. Gladys and I without our system do not work well together. My husband and his brilliant ideas.

So anyhow, living simply,..not so simple always.

What Does the Fox Say?

What does the fox say? 

I frankly don't give a hoot what the fox says. I just want it to go away. We have been hit by the fox once again. This is our third time with this little nuisance raiding my hen house.  

Our chickens are free range. We built the mighty covered run all those years ago when we were new to chickens and ambitious in our efforts. Then of course one day my husband opened the run door and it was all over.
Our birds are free range and when you have free range chickens and ducks there are predators that you are going to have to contend with. There are, along with foxes, many other things to be concerned about such as hawks, cats, dogs, raccoons and coyotes just to name a few. In all our years we have just been cursed with the fox as an issue. Not that there have not been hawks around, but I have very territorial crows manning the wall and they have always chased the hawks off. Now crows they are a blessing, but I digress.
Currently the fox is the bane of my existence.

The very first time we had a fox issue I was completely stunned, as for years our chickens and ducks did as the pleased around the way. They would be let out in the morning and spent the day moseying around. It started with a short head count. One of my ducks was missing. We found her remains and it was just startling.
We thought perhaps a hawk. The next day my husband was up on a ladder, the chickens and ducks were all around the bottom just nosing about. My husband didn't make much of it because they normally follow him around. Yet this day it was my neighbor who came running over to let my husband know it wasn't just chickens and ducks watching him clean the gutters, but a fox. 

I have to admit if they were not such a murderous little bunch I would be in awe of their cunning, boldness and beauty. Alas when it comes down to your chickens or a fox, the fox gets cast in a bad light.

Now I got all sorts of advice on what to do from other chicken lovers, most suggested shooting the fox. Others said trap the fox and relocate. I locked my lot up in the run and hid under the covers. I can tell you one thing prayer did not work and secondly the fox was persistent.

So we tried trapping it. Apparently the fox received notice and bypassed all attempts of being trapped. We started to feel like Wile coyote trying to catch the roadrunner. It was laughable. After some time my husband insisted we stop keeping the chickens and ducks locked away. I had to admit that he was right, we had taken chickens and ducks that were accustomed to traveling around all day picking at roots, bugs, seedlings and saplings and there they were standing crushed against the run door just waiting to be let out. So we started letting them back out.
For a time it was wine and roses until I came out of the kitchen door one day and saw my ducks waddling in a very fast pace up to the koi pond and I had to rub my eyes because right there behind them was the fox. Broad daylight, just casually hunting my little ducks. I ran, it ran and the ducks swam. I told my husband it was the fox or the run.  

My husband started spending his nights outside stalking the fox. Which I never really understood because frankly the fox seemed to prefer bankers hours in his hunting. My husband started to look, talk and act more like Elmer Fud being nightly outsmarted by the rascally fox. 

My husband never was able to dispatch the fox. I kept my lot locked in the run and this went on for months where again the fox seemed to have bored of our play. So with a good stretch of time without a sighting I decided it was a sad life for the chickens and ducks and I let them start free ranging.
We had two years of quiet enjoyment, not one fox attack nor sighting to be had. Life was good again. I can't Honestly say whether the fox got tired of no free lunch here, another neighbor dispatched/relocated it or it decided to sign up for unemployment and an Obama phone. All I knew is we had two fox free years.

A few months ago I heard a racket out back. I got to the back porch to see my oldest hens crowded against the kitchen door. I knew right then we had the fox back again to my dismay.
My flock was scattered the yard was bare. I found some in the neighbors yard, some under the deck and some dead. My son went in chase of the fox. No one knows what one would do if they caught the fox, but you feel that you must do something. I collected the ones I could and herded them into the run with a heavy heart. I stayed out until dark waiting on the pecking order line up of entering the coop. I asked my husband to leave the dead where they fell. Now I know you won't understand this, but frankly they were already dead and a hungry fox is going to come back looking for his kill, if it isn't there it is going to try and kill more. 

I was honestly just devastated, he took out the more vulnerable, my silkies and the newer younger naive girls. None of my original flock fell prey. My rooster Gladys, my nemesis was in the missing. It was one of those moments where you just regret all the threats made toward making dinner with him next time he kicks you, or telling him there was a pot with his name on it boiling on the stove. Gladys although the bane of my existence, was a tough rooster who took good care of his hens and he had been here for just so many years, since we brought him home as a day old pullet (female chickens) at the feed store.

So we went into lock down again. My husband put on his Elmer Fud Hat and set to stalking the fox pointlessly. This was starting to feel like groundhog day, obviously I hadn't found the key to february 3rd and my ticket out of town. 

 

The upside of this was it was in the midst of the worst winter ever a few days later during the worst snow storm to be had, I looked outside and there stood Gladys outside the run waiting to get in. I learned then that Gladys was far more formidable than I ever thought. The way I see it either Gladys chased the fox, or the fox brought Gladys home to its den and even the fox itself couldn't tolerate Gladys and threw him out! Either way, it was bittersweet as there was my Gladys covered in snow, but in one piece. 

So months they stayed in the run and against my protests my husband started letting them free range again. I held my breathe. Every day I counted my hens, constantly was checking outside to see who was where. Soon I got comfortable. I figured the fox was again a thing of the past.
It is spring and I have a couple of broody hens setting on eggs so when I noticed less chickens in the morning and feed left on the ground at the end of the day I wasn't concerned. When my duck Ginger went missing, again I wasn't concerned as I had watched her for weeks rolling her eggs to an undisclosed location. A few days of Pollyanna world and then it hit me, wait a minute...Head Count! The next morning I did not open the run as that would be the only time possible to get a head count and after counting all the chickens and ducks in the run, spying on all brooding hens I could see I was four chickens short, 2 roosters, no not Gladys and 2 hens. Also Ginger is gone. So we are back to lockdown again.

I honestly am not sure how this will end. Three fox massacres is three too many. 

My husband has his Elmer Fud had on, I got the lock on the run, but frankly it is a torturous situation. Here's to a new den for the fox located in Timbuktu,...having a stealthy shot neighbor...or a fox proof yard. Of course fox proof yard is the direction I am heading in. So what does the fox say? Sic!