You, of course, have heard about "cool cats". But, you probably haven't heard about a "cool chick". This is Maddie, the very intelligent araucana hen. She's parked under the mister that was added to the run. She's sopped and lovin' it! Who woulda thunk? Last evening, there were six other hens keeping cool with her.
Well....it's August.....already! Doesn't that just make you want to buy a Mercury and cruise it
up and down the road?! I'm not through with July's work yet, for corn flakes!
Oh, well. I'll just have to take a day off so I can get some work done around
here.
All is well here at Rancho Relaxo.
However, recently, the Ol' Rancher wasn't well at all for about a week. For the
first time in about eleven or so years, I found myself experiencing all of the
uncomfortable symptoms of the stomach flu. I'll spare you the gory details and
let Google help you in case you have yet to be informed about it. Let's just
say that it wasn't a pretty sight. Whatever that thing was took the knot plumb out of my clove-hitch. It left me too weak to wrestle a
marshmallow out of a cup of hot chocolate.
Connie was able to keep me alive through
the ordeal and made sure that I drank a ton of "Powerade" and
fruit juices (given that I had no appetite). Otherwise, my electrolytes would
have been out of whack and I would have been dehydrated due to a massive loss
of fluid. I think I used up a month's worth of flushing in one week! I'd have
been a real mess and would likely have ended up in the hospital (a place for
which I have no particular fondness).
She really was the hero of the hour and
still managed to maintain her sense of humor in an attempt to keep me cheered.
She then courageously carried the ball for the entire ranch for an entire week.
My hat is off to her (plus she got my dirty laundry too!).
Just for the record, I'm swearing off
getting sick. It was one way to get out of having to be a farm dude for awhile.
But, it is a waste of my time, saps my energy, and makes me feel yukkie. I'd rather suck snot out of a dead man than do that again.
Speaking of Connie the Canner, she has
been just as busy with me back in the saddle as when I was out of it. It has
been almost non-stop canning around here. If not canning, then she is
dehydrating veggies and fruit. I saw a lot of apples and tomatoes being sliced
and dried. She has even been canning hamburger! Yep! We are almost out of room
in the freezer so she looked it up on the Internet and found out how to do it.
It works great! I hadn't thought about it until then! And, between our own
nectarines and folks giving us other peaches, she canned several quarts for the
winter. Peachy keen, eh (I know. I know)?
If that doesn't inflate your Kumhos, we
just bartered for a gorgeous like-new 5 tray dehydrator recently. One of
our clients needed their laptop straightened up so the Computer Dude fixed it.
In trade, we ended up with an "American Harvest" multi-temp
dehydrator for our supply of "tools". It was exactly like a couple of
those that we already have. All the trays are the same which gives us some
options when we dehydrate stuff. Just prior to getting it, I had to replace the
thermistor in one of the other ones. The part was quite inexpensive and it only
took a few minutes to solder it in place. So, don't toss our your dehydrator
just because it stops running. You can get it back in service for about 50
cents, a thirty watt soldering iron, and a few minutes of time.
Edible Acres Harvest Report: we've got
goodies! The okra is thriving and we've already started giving some away to
those good folks who love a mess of that wonderful fried stuff. Since okra is
one of those "forever plants" that just keeps on giving, we'll
probably still be giving some away at Christmas! And, that's after we can a
bunch of it! That is an amazing vegetable! It grows so fast that you have to
harvest it almost every single day! That means I'll be looking forward to a big
batch of gumbo soon, too! I've got some shrimp in the freezer waiting to be tossed into the mix! Hooo! Doggies! My, but that's good eatin'!
Coon Dog Report: things got
"interesting" here the other night at about 9:30 PM or so. Abby, was
barking her little doggie brains out on the back patio. Now, she's been known
to do such activities but not on the back patio. So, as you can imagine, she
had my attention when I turned on the lights and noticed that she had treed my
BBQ grill. Since there were only a few inches gap under my grill, my
lightning-fast mind knew there wasn't a bear under there (what a relief!). That
was a good thing since I hadn't even bothered to grab any armament other than
my flashlight. Of course, smaller doesn't necessarily mean less dangerous. Abby
(a.k.a. "the Nose") treed a rattlesnake on the front driveway not
long ago. That meant that Ol' Ran needed to be mindful of his steps when a
huntin' dog is making loud noises.
I started moving the BBQ grill and when I did, a "thing" darted out onto the patio and into the back yard. Fortunately, I was able to out pace the thing, got in front of it, and gave it quick kick backwards thereby arresting its flight to safety. It curled up and lay motionless. In a flash, my flashlight revealed that I had overpowered a small 'possum (a fella is pretty confident when he is 200 times as massive as his opponent). It was now motionless and playing....'possum (but you knew that).
I started moving the BBQ grill and when I did, a "thing" darted out onto the patio and into the back yard. Fortunately, I was able to out pace the thing, got in front of it, and gave it quick kick backwards thereby arresting its flight to safety. It curled up and lay motionless. In a flash, my flashlight revealed that I had overpowered a small 'possum (a fella is pretty confident when he is 200 times as massive as his opponent). It was now motionless and playing....'possum (but you knew that).
I called for Abby for assistance and she
came a-runnin' lickity split (roughly the equivalent of half the speed of
sound) and ran right on past and headed to the other side of the yard looking
for the thing. So, I called again and again she whizzed right on by looking somewhere
else for something. *SIGH* Finally, I called her to me and she noticed the
'possum on the ground. She snatched the thing up in her mouth but, as you can
guess, it played dead so Abby tired of that game in about ten seconds. She
parked the little critter in the dirt and moseyed off. I could tell that this
girl dog was going to need some help getting her huntin' skills sharpened up.
It was left up to me to dispatch the predator that, if allowed to mature,
would have had a voracious appetite for ...chicken dinners. So, a few ounces of
dead 'possum is worth a few pounds of live chickens.
It must be that time of the year for
'possums since we found another one trapped at the bottom of one of our barrels
that we use to contain our coop cleanings. It had fallen in and had starved to
death. More chickens saved.
Well, guess what, neighbor? I also found
out that "Rancho Relaxo" isn't limited to just one
"interesting" event per week. Just a few days later, Princess Abby
let out barking and baying for a really long time....late at night, of course.
So, Ol' Ran grabbed his trusty tactical flashlight (the one that lights up the
entire bloody neighborhood) and trudged out to see what was upsetting my pooch.
Abby was trying to climb one of the tall
trees between our house and the neighbor's home. I had heard that "Walker
Treeing Coon Hounds" were called "climbers" so I guess I believe
them now! When a coon dog trees, don't bother to guess if there's something
there; just shine the light upwards and find out what it is! "It" was
a big ol' wide-eyed coon! He was up about 20' or so and parked on a limb at the
trunk. Abby had finally lived up to her breeding! You may remember that
she cornered her first big ol' coon out in the carport a year ago. But, this
was the first time she had "treed" (nobody wants a "Walker
Cornering Coon Hound", don'tcha know).
So, a plan of action was needed and
there were decisions to make. I can't say that I wasn't tempted to go get
"Ol' Bess", the SKS rifle. At that time of night, such a thought only
lasted a few seconds. Can you imagine what would happen if you discharged a .30
caliber hunting rifle late at night and only 35 feet from your neighbor's
bedroom?! Your good neighbors would become bad neighbors in a heartbeat.
The next thought was to just use the
Ruger 10-22 .22 caliber semi-auto rifle. That way, the neighbors would only
jump halfway out of their night clothes instead of all of the way (I am soooo
thoughtful, eh?). Well....that thought, too, was short lived. That left me with
prospect of just letting Abby bay all night long thereby insuring that the
neighbors only lost sleep instead of their jammies. That was a prospect with
which I could live. Besides, I really didn't need a new coonskin cap. Maybe
when the fashion cycle comes back around.
It was my bedtime anyway so I was hoping
against hope that Abby would get disinterested after awhile and just go park in
her "Abby place" on the back patio. That means that everyone would
still get some sleep. That was a real leap of faith because coon dogs don't
normally give up on anything. They just don't quit. I seriously figured that
the coon would need to make that limb his permanent dwelling place. No part of
me believed that Abby would lose interest in a live coon. But, he wasn't there
the next morning and Abby wasn't talkin'. Maybe she went to sleep on the job or
the coon bought her off (maybe the coon found my stash of doggie treats on the
patio....uh-huh). Thankfully, and for whatever reason, Abby appeared to lose interest and
that was the end of the matter. Go figure.
News flash: there was third "interesting" event at the
ranch a few days later! Abby was doing her nightly patrol and started
barking....at midnight (nocturnal critters, don'tcha know). After several
minutes of intense barking and at about the time I was going to grab my torch,
she went silent. "That'll work" says I to myself. But, that really
didn't make sense until.....this terribly familiar ...odor....began wafting its
way into the bedroom. Do you know where I'm heading with this narrative? You
are correct; it was the only-too-familiar scent of an offended skunk. Only this
time, it wasn't like a dead skunk in the middle of the road. It was like an
angry skunk in the middle of the bedroom! Uuuuuuuuuuuh! Connie nearly fainted
while I nearly gagged. Due to the eye-tearing intensity, we figured that Pepe
Le Pew was probably marching across our front porch campaigning for the removal
of our guard dog.
Once again I snatched the uber-light and went
out to see if my coon dog was OK and if she needed to be quarantined for awhile
(like...maybe for a month and maybe in China). When I called, she came zipping
around the corner and was about to (lovingly) fling herself upon my body parts.
I wasn't relishing the thought of having to follow Abby into quarantine so I
gritted my teeth, stepped back to halt her advance, and held my hand down to
grab her collar. So far, so good. After a few moments, there was no
swooning and I was still standing upright and without additional body odor.
Time to give thanks!
Wait, folks! There's more! I really wish
that I could say that Rancho Relaxo is an uneventful place. But, that would be
like believing a politician when they open their mouth. It just isn't so. The
other night at about 1:30 AM (waaaay too early in the morning for
"interesting" things to occur), I was rudely awakened by a ladies
voice saying, "Low voltage! Low voltage!". Though somewhat groggy, it
didn't take but a moment to realized what had happened and that "Rosy the
Robot" wasn't standing at my bedside (you old people remember the
"Jetsons"). I had left one of my walkie squawkie radios on and had
left it on the night stand next to the bed (the other radios were charging).
When the bias voltage got too low, it automatically advised that the voltage
was low so that the dummy user would recharge it or replace the battery. I just
turned the thing off until later that morning then stuck on the charger. Note
to self: pay attention, Ran. You'll get more sleep that way.
Chickening Report from Cluck Central:
I'm still trying to figure out why chickens are so good at turning their
chicken coop and chicken run into a pig sty. We rake and clean continually and
make sure that they have plenty of fresh water and lots and lots of good food
(chicken chow, don'tcha know). We always speak to them kindly (never
curse your chickens, I always say) and we speak in specific terms so they
remember that they are chickens and not pigs. We call them using the time
tested method: "Here, chick, chick, chick!" and not "Here, pig,
pig, pig!". There are even signs hanging on the walls that say as much.
Maybe we're asking a bit too much since we're getting nowhere with that method.
I'd like to figure out how we end up raising intelligence-free chickens. In
the meantime, hand me another rake.
Having chickens on the brain (and in the
coop) means that you have lots of chicken recipes on hand. I think I quit
counting at about 300 including the more than 150 cookbooks we have on the
shelf). Connie cooked a swell almond crusted chicken the other night. And, we
use chicken in soups, sandwiches, and such all of the time (it tastes better
when it's on sale, too!). But, I wanted to try something different. After
reading about it recently, I want to try "chicken fricassee" pretty
soon. It's a simple enough recipe for a simple enough ranch hand. However, it
sounds a little "hoity toity" for the likes of a couple of old folks
like us. So, we're just going to call it "frickin' chicken" which has
more of a country ring to it.
We lost one of our pullets a few days
ago. She was noticeably out of sorts for a few days prior so we pulled her out
of the cage and put her in the hutch by herself. When there was no improvement
after a couple of days, we brought her into the house to try to nurse her back
to health. Sadly, she only lasted a day and a half. We're not sure what
happened and it isn't likely that we will ever know. So goes life at Rancho
Relaxo. We will likely get a few more pullets in the near future anyway. If
not, maybe in the spring.
Thinking that the pullets were mature
enough to be introduced to the rest of the coop group, we freed them from their
cage. That experiment was a complete failure because the Chickenistas would
have none of it. They refused to allow the almost-hens to integrate and
immediately began abusing them. One of the pullets was so stressed that she
stuck her head behind a sack of scratch and wouldn't budge (and you thought
only ostriches did that). The others were holed up behind the door of the first
run.
As an aside: the two runs have a door
between them because we left the door on the original run. That comes in handy
when we want to clean the front run or vice versa. We can herd the birds into
one or the other run as needed for cleaning and such.
So, the Ol' Chicken Wrangler snatched
them up and put them back in their cage where it's safe. They're doing fine
now. I'll try again in a couple of weeks. If we keep feeding them, we're
confident that they will grow.
We're also experimenting with a water
mister. It consists of a small plastic water line with a few button misters on
it. We're hoping it will help keep our hens from croaking in the heat (it was
108 degrees today). It seems to work but not all that well because we have
ponding under one of the misters. Plus, there seems to be a bit of a cross
breeze that shoves the mist away from the chickens. If I can't get this one
dialed in , I have another longer one that may work. We'll see. Anything to
keep us from having fried chickens.
So, there you have it, the latest from Rancho Relaxo. Don't touch that URL; things could get...interesting.
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