Friday, March 3, 2017

Co-parenting hens?

I'm fascinated by the animals' parenting habits. I've noticed the last couple of days that the little white Americauna hen comes down from the goat pen in the afternoon for a break from the eggs. She eats, drinks and dust bathes (and fends off the advances of a rooster). Today when I noticed that she was off the nest I rushed up to the goat stall (where she's been nesting under a platform) to see how many eggs she was sitting on. That's when I discovered that while she was on break, one of her sisters was on the nest.
I don't know if they are co-parenting the eggs or if the brown hen was just using the nest to lay while her sister was off of it. When the ducks hatched ducklings in a rose bush a couple of years ago, we noticed one duck missing for a day or two. I hoped she had gone broody and was sitting on eggs, but didn't know where she was. Later I realized that the two females were alternating on the eggs. The first showed back up and the other disappeared and vice versa. Near the end they both stayed with the eggs until they hatched. The only other hen hatch we've had was a New Hampshire Red who went broody in the chicken coop. She didn't have to go far to eat and drink, so there was no need for her nest to be covered while she was gone. (All speculation here.)

After a few minutes the white hen heads back up the hill. Finding her sister still on the nest, she loiters around the goat pen for a while and then runs back down the hill. I was ready to give up. I thought maybe she didn't want to go to the nest while I was watching. When she went back up to the goat pen, I stayed away but close enough to watch. She scratched around the stall for a few minutes until her sister came off the nest. Then they both ran back down the hill leaving the nest empty. I'm not even speculating about that. I put out more food and took my chance to see how many eggs they have. There are 4 Americauna eggs (light blue) and the three brown ones I added yesterday. I think one of the brown eggs is a Salmon Faverolle (lighter brown and smaller). My goal here is to produce an olive egger hen. I've read that mixing a brown egg layer breed with blue egg breed can produce an olive egg laying hen. One rooster is Americauna and the other is New Hampshire Red/Faverolle mix so my chances are good unless they are all boys (unlikely). Then we have meat. Hard to lose.
After she had enough to eat, the white hen went back up to the nest and settled back on it. I'm pretty sure she spent the night in the goat stall on the nest Wednesday night. I know she did last night, so 19 (or so) days to go. Fingers crossed.

Monday, January 23, 2017

The Little Duck

The little duck stands in the middle of the yard, looking around, and wondering how he got here. Something in his head is telling him he should be flying somewhere as the days get shorter and the weather turns colder, but he isn’t sure where. The only flying he’s done is a few feet, or sometimes yards, at a time. All he knows is what’s here. He grew up here, made friends here, and stays here all year. His instincts tell him there is a large body of water he should be floating on with a flock of birds who look just like him. But he’s never seen this body of water and doesn’t remember any other ducks who look just like him. There is water here, small pools, but enough to float on once in awhile, enough to splash in cleaning himself off, plenty to drink.

There are two girl ducks who live here, following him around, bobbing their heads flirtatiously. They don’t look exactly like him, but close enough. He looks out for them when they eat or find a hiding place to lay an egg. There are two bullies here, guineas, who are noisy and chase them away from food sometimes. But they've learned to avoid the bullies when they can, and food is everywhere. The chickens mostly ignore him and his girlfriends, and there is lots of space to wander around all day eating and chatting with the girls. Sometimes they even wander up to the goat pen where there is more water, more mud to dig into and more bugs to eat. The goats ignore them, too.

At night they sleep on the floor of the big coop where the chickens all sleep high up on roosts. They are closed in and safe in a dry corner together. In the morning they run out, anxious to trek around and find more food. Really, why does he need to fly anywhere when all he needs is here?

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Car lights in the rain

From the top of my hill in the goat pen I can hear the cars and see the headlights through the trees on highway 92. It's only a two lane road but it's a major thoroughfare between Douglasville and Fairburn and on to Fayetteville, and it's always busy. On a night like tonight, in misty rain and cold, I remember traveling in the back seat of my father's Ford station wagon on roads like this to his parents' farm in east Tennessee. My eyes always glued to window watching the lights of houses shining through the trees, I speculated about what went on behind those windows. Was there a family? Were there children? What were they like?

In my childhood Christmas time was like this, cold and rainy, and travel happened at night. If I was lucky there would be reindeer lights on a rooftop or Santa outlined in lights on a lawn, sometimes a bright tree through a window. It was a ride of great anticipation. My brother and sister might be sleeping on the seat beside me, but I couldn't sleep.

No matter what time we got there, my grandparents would be awake and ready with hugs to greet us. There would be strings of lights around the living room windows and steaming hot chocolate on the stove. The next day we would walk out to the fields and find the perfect tree to cut and bring back to the house for decorating, maybe my grandfather would shoot mistletoe out of a tree with his shotgun. Presents would magically appear under the tree over the next few days. I spent days running through fields of cows and crossing barbed wire fences onto neighboring farms, knowing that if they saw me they'd know who I was and to whom I belonged, or climbing the split log walls of the old barn and playing in tall stacks of hay bales. In the evening I loved sitting on the basement steps to watch my grandfather shovel coal into the big pot bellied heater burning warmth through the house while my grandmother worked her magic at the stove with meat and vegetables that often originated on that farm.

Funny how car lights on a rainy road can sometimes bring back the best memories of your life.

Saturday, April 23, 2016

No short pants

I never wear shorts on the farm, ever. Now I have another reason not to.

I've been a farmer for 5 years and had several reasons to not wear shorts. I used to live in shorts, flip flops and tank tops in the summer. I still wear tank tops, but between the snakes, poison ivy and a rooster that attacked my legs (now terminated), I don't wear shorts or flip-flops. Well,  until recently. I haven't seen any snakes yet this spring; the goats have almost gotten rid of the poison ivy and, as I said, the attack rooster is no longer with us. So on an occasional weekend afternoon, when I'm relaxing on the porch on a hot, lazy afternoon I may wear shorts and flip flops.

This evening I had planned to change into long pants before starting the evening animal chores, but it just didn't seem necessary. I did leave the flip flops in the house and wore garden shoes because, you know, there's just too much shit out there. Chickens, ducks and guineas got their evening grain and headed to their coops. The goats get a snack of juice bar scraps in the morning and evening when I milk Daisy - for which I am very grateful to a juice bar that will go unnamed lest they get in trouble and we stop getting goat snacks from them.

This evening I carried the bowls up the hill to the goat pen and started dividing them up. Two bowls for Quinta and Paco and a bucket for Daisy (she is the one producing milk, after all) into the main shed where Quinta and Paco eat in one room while I milk Daisy in the other. Sister has a pen she eats in. Spike and Dena eat outside unless it raining. If I don't separate them somehow, only a couple of them would get to eat. Goats don't like to share. When one is finished, he or she goes after the next bowl. You have to eat fast and be aggressive in goat world. I put Quinta and Paco's bowls and the bucket on a little shelf and then I feel tiny, scratchy, mousy toes on my ankles. Yikes! That'll freak you out a little in a mostly dark room.

There are mice that hang out in the goat shed because some of the goats are messy eaters and the mice get to clean up what the goats leave behind. I'm sure I just scared the hell out of the little guy; he jumped and accidentally bounced off of me on his way to safety. Honestly that was the first thing I thought, too, even though I couldn't see what got me. Then the second thing I thought was "snake?" and I jumped, a hair too late if it had been a snake. But no, it was tiny toenails. A snake would have left a mark. The only snakes we see are the non-venomous, farm-friendly varieties. I won't kill one, but I am cautious because I'm sure it would hurt to get bitten on bare skin. But even just to avoid tiny toenails in the dark, maybe long pants are a good idea.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

So here's how my morning went

After early morning chores and breakfast, the dogs woke up and asked for their breakfast. Then we went back outside. That's when I saw a chicken inside the lower goat pen (an area we aren't using for the goats right now) lying on her back and 2 other hens frantically running up and down the fence trying to magically will an opening that wasn't there. I thought the down chicken was dead and headed for the gate to go in and collect her. Damn, what got her? Then I saw her chest rising and falling, still breathing. Now I'm wondering just how much alive she is. Is she so close to death I'll have to finish her off?

On my way into the pen I found this:

and this:

Can you see that those are 2 piles of feathers? My assumption was that whatever put one bird on its back had gotten away with another one. I'd seen one of the roosters and a few hens in this area earlier this morning when I was with the goats. I figured a roo had been taken out protecting his ladies. It happens.

When I got to the bird laid out on her back and touched her feet to pick her up, I realized she was very much alive. I picked her up, holding her gently, not knowing how badly she might be hurt. I tried enticing the other two to follow me with the dog treats in my pocket. Dogs. The dogs had hung around, probably more fascinated with the chicken frenzy than loyal to me. Dogs go inside; injured chicken goes in a box for the moment, with water and food. I didn't find the neck injury I'd assumed she had, but she was missing some feathers, including a bare spot on her neck.

Back outside I had more success getting the other two out of the pen. I walked around counting. Eventually I located all 13 red hens, both roosters, the Speckled Sussex and 3 Favarolles. One Favarolle and 2 Barred Rocks missing. The Barred Rocks are older girls. They know how to hide. I wasn't worried about them, but assumed the missing bird was one of the smaller, meeker, younger Favarolles. I prepped the "chicken infirmary", a small wire pen we keep on the closed-in side porch for sick or injured birds that need to be isolated. Plastic liner in place, a layer of wheat straw with bowls of food and water, and she has a place to stay for a day or two. I examined her again and still found no real injuries other than missing feathers. Joan reminded me that passing out is a fear response in chickens, though not really a survival skill.

I went back outside and walked around the pen and along the road on the other side of the pen, not finding the trail of feathers I expected. So many feathers in a large area with no carcass could only be a larger animal, i.e. not a hawk, like a dog. This is worrisome because a dog that is able to feed itself well on one bird will be back for more. But then, heading back to the house, I discovered all 4 Favarolles casually scratching around together like nothing had happened. Both Barred Rocks showed up as well. There were no missing chickens. So my poor little red hen must have lost more feathers than I realized. I still don't know what happened to her.

To celebrate all birds still alive, I dumped a bunch of veggie and fruit scraps out for them.
Happy birds, happy farmer.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Little girl growing up

My calendar shows that week before last Daisy was in heat. Dena went into heat last week, so, guess what, it's Quinta's turn, and when that little girl is uncomfortable she strives to make sure the whole world knows it. This morning I was afraid the neighbors might call the ASPCA on us. I could hear her bleating as I was letting the birds out. By the time I headed up the hill to the goat pen she was at full volume. This girl started screaming the minute she figured out she had lungs. She's a pro, and she's only gotten louder.

With three does in heat in consecutive weeks, Spike is one busy little wether (neutered male goat). You might say his milkshake brings all the girls to the yard (or maybe you have more class than that). Each one in turn hits him up for attention. He does what he can, but his options are limited. He is a handsome guy, though, and a sweetie. Quinta is still much smaller than he is, but so far he's been really gentle in his attempts to mount her.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

sick day on the farm

On Monday I worked out in the sun and humidity in the garden without drinking enough water and got myself a UTI (urinary tract infection, mine caused by dehydration).  Yesterday I had a melt-down. My washing machine is waiting repair and currently has a full load of clothes and water, and I couldn't get hold of the repair guy. It isn't draining and I'm hoping that by leaving the water in it, I can help him figure it out. Last time this happened, about a month ago, I bailed it, rung out the clothes and hung them out to dry. When the repair guy came, the machine worked just fine so he couldn't figure out what is wrong. Of course I have a ton of laundry to do, and whenever I look at it, I just sigh and shake my head. Also, I have poison ivy on my arm that I keep putting cortisone on so I don't scratch it. Between the UTI and the poison ivy, pain makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else. What else? Oh yeah, I went to our little town yesterday to get farm supplies, go to the grocery store (mostly for pain relief from the UTI) and to the library to pick up books on hold. The library was closed for unknown reasons. Not a big deal, unless the rest of your day has totally sucked.

I didn't sleep well last night, so today I'm listening to my body, which seems to need to rest. But that doesn't mean I didn't have to get up at 6 am to let the birds out and milk the goats. Joan has to leave for work about the same time my day starts with the animals so she cant' do it for me. It also doesn't mean the dogs don't need to be fed and let out a few times. It doesn't mean the basic animal chores don't need to be done.  Thankfully Joan refreshed the birds' water and duck pools yesterday evening, so they can wait a little while. I did get some extra sleep this morning after milking. This afternoon I've been out to check for eggs and to walk around to see how the animals are doing. Walking past the gardens, I notice everything that needs to be done. The tomato plants are thriving and need some tying up. The cucumber plants are reaching out to their lattice and could use some guidance. The gardens in general need more mulching and weeding. But if I start any of this, I'll be out there for a couple of hours and be in trouble again.

I did decide to ring out the clothes in the washer and hang them up. They were already starting to sour, and they'll probably have to be rewashed, but at least they won't get worse. The kitchen had to be cleaned up, and I'm also using this time to catch up on paperwork for insurance reimbursement and organizing my crazy desk a bit. Joan will be able to help with the rest when she gets home from work this evening.

Tomorrow I go back to work at my part-time job for 3 days, and for those 3 days, I get nothing done on the farm except the basic chores that keep the animals healthy. So I'm feeling frustrated over this missed day of farm work. I try to take Sunday off because it's the only day Joan and I have together. We try to make it as a day to relax together, though sometimes it's a day to enjoy working together on the farm out of necessity. But I keep reminding myself that if I don't take care of my health, none of the rest gets taken care of in the long run.

So here are some reasons for me to take it easy today and get back to work as soon as I can.

Yeah, I have a particular fondness for the babies. I love watching them grow up.