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.
It’s hotter than blue blazes out there so I provided a little cool treat for the ladies.
I like food. I like cooking. I have a zillion cookbooks from the basic (The Joy of Cooking) to the really really not basic (The Modernist Cuisine at Home). But I’ve found one book that is my go-to for cooking these days.
I hate wasps. I’m not, like, tragically allergic to them, but they hurt like hell and swell up like balloons – but at least I can still breathe.
In any case, growing up I always heard that if you paint your porch ceiling blue, they’ll think it’s the sky and won’t make their nests there.
One of the unexpected pleasures of yard chickens is that every day, just before sunset, we have to go out and feed and water the chickens, then wait for them to put themselves to bed. Now, we could just do the water and food, go inside and do whatever, then come back after dark, but we have taken to watching the sunset, chatting, watching the fireflies, and just being.