My husband was out working in the yard and I was inside working on work, and all of a sudden, we hear a crow. I suppose it was inevitable – even experts are 90% on sexing chickens, and we’ve had eleven. In the immortal words of my friend Karl – “Noah was the one – he’s a cock.”
Do you ever see something in a craft store and think… “I don’t know what yet, but I could totally make something cool with that.” A couple of months ago, I did just that.
As noted before, we have an abundance of basil in our herb garden. We have three kinds, Mammoth Sweet, Genovese, and Red Rubin.
So Wichita has a mini Maker Faire. Since it is just starting up, we decided instead of just attending, we’d volunteer! It was at the extremely cool Exploration Place in Wichita. It’s a lot smaller than the KC one, but that’s not a surprise. We show up, and they just say, go wander around and ask people if they need help. So… we did.
I ended up helping kids make touch activated nightlights with Filimin. The husband helped make LED buttons with Make ICT. We both made canvas bags and watched a movie about super volcanoes narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch.
I have been in an epic fetch game with my cat for about…. seven months. He has this multicolored yarn ball (we’re on like ball five) that he loves to play with.
It started when he was a little kitten, and every night we’d go sit in my comfy chair in the sitting room and read (me) and purr (Ari). One day, we had a ball, so I threw it to the other side of the room. He leapt off my lap, and chased it. He thought about it for a minute and brought it back to me. I threw it again, he launched to the other side of the room, and brought it back to me. This was in January. We’ve been playing this game ever since.
Whenever I go up the stairs, he brings me the ball, and I throw it, then walk up a few stairs, he will often drop it in my outstretched hand. If he doesn’t bring it right away, I wait, and he eventually remembers to bring it to me. When we get to the top of the stairs, I throw the ball down the stairs, and he scampers down (occasionally his brakes fail and he whacks into the wall because he’s a member of this family, and we’re all klutzes).
So earlier this year, my beloved husband built a raised bed for our herb garden. It rocks.
The chickens are pretty much two flocks. They are about a month different in age. The older four are bigger, but the younger are more aggressive. It leads to some amusing times in the evenings.
Possession is 9/10ths of the law. Now, as a lawyer, I have to post the disclaimer that that is not true, but in the coop, it is the law. Whoever gets there first rules the roost for the night. Pecking order for the Jets seems to be Dottie, Susan, Buffy, and Shakespeare. Pecking order for the Sharks seems to be Noah, Petunia, Violet, and Rhoda. Although Noah and Petunia were fronting today. Getting their civil war mutton chops all floofed and running at each other. But no pecking, so not worried yet.
But if the big girls get to the coop first, the lower two girls go in, then Dottie guards the door. When Susan deems it to be time, she goes in, and lets the little girls in.
If the little ones get in the coop first, Noah will guard, and Petunia will bring up the rear after everyone is settled.
Our older ladies turned four months on Saturday. So we’ve begun EGG WATCH 2017!
Which means I’ve been incessantly googling “how to tell if your chickens are about to start laying eggs” These are our two biggest suspects… Susan and Dottie.
- Mature looking – check
- Moody – check
- Louder – check
- Squatting – check
Basically they’ve gone emo. I expect to see tiny doc martens and hear My Chemical Romance blaring from the coop.
So we’ve opened the next boxes and put in nest eggs. And every morning I look at their nesting boxes. You’d better believe that pics will ensue when they first lay.
Today, in things I didn’t realize we’re actual things. You know how there are occasionally snarky birds atop cows in Far Side cartoons (of course I couldn’t find one)? They are actual things. They are cattle egrets.
I love pickles.
When my nephew was a baby, he could say my name, but chose not to. I tried and tried to get him to say my name.