Garden boxes two and three. Number two (foreground) still has a tomato plant hanging on for dear life. I'm about to change that then will finish prepping it for winter. Likewise, the number three box still has a few bell peppers and a volunteer tomato plant that is actually thriving due, by and large, to the NEGLECT I've been showering upon it. I think that's the secret for making my gardens prosper. It'll be the last box to get overhauled. The number four box will get the same treatment except I'll leave the asparagus experiment alone.
Well! What a revoltin’ development this is (for all
you [old] “Life of Riley” [1954-1958] fans out there). It’s December and I am
not even close to being through with November! *SIGH*.
Things are moving along at the Rancho. We’re busy
with the usual computer business, ministry, and ranching. Getting ready for
winter keeps us out of trouble, I suppose.
Thanksgiving Report: T-Day has come and gone and
it’s…Christmas time. It seems that folks are still putting their Halloween junk
back in the garage when retailers start raining Christmas on us. I’m not even
sure I saw much Thanksgiving advertising at all. That’s probably some kind of
perceptual filtering, I suppose. All I know is that I took one bite of
Halloween candy and the next thing I know, it’s almost Christmas!
Anyway…we had an extremely nice, quiet, and peaceful
Turkey Day here at the ranch. That was actually “plan B” since we were going to
take my mother out to “Hometown Buffet” (in Visalia…a real town) thereby
dispensing with the usual Thanksgiving chores. However, she elected to be
spared from the trip since it’s a 45 min. ride and because it would be crowded
and noisy. In fact, even when we considered doing a local feast, the reasoning
was the same; it’s just too noisy. So, “plan B” it was. Made sense to me.
Connie fixed a repast fit for royalty! Her genuine Hamilton Beach roaster-oven turkey nuker didn’t let her down and we ended up with a gorgeous, succulent, and tender bird. When you add to that a huge spread of trimmings and a pumpkin pie, you soon end up with mighty-well-fed folks! I ate so much I felt like one of Dick Tracey’s Irish friends: “Dick Tracey calling Heap O’ Calories”.
Three people can’t lay waste to that large of a
feast so we figure we’ll be noshing on turkey and mashed potatoes for awhile. Turkey
is our friend!
After a half day of visiting and eating, my mother
decided she had sufficiently enjoyed the festivities and headed home. It was a
really great time!
Chickening report: more things we’ve learned about
chickening: chicken math: a hen and a half can lay an egg and a half in a day
and a half. It makes sense if you just
pay attention, count your eggs, count your days, and use simple division (still
no results on how long it would take a monkey with a wooden leg to kick all the
warts off a large dill pickle, though).
We’ve learned that chickening isn’t exactly the sport of kings (a no brainer, methinks). Oh, sure; there may be a weird “Chicken King” or two out there but we haven’t seen them at our modest ranch. And, experience has shown that you are either a “bird brain” or you are not. There appears to be no in-between. “Dark” is no longer when the sun sets; it’s now referred to as “chicken bed time”.
We’ve learned that chickening isn’t exactly the sport of kings (a no brainer, methinks). Oh, sure; there may be a weird “Chicken King” or two out there but we haven’t seen them at our modest ranch. And, experience has shown that you are either a “bird brain” or you are not. There appears to be no in-between. “Dark” is no longer when the sun sets; it’s now referred to as “chicken bed time”.
We’ve learned that our chickens are pretty birds and that they are dirty birds. Reckon that makes them pretty dirty birds. We’ve learned that chickens are fairly bright for being so incredibly dim. I’ve learned that being a “chicken dude” sort of has a ring to it.
Added to our repertoire of “knowledge of all things
fowl” is the fact (uh-huh) that the chicken species can be traced back to the
Pileated Peck’n Pooper (biological name, “Dirtybirdicus Magnificus
Peckasaurus”.
And the last-but-not-least thing learned is that
it’s becoming evident that some or even all of our birds are turkeys in
disguise. Think about it: we added 30 8 month old pullets (including a few
older birds who are already laying) to our finicky fickle flock. In total, the original
ones were laying about 2 dozen eggs per day (down from 4 doz.!). After stuffing
the new feathers into the coop and pampering them all like they were our first cousins,
our production is down …another 30%...and dropping (this is a really good place
to yell, “ACK!”). I’ll have to check more closely next time so I don’t purchase
any more midget turkeys.
We are checking all possibilities and doing some figuring
(usually spelled “Googling”) to see what on earth is going on to inhibit our
working girl’s eggs from making an entrance into our almost omelet-free life.
PS: Your Chicken is Dead: we lost one of our Rhode
Island Reds the other day. We still have no idea why she croaked. It’s doubtful
that she was egg bound. I think I would have noticed any particular odd presentation
as I do try to keep watch over my girls. She may have been one of the older
birds but I couldn’t tell and wasn’t about to do a post-mortem on her. The
addition of the new pullets will cover the loss.
PSS: Your Other Chicken Is Dead, Too: some days are
just…interesting …around here. Let me begin by saying that we go to great
lengths to insure the safety of our critters at Rancho Relaxo. Prior to our
chicken-ing endeavors, we were doggy-ing. Our Princess Pooch needed to be
protected from herself and her boisterous instincts. So, we adorned her with an
electronic romping range radius reducer (best known as an “electric fence” or
“shock collar”). She can go just so far and, if she doesn’t obey the warning
buzzer, “BAM!”, she gets a bite from the collar. She stays safe and…so does any
other game outside her hunting/playing radius (her barking radius is much more
extensive). So, just what does that have to do with a dead chicken? Glad you
asked.
While seeing my mother off after our Thanksgiving
Day repast, we turned around on the driveway to find dear Abby with a….mouthful
of moribund chicken. She plopped
it on the driveway and looked at us with a face that said, “I know what I done
was…probably wrong”. Knowing her, in her rebellious little doggie heart, I bet she
was saying, “Know anyone who wants to buy a slightly used chicken toy?”.
It was tacitly understood that we're dealing with coon
dog here. What Her Naughtiness proved to us was that converting a huntin’ dog
into a chicken sitter may prove to be a daunting task.
However, prior to locking her up in solitary
confinement for a year, we had to consider that her shock collar may have been
faulty. I took the thing off of her and found that to be the case. Otherwise,
she wouldn’t have been far enough behind the barn to pull off the chicken
heist. After the new collar swap out, she tried to push the perimeter limits
and the collar bit her like it was supposed to do. She calmed down rather
quickly and is minding her P’s and Q’s…and chickens.
The hen was an older non-productive bird that I had
let out to free range. She wasn’t even close to the coop at all when her free ranging
was permanently interrupted. Looks like I need to post my old biddies on
“Craig’s List” and find some crazy chicken lady who loves chickens and give
them to her rather than toss them into the freezer.
Got pullets? Yep! Sure do! We just added 30 new
pullets to the pecking order. I have to tell you; employing the suggestions of
the folks at the feed store resulted in a flawless incorporation of our new
birds. Usually, when you toss one or more new comers into the mix, they…mix it
up. The pecking order has to be re-established and…they tangle feathers until
the biggest brooder beats all. It’s likely that the old adage, “the feathers
flew” was coined from this exact dynamic.
But, not this time. For one thing, the new pullets
were about 7 months old or so, so were the same size as our other pullets
(raised from chicks). For another, we simply sneaked (I’d use the word “snuck”
but y’all would think I’m a hick farmer) the newbies in at night while the
others were dozing. So, when daylight came, all the chickens looked alike and
all chicken bullying was negated; all was well! Why didn’t I think of that?!
Our new crop of feathers is beautiful! There are few
Rhode Island Reds but most appear to be Buff Orpingtons (or perhaps a Buff mix
of some kind like the Golden Sex-Link). Some appear to be Catalanas or
Productions which are light brown with darker brown heads. They are all so
mellow! They must have been reared by “chicken people” since they aren’t afraid
of us at all!
We’ve commenced to start our practice of letting the
girls out of the run for awhile at dusk. They enjoy hunting and pecking (they’re
secretary birds, don’tch know? N’yuk! N’yuk! I know. I know. Don’t quit my day
job), and otherwise enjoying the break from the boredom of the coop. It’s also
the exact time that our three free-range feral roosters climb the tree by the
barn so they can begin their (hopefully) predator-free roosting.
The other evening, we opened the door and about 20
hens scrambled free of their digs (most of them simply refused the offer! Go
figure!). One of the roosters took note and departed his perch from midway up
the mulberry tree. He made a screamingly steep angle for his final
approach and had his flaps and gear down. The brief flight terminated with a crash in the midst
of the hens. It took a few seconds to get his feathers together and recover
from his wing-bending ground loop. But, he soon got right down to business.
The little rooster went out of his flocking mind.
Right away, he started struttin’ his stuff, crowing, and doing his spastic stud-dance
for the hens. I think he thought he was a prairie grouse because he couldn’t
quit dancing and trying to impress his
batch of females.
His rain dancing didn’t get him any attention so he
just leaped aboard a nearby chicken miss…and missed. The problem was that he
picked a gal that was about 50% larger than he was and he ended up out of
breath on the ground with a beak full of feathers and egg on his face.
Well…that was disappointing to say the least. Of course, being cock’o the walk
for the day, he didn’t allow failure to deter him. After all, he has a
genetically engineered edict to replenish the world with chickens.
So, it wasn’t long until he attempted to mount yet
another unsuspecting brooder-to-be. Danged if he didn’t pick another one who
was larger than he was. No joy. He definitely had high hopes but the evening
was falling hard upon his bravado so he was soon up in his tree crowing for
his…accomplishments. Tomorrow, eh?
Weather Report: We finally got a light dusting of
rain last night. Nothing else I can call it but what I previously did: mad
rain. It was just enough rain to mess up the windshield and make you mad. Rumor
has it that the weatherman is being held hostage until he can produce some
water (which I think he probably did …on the spot). At least the there’s no
hurry in mowing the grass; there isn’t much to mess with.
Weather Report Deux: We finally got real rain!
Reckon the weatherman paid the ransom and got his forecast finalized just for
us and our dust. The final tally isn’t in but my guess is that we got a bit more than an inch of precipitation (update: we did get 1 ½”!). Even the south fork of the Tule
River has a bit of flow now! Amazing.
There you have it, chicken lovers, kith, kin,
kissin’ cousins, friends, family, folks, in-laws, outlaws, and the rest of the
gang. Stay tuned and don’t even touch that dial. You won’t want to miss a
single episode of “Rancho Relaxo”. Things could get…interesting. Now, a word
from our sponsor, the new and improved, Rinso Laundry Detergent………….
