tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1748970950768964432024-03-14T01:03:58.829-07:00Life on the UnfarmRamblings and recipes from my life and other [minor] adventures on our suburban UnfarmHeidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.comBlogger214125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-68473758660775174092023-06-05T18:15:00.000-07:002023-06-05T18:15:12.970-07:00The curious case of Savannah the chicken<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Savannah has always been an interesting bird. She is a beautiful speckled Sussex with a knack for getting into trouble. She regularly gets out of the yard and can be located in the side garden digging up newly planted peas and beans. She is also the reason we have had to drape the oh-so-fashionable orange construction netting over the fence as she was making forays into the neighbor's yard almost daily. The netting has stopped her from getting into the neighbor's yard but we have yet to discover how the little Houdini is getting into the side garden. She is also now embroiled in something of a farmyard scandal.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had noticed a day or two ago that Zaida was MIA, missing in action. Looking around for her I finally found her in the duck coop, sitting on a nest. Sigh. Another broody duck. Looks like I will be breaking out the ceramic eggs yet again to replace the real eggs in her nest so as to avoid having more ducklings. Not that I have anything against having more ducklings, but my parents would have something to say about it, and with my luck they would end up being mostly boys anyway. The boys already outnumber the girls around here and ducks, being the (ahem) amorous creatures that they are, are running the girls ragged with all the attention. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Cut to this afternoon, where Zaida is not, at the moment, a happy camper. She is wandering around the duck run, mouth open whenever anyone comes too close to her, complaining bitterly. Savannah, on the other hand, was clucking up a storm so I investigated to see what I could do to calm Zaida and get Savannah to quiet down. While I went inside to get the keys to the coop (the coops are all padlocked now at night and when doors are not in use, to prevent marauding raccoons from getting into the coops) the clucking stopped. When I came back out and checked on Savannah, the reason was apparent: she was laying an egg in the coop. In the nest box. The duck nest box. Which is currently holding Zaida's nest. She is now happily sitting on the nest, making her contribution the the nesting effort, while Zaida grumps around outside the coop, waiting for her turn to get back on her nest. I suppose after this episode, it will be even harder to catch Zaida off the nest, at which time I would be able to swap the eggs before we end up with ducklings. And, apparently, chicks.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09JHuMf9Oy9s506-hcVOguAX-HQFCadfZhlq8cxk54HKvDOv_ybG_qdaSR_mW2dD81gZwgpcmjlFpkmCKn7pLZuffmPIoHe3h2932atqw-VvSKXPGQOH-qzuPdXFSUyhNP8h3eRD_PYzQYj8Auk7St_ZF7nVVYSZNun8CQVB-94sTqoXcluYkGxtbVw/s4080/PXL_20230606_004122488.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="4080" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi09JHuMf9Oy9s506-hcVOguAX-HQFCadfZhlq8cxk54HKvDOv_ybG_qdaSR_mW2dD81gZwgpcmjlFpkmCKn7pLZuffmPIoHe3h2932atqw-VvSKXPGQOH-qzuPdXFSUyhNP8h3eRD_PYzQYj8Auk7St_ZF7nVVYSZNun8CQVB-94sTqoXcluYkGxtbVw/s320/PXL_20230606_004122488.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zaida, the unhappy camper, herself.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2g4VUPndmKii2xK95ThQQw9xp98UU-C_8nezTt25WyD2nTblIIAfwGXqBHo6Sy1AWi1-cfs7JjEQI_syklxJ0qe-DylONF-u0-J-SN_JsYjTFlrCY8W2i2m2EWJESx3iJwavvfxtdKhbIWotsnnouYnng7oZmQsW9a75IM9KdKRGvBJLKuGt7u9OUA/s4080/PXL_20230606_004036320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ2g4VUPndmKii2xK95ThQQw9xp98UU-C_8nezTt25WyD2nTblIIAfwGXqBHo6Sy1AWi1-cfs7JjEQI_syklxJ0qe-DylONF-u0-J-SN_JsYjTFlrCY8W2i2m2EWJESx3iJwavvfxtdKhbIWotsnnouYnng7oZmQsW9a75IM9KdKRGvBJLKuGt7u9OUA/s320/PXL_20230606_004036320.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savannah in the duck coop, making her contribution.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-72768544287349167752023-02-01T16:56:00.000-08:002023-02-01T16:56:03.736-08:00The bright side to winter<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are plenty of things I do not like about winter. It's dreary. It's gray. Nothing is growing. It rains - a lot. It's cold, but rarely do we get snow. We get freezing weather on occasion, and all the headaches that come with it (duck pools that freeze over and an inability to wash out rabbit litter boxes), but don't get to enjoy the fun of snow. (And before you jump down my throat, when you rarely get snow, and have dogs that love to play in it, then yes - it is fun.) </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">There is, however, one thing I do like about winter: the hormone levels go way down within the ducks. This means that the ducks are - for the time being - a united flock once again. The boys and girls hang out together without any infighting between the different age groups. I may have mentioned that the Mamas and the Papas and the Littles do not hang out together in the spring and summer. But in the winter time they spend all their time together, running around the yard in little row of all eight ducks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Aside from this being enormously cute, it also makes my life easier. I don't have to chase the ducks around in the evening to get them all in the run at the same time, and they go into the coop easily at bedtime. When the hormone levels are higher the boys enter the coop first and lie in wait for the females to enter the coop, where they then jump on the females in an attempt to mate. The females, who are far from unintelligent, know this and do everything they can to avoid going into the coop at night. This means that I can be seen running around the duck run with my arms spread out, trying to gently herd the females into the coop while they dart under, around, and behind the coop in an attempt to avoid me and the doorway. I'm sure I look crazy as I plead with the ducks to just. go. to. bed!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So not only is winter nicer for the female ducks, it is also nicer for me because let me tell you, seeing eight ducks filing into the coop in a nice little row after eating dinner at bedtime is a thing of beauty. I suppose, it is even nice enough to make up for all the downsides to winter, so bring on the rain.</span></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-48748015767578280052022-06-20T19:23:00.004-07:002022-06-20T19:23:46.098-07:00This land is my land, that land is your land<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">The ducks are a flock divided, of late. We have the Mommas and the Papas (Rosie, Fern, Gwen and Gemma) and the Littles (Zaida, Olive, Harley and Abigail.) The Mommas and the Papas are so named because they are the parents of the Littles, who are named for the fact that they were originally much smaller. Gracie and Minna are a sort of flock of their own, my two mobility challenged girls who are kept separate from the rest of the flock so as not to be chased or harassed in any way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">But how did the rest of the flock become divided? Basically, it can all be boiled down to one thing: hormones. Now that the Littles are almost a year old they have become ruled by their hormones, as many teenagers are. Gemma, and to a lesser extent, Gwen, have become the object of Little boys affection so the Mommas tend to spend their time with the Papas, who are much less hormonal, being a few years older than the Littles. The Papas, for their part, tend to take excellent care of the Mommas and will chase off the Little boys whenever they get too close for comfort. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">The morning routine of late looks something like this: I fill the food and water bowls and open the gates to the yard and the duck run before letting the ducks out of the coop. Once the coop door is open the ducks come stampeding out of the coop and the Mommas and Papas try to grab a bite to eat before the Little boys lose interest in the food and try to go after one of the Mommas. Once the Little boys turn their attention to the Mommas the older ducks flee the run en masse for the yard. If they can make it to the left side of the yard, where the blueberry bushes are, they seem to cross an invisible line that demarks the territory of the Mommas and the Papas. Should the Little boys cross into this half of the yard in pursuit of the girls, they are immediately chased out by Rosie and Fern. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So for the most part, the Mommas and the Papas get the left side of the yard. The Littles have claimed the dog run as their territory, and to a lesser extent the right side of the yard. The neutral ground is the patio on the right side of the yard where two of the pools are located. There the ducks will congregate around the pools in a relative truce, so long as the girls are left alone. As long as the ducks maintain their separate territories the flock/s exist in a tenuous peace. Occasionally I will see one of the Littles make an incursion into the left side of the yard only to be chased out by Rosie or Fern. (They usually work as a pair because two Papas outnumber three Littles, but should Rosie or Fern work alone, they will be chased back into the left side of the yard by two or three Littles.) The dynamics among the ducks are complex and varied and I have yet to entirely figure it out but I hold out hope that as the hormones settle down the group may meld into one peaceful flock once again. Fingers crossed, everyone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F5UaiNUeV___H2Rw3WdNAiAa3BjZU8W2tPdouu4U3fuf5lIq7G9cAtEEDGUh0NZnByebG4-GNpdVIpgNWLt8SUjJKyXhec1o7J3GoPBaF3_kNEDwL3CiI81iE_8U6A9QlnTcj9InqVcfBNEJSwTebCcJGsO7WO1Hv8GpoaeONXwezVHRnFPUhJTaHw/s4080/PXL_20220415_174500811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F5UaiNUeV___H2Rw3WdNAiAa3BjZU8W2tPdouu4U3fuf5lIq7G9cAtEEDGUh0NZnByebG4-GNpdVIpgNWLt8SUjJKyXhec1o7J3GoPBaF3_kNEDwL3CiI81iE_8U6A9QlnTcj9InqVcfBNEJSwTebCcJGsO7WO1Hv8GpoaeONXwezVHRnFPUhJTaHw/w230-h307/PXL_20220415_174500811.jpg" width="230" /><br /></span><br /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gemma, Rosie and Fern - three quarters of the Momma and the Papas group</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaj-E42ha0nnFW1YMY38nYGqHXFcxiwt9UKjkXkiBRjKTLhbMieYtMVztuRgMnOPqUOLLiPTmbt5wrK3bJrEyXoScveRcunRkHNMUzUElxiD_xqsyXL-xjosfV62pZ2j9AHNOrm5Gom_SWKOrv1aKLYvYY_U5kYOfpRXIaylUszheJPzcyhlK7QyKng/s4080/PXL_20220621_021939759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxaj-E42ha0nnFW1YMY38nYGqHXFcxiwt9UKjkXkiBRjKTLhbMieYtMVztuRgMnOPqUOLLiPTmbt5wrK3bJrEyXoScveRcunRkHNMUzUElxiD_xqsyXL-xjosfV62pZ2j9AHNOrm5Gom_SWKOrv1aKLYvYY_U5kYOfpRXIaylUszheJPzcyhlK7QyKng/s320/PXL_20220621_021939759.jpg" width="241" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Harley, Abigail, and Olive - the hormonal Little boys</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-33015941791505310722022-06-08T17:42:00.000-07:002022-06-08T17:42:07.612-07:00How Minna became a house duck. Again.<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Minna started out life as a house duck, along with Maggie, but several years ago the parental units had decided that they had had enough and the ducks were exiled to the backyard and the newly built duck coop. They lived outdoors successfully enough for the last several years, and the majority of our little flock lives out there still, in The Duck Coop: The Sequel (we recently built a second, larger, nicer one.) Two of our ducks, however, have made a return to the house - Gracie and Minna. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gracie is able to spend her days outdoors where she drives the boys insane by remaining sequestered in the duck run where the boys are unable to reach her. This is especially hard on the boys during the spring time when hormones are running high among the young drakes, but for Gracie's comfort and safety she needs to be left alone and not jumped on multiple times a day. Or hour, as the case may be. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Minna is another story. We noticed a year or so ago that she was having trouble moving around and would often end up sitting in one place for the majority of the day. A trip to the vet revealed that she has nerve damage and can't get around easily, leaving her at the mercy of the weather, the other ducks, and the chickens. So it was decided that for her comfort and safety she would rejoin us in the house. The years have not been so kind to her and she is starting to show her age, as she is now a little over 13 years old and currently both her knees are dislocated, in addition to her nerve damage. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">She now spends much of her day resting on a dog bed covered in puppy pads, going outside in the duck run for short periods of time, eating her meals in the bathroom using a feeding platform to allow her to be at standing height without putting pressure on her knees, getting treats like blueberries and peas (some of her favorites) and taking a daily bath in the bathtub to keep her clean and happy. I would let her spend more time driving the young drakes crazy with Gracie, but the vet recommended she spend her time on mostly soft surfaces so that she doesn't develop the equivalent of bed sores, which would shorten her life. And before you ask, the vet has already stated that she would not recommend putting Minna to sleep at this point and I can't bear the thought of letting her go before she may be ready. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpcDdOJMfPL4PD4bxdFXHhocjVdKbKzI-FE3omWYdK5o--iQ72xpAWSoOgEFzBXvETMX75JpsmLPjU6mcNe8hAbxEOuYdMwVclFDiYPxcnUwl7nlgDTPI8-tqfO_0zG59VxLkT5ighVUZ5CufkVYnlCuCQQGUrTYNBqF-e1WYJI9dGhuc2iXExeqAXg/s4080/PXL_20220406_170903155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpcDdOJMfPL4PD4bxdFXHhocjVdKbKzI-FE3omWYdK5o--iQ72xpAWSoOgEFzBXvETMX75JpsmLPjU6mcNe8hAbxEOuYdMwVclFDiYPxcnUwl7nlgDTPI8-tqfO_0zG59VxLkT5ighVUZ5CufkVYnlCuCQQGUrTYNBqF-e1WYJI9dGhuc2iXExeqAXg/s320/PXL_20220406_170903155.jpg" width="241" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Minna (on her feeding platform) and Gracie, enjoying some duck chow</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">In addition to making her a feeding platform out of fabric and PVC pipes, I have also made a wheelchair in much the same way, with the addition of wheels and a handle, so that when the weather finally turns nice I can take her out for little walks in the neighborhood to let her nibble at plants and enjoy the sunshine. And fear not for our reputation: the neighbors already know we're crazy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSbXUXLdPsgrDWrbwXTGiLaKn_B5JZJkB0UA_-fptYDSrIeLR7n5gs0N3h9du_2nmBi-C9WPIi0A7SYMWQVYxiX_IyI0W88rxGL7CV9f4GyrSV_Ss08FGGufPFP63LLrtYsUvPXZOdIYoFD5T0alOCCG7hQS8hP-XYBg-wIg_yieOoXXOyxhAmUqDNw/s4080/PXL_20220413_171534562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFSbXUXLdPsgrDWrbwXTGiLaKn_B5JZJkB0UA_-fptYDSrIeLR7n5gs0N3h9du_2nmBi-C9WPIi0A7SYMWQVYxiX_IyI0W88rxGL7CV9f4GyrSV_Ss08FGGufPFP63LLrtYsUvPXZOdIYoFD5T0alOCCG7hQS8hP-XYBg-wIg_yieOoXXOyxhAmUqDNw/s320/PXL_20220413_171534562.jpg" width="241" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Scout can't resist getting in the picture with Minna's new wheels</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-75435535060708315112022-05-23T18:56:00.003-07:002022-05-23T18:56:45.988-07:00All grown up, and limping along<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Well, it wouldn't be life on the Unfarm without at least one thing going wrong with our new ducklings. I think we must attract special needs animals. In this case, Gracie started limping not long after she hatched. Taking her to the vet - multiple times - finally led to a diagnosis: the tendon in her knee had slipped out of the groove it is supposed to stay in, leading her to start limping as the muscle pulled the leg into an awkward angle. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We did everything we could for her: we tried physical therapy but she decided that she was going to be the first duck in the history of ducks who does not like swimming, which was what she needed to do for her PT. I tried anyway, and I gave her all the recommended medications and kept her from running around on the leg too much and separated her from the boys so no one would try mating with her, putting too much pressure on her body. At one point, she was even wearing a little boot the vet made for her. We even sprung for an experimental knee surgery with our veterinarian: they put pins in her knee to hold the tendon in place with the hope that should would make scar tissue that would hold the tendon in place when the pins eventually had to be pulled out. Spoiler alert: she did not. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8s4rhr8GGcxI8Pw44FK_zG25yN4F84mS7w0rfLy9uz3Y902e2YgpwKg54RxbpcTh0_19bvNkGgMklTvugiHlbBUuWWESOmrfrUyBIndJ2EsZxnKQi-TQCchFPXstp5OBjARaKM1C6IMZOBvynWSo4eS9ILndszosxKbpvggiGVw13gbVu4UgWG_Nng/s4080/PXL_20220120_224904728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4080" data-original-width="3072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8s4rhr8GGcxI8Pw44FK_zG25yN4F84mS7w0rfLy9uz3Y902e2YgpwKg54RxbpcTh0_19bvNkGgMklTvugiHlbBUuWWESOmrfrUyBIndJ2EsZxnKQi-TQCchFPXstp5OBjARaKM1C6IMZOBvynWSo4eS9ILndszosxKbpvggiGVw13gbVu4UgWG_Nng/s320/PXL_20220120_224904728.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gracie in her boot, out for a stroll</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So where are we now? Well, Gracie is all grown up and still limping, and her leg is bent at an angle so she can't put all her weight on it, and she spends her nights in the house with Minna, our house duck, (a story for another time) but goes outside in a separated run during the day in nice weather. For now she doesn't appear to be getting any better - and I don't expect her to - but neither does she appear to be getting worse. So I make her life as easy and comfortable as possible and hope that she can continue on much as she has been - limping but not uncomfortable - and enjoying the best of both worlds, indoor and out. Fingers crossed she holds steady, as we are, after all, experienced with special needs pets, and I would rather deal with a limping duck than the alternative which would be to have her put to sleep.</span></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-34108094278429225912021-06-22T19:49:00.002-07:002021-06-22T19:49:45.922-07:00A tale of two duck nests... and the ducklings that followed<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">A couple of months ago, Gwen went broody and started sitting on a nest she had carefully concealed in the coop. She dutifully sat day in and day out on the nest and spent her time rotating her eggs and building up her nest until it was roughly the size that would comfortable house an eagle. And it didn't just stay in one place, no, that would be too simple. So every few days she would move the entire nest and all the eggs inside it to somewhere else in the coop. To say she was industrious would be understating it. On the few occasions when she did leave the nest, to get something to eat or drink or just run around the yard for a few minutes, she would carefully cover the nest back up with straw, and often threw some over her shoulder for good measure on her way out the door. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">About halfway through with her nesting I noticed that there appeared to be two nests in the coop and some of the eggs had migrated into the new nest. Not wanting the eggs to get too cold, I put them back into the bigger nest and then left the coop alone so that Gwen could nest in peace when she got finished with her free time. And yet, each time I was able to check the coop the eggs would be divided up again. It seemed that one of our other females, Gemma, had decided that going broody was apparently the "in" thing to do so she joined Gwen in the coop. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Now there were two nests that migrated around the coop, making a kind of circuit, going from the back right corner to the center right to the front, moving from right to left, to the center left side. They were in the process of moving into the back left corner of the coop when I noticed, during one of their brief breaks from the nest, that one of the eggs had pipped but was slightly crushed and bleeding in places from the shell. I decided at that point that one of the mothers - probably Gemma as this was her first experience going broody and she is heavier than Gwen - had likely stepped on the shell and the duckling inside was going to need help. I removed the egg from the nest and gave some slight assistance in helping the duckling to hatch enough to be able to breathe and get out on their own. Adina, as I named her, hatched with the yolk still attached by the umbilical cord so I left her alone, keeping her warm and letting her rest while I hoped the cord would take care of itself in a matter of hours or days. She survived that way for a few days but passed away on the third day. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiD6KmcpKdZWx-5vjN58p83PtVas23o0l2BmlVEROqJyK51mvKnev_gg8M848gSahXjOz6PUH4pjVpOS8TXioX9Gx-Kz_grMsLxP-eoSU0yeQE_m1WZ6BAy1AYMw_FK-Ue5MMmiaZCS75u/s4048/IMG_20210605_152701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiD6KmcpKdZWx-5vjN58p83PtVas23o0l2BmlVEROqJyK51mvKnev_gg8M848gSahXjOz6PUH4pjVpOS8TXioX9Gx-Kz_grMsLxP-eoSU0yeQE_m1WZ6BAy1AYMw_FK-Ue5MMmiaZCS75u/s320/IMG_20210605_152701.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gwen and Gemma on their nests</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZhpX2mA8oLVy1EPsTZrFrF76wBsTE6gbLlS0V6wOkcjPK_vmQ8MT57gVuH3B6lTWGQjtEQwq_Whi0braWH8ngDP0iHq5AWbvV-3qomMMb-1rh7yDHeOxRlLshyMZ5PvwYWX_B9K5HBbK/s4048/IMG_20210605_094202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuZhpX2mA8oLVy1EPsTZrFrF76wBsTE6gbLlS0V6wOkcjPK_vmQ8MT57gVuH3B6lTWGQjtEQwq_Whi0braWH8ngDP0iHq5AWbvV-3qomMMb-1rh7yDHeOxRlLshyMZ5PvwYWX_B9K5HBbK/s320/IMG_20210605_094202.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gwen with little Gracie, the day I found her</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">A few days later, Gracie hatched - strong and healthy and peeping away in the coop one morning. I decided to let her stay with her mom and see if Gwen could manage to raise a duckling. When I went out a day or two later to shoo Savannah (our poor little battered hen that Lilly loves to pick on) off the deck I noticed a little yellow speck on the patio. Gwen had, apparently, decided it was ok to let Gracie wander the patio by herself, surrounded by chickens and other adult ducks and a whole lot of yard to get lost in. Nope. Not happening. I set up the brooder in the house and popped her in it.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBroh2xG5OTuoviBu7tmXsRJpsFiUCan-RGObqrbxFsfQN1nFRREsoTTypKhLFvTIDLC-pspPXpZFwnOO7xmUAKgG3qvZfOBqBiM_QieaJonXxeAJ0z5v3_se5bswWqcry3jAG9YvpVTy/s4048/IMG_20210607_161439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3036" data-original-width="4048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBroh2xG5OTuoviBu7tmXsRJpsFiUCan-RGObqrbxFsfQN1nFRREsoTTypKhLFvTIDLC-pspPXpZFwnOO7xmUAKgG3qvZfOBqBiM_QieaJonXxeAJ0z5v3_se5bswWqcry3jAG9YvpVTy/s320/IMG_20210607_161439.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gracie</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8XHD8s3FB6FcegpQUocIlUmiY3f0gDSWSRIbH8QKOZ2q-svIEtwUlUjJw6AOeLpxnCqR4j4FFRFR_MvdBUOEu3WGhiYkJ18Oa6lk8frWIMIGXQJ2eZuGRR82YOoR__dOAoVSHM2tBh7qC/s4048/IMG_20210612_154217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8XHD8s3FB6FcegpQUocIlUmiY3f0gDSWSRIbH8QKOZ2q-svIEtwUlUjJw6AOeLpxnCqR4j4FFRFR_MvdBUOEu3WGhiYkJ18Oa6lk8frWIMIGXQJ2eZuGRR82YOoR__dOAoVSHM2tBh7qC/s320/IMG_20210612_154217.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Harley</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGcv7CKhEYkEfNqxskfZ_k8KZq3vkVz7paZK3FIFpbnChyy0JIcM6HLBEg7ZnX6s__a-zNPDrq1FhdYWeonVk3ts2_AvWoDb4anQ7G7vYNigXN3WkNfP67G80rO127n6qDqRbrf-X-Ym_/s4048/IMG_20210615_204458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivGcv7CKhEYkEfNqxskfZ_k8KZq3vkVz7paZK3FIFpbnChyy0JIcM6HLBEg7ZnX6s__a-zNPDrq1FhdYWeonVk3ts2_AvWoDb4anQ7G7vYNigXN3WkNfP67G80rO127n6qDqRbrf-X-Ym_/s320/IMG_20210615_204458.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Olive</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Harley hatched next, and then Olive. Little Zaida hatched fourth, with the umbilical cord still attached and I didn't think she was going to make it, as she kept trying to push the shell away from her while it was still attached. I left her in the brooder, separated from the rest of the ducklings, and went to sleep. I was amazed to find her alive in the morning, and no longer with the umbilical cord attached. And after finding several more ducklings that had died in the coop, pipped too early or pushed out of the nest while hatching, I decided to set up the incubator for the last viable egg in the coop. It had started to pip so I didn't do any turning, but left it alone in the incubator and found it totally hatched a couple of mornings later. Abigail appears to be the last of the ducklings. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgHrbVZnhO7DvQEMos9wcdcjHJfTALIw2L0XWm8q-5-CW5rZfnSdBcmtrIs12I2zSsTaaH3HYvgHkfoEhhQvK7gIwkpVWin7Ni5nf5ry91m7fsprJXH8UNLvsAe2tAAurc6rGthaaoa99/s4048/IMG_20210615_121414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3036" data-original-width="4048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSgHrbVZnhO7DvQEMos9wcdcjHJfTALIw2L0XWm8q-5-CW5rZfnSdBcmtrIs12I2zSsTaaH3HYvgHkfoEhhQvK7gIwkpVWin7Ni5nf5ry91m7fsprJXH8UNLvsAe2tAAurc6rGthaaoa99/s320/IMG_20210615_121414.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Zaida, our miracle baby</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">They are all in the brooder in the house now, and doing well. They love water, and kale and watermelon for treats. At the moment, they are all different sizes and each has slightly different markings but I don't know how long that will last for. We still aren't sure if Gemma is a mallard or a rouen duck but we do know that Gwen is a magpie. Fern, our older male, is an ancona duck and Rosie is our younger male and a magpie/ancona cross. So the ducklings are some mixture of magpie/ancona or mallard-rouen/magpie/ancona breeds. Gracie is for sure a magpie mix, and I suspect Harley is as well... Olive is less certain, and Zaida and Abigail could have some mallard-rouen in their heritage. All of our birds are given girls names, in the hopes that they will turn out to be females. That's how we ended up with drakes named Fern and Rosie, and roosters named Lilly and Gretchen. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">To say that my parents are thrilled with this duckling development would be a lie. They are, in fact, much dismayed to find that we have five new ducklings. I'd like to point out, however, that it could be worse: all 14 of the eggs in the nest could have survived and hatched. Let's count our blessings. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHcQuHanVOLDR3W93EeohNzlOy8xaYwauI8LccH_ZKEmB5F7pxOa1pBUJ3zqcQJhsTYP7Ql0jKjVPftO_Jn29Qg4rcH0CsTKsV8BtbnuLUwWSSEbUyy_vHrF2AGOoea7bBVorfnN-Fvmy/s4048/IMG_20210618_183848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3036" data-original-width="4048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHcQuHanVOLDR3W93EeohNzlOy8xaYwauI8LccH_ZKEmB5F7pxOa1pBUJ3zqcQJhsTYP7Ql0jKjVPftO_Jn29Qg4rcH0CsTKsV8BtbnuLUwWSSEbUyy_vHrF2AGOoea7bBVorfnN-Fvmy/s320/IMG_20210618_183848.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Abigail</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /> </span></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-13625187753984992622021-03-28T18:04:00.002-07:002021-03-28T18:04:22.325-07:00Now departing on flight 327<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have, unfortunately, another departure to report. Last night, March 27, we lost Ingrid, the last of our mice. She had been slowing down lately and not eating as much but when I checked on her in the evening I found her uninterested in her dinner and breathing heavily in her little castle. I picked her up and held her while she took her last breaths and tried my best to comfort her and let her know that she wasn't alone as she died. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">She was the least troublesome out of the batch of three mice, including her, Hermione, and Josephine, that I most recently acquired. When I got them they must have been fairly young as they easily (and regularly) slipped through the bars of their cage to scramble about on top of the cage. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was because they were able to get through the bars of the cage that we lost - and then found - Josephine when she made it off the top of the cage and disappeared in the house for four days. She was hungry and quite thirsty when we found her but somehow she survived being loose in a house with two dogs and two cats. She was the first to pass away several months after her big adventure. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Hermione suffered from skin irritation and was on daily medication to help calm her itchiness but even with all her skin problems and frequent trips to the vet she managed to outlive Josephine; she was the second to pass away. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ingrid outlasted them all, living to the ripe old age of nearly 3 years, about a year past the average life expectancy of pet mice, who generally live one to two years. Ingrid never went on walkabout throughout the house, and didn't have to visit the vet with any regularity, choosing instead to exercise on her wheel and build elaborate hidey holes in the bedding in her cage instead of getting into trouble. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We will definitely miss her, as we miss all the animals that have passed through the Unfarm, but we are glad she lived as long as she did and take comfort in the fact that she never ended up as the snake food she was most likely destined to be without us. Have a safe flight, Ingrid.</span></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-32013244899105930442021-03-09T18:03:00.000-08:002021-03-09T18:03:51.689-08:00On ceramic eggs and the intelligence of ducks<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ceramic eggs are in existence to help chicken owners. The eggs are designed to look like real eggs and you simply place them in the location you want your chickens to lay their eggs and they take that as a cue that this is the hot new spot to lay their eggs. I mean, if the other chickens are doing it, why shouldn't they lay their eggs there as well? The ceramic eggs can also be used to discourage chickens who have decided that they should peck at and eat the eggs. Ceramic eggs are much harder to get into, and much less tasty if they do. I haven't heard a great deal about using ceramic eggs with ducks but I figure if it works for the chickens then it's bound to work for the ducks as well. Right? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ducks are much smarter than they typically get credit for. When last I cleaned the coop and replaced a bunch of real eggs with ceramic eggs I reasoned that the ducks would assume everything was as they left it that morning and their eggs were still safely ensconced in their nest. Gwen and Gemma, my two outdoor female ducks, did continue to use the nest and did not seem upset over the loss of any eggs (we lost a duck once when she flew away forever after her eggs were removed from her nest) so I assumed that the ceramic eggs had done their job and fooled the ducks. I was wrong. When I cleaned the coop today and went to remove the real eggs I discovered that the girls had been using their nest but every time they laid an actual egg, they would roll a ceramic egg out of the nest to make room for the new egg. By the time I came in to clean the coop the nest was full of real eggs and the ceramic ones were scattered all over the floor of the coop. How they knew the eggs were fakes I am unsure of but realize it they did. This may be why I had not heard much about using fake eggs with ducks. I am, once again, reminded not to underestimate my duck's intelligence. It seems the only one fooled when I do that is me.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK_zYIRyGdDvml4_oYCv3fKCGa0n5UXI0NgoyxYF1kQJQS7TBHLM09IQ8ktfV1ayOMwh9FfwzvrZatNNuBZGqo_zpJWaWZ6YDxQH1yTC5R9u1PT33YJU13YPbkjPPAhcXSKJ1AtynwWb_/s4048/IMG_20210309_141014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK_zYIRyGdDvml4_oYCv3fKCGa0n5UXI0NgoyxYF1kQJQS7TBHLM09IQ8ktfV1ayOMwh9FfwzvrZatNNuBZGqo_zpJWaWZ6YDxQH1yTC5R9u1PT33YJU13YPbkjPPAhcXSKJ1AtynwWb_/s320/IMG_20210309_141014.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The haul for today: 22 duck eggs</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-9978591928942086072020-12-09T18:17:00.002-08:002020-12-09T18:17:39.298-08:00Christmas mathematics<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">1 indoor duck + 1 fresh cut Christmas tree + tree stand full of water = 1 wet duck + puddles on the floor</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Minna has, for the last several weeks since the weather turned cold and wet, been living the high life indoors. She spends her days on the couch, eats her meals in the bathroom and sleeps on the floor in a puppy pen in my room at night. She is nearing 12 years old now and has trouble getting around and is no longer waterproof so living outside just isn't safe for her right now. She and Maggie used to live inside at night all the time, wearing diapers and hanging out in the bunny room but spending their days outdoors when they were younger but this is the first time that she has spent her days indoors as well. She gets along well with the other animals and the dogs tend to give her space so she is trusted to stay in the living room on the couch (with puppy pads down) during the daytime. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">She'll sometimes get off the couch and wander into the bathroom looking for food or a drink but for the most part she stays put so imagine my surprise today when I came home from work (walking a dog) to find her sitting in my purse on the floor in the living room. I picked her up to put her back on the couch and discovered that she was soaking wet. I knew I hadn't given her a bath so where did she find the water? Following the puddles of water led me to the base of the Christmas tree. Minna had, somehow, figured out that the tree stand the tree was sitting in was full of water and had taken herself a nice little bath, happily splashing water everywhere on the living room floor before heading over to preen herself in my purse. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Ducks are much smarter than people usually give them credit for, I have found. Once they know an area has water or food they will continue to return to the area to check for food or water in the future. So now, along with our fairy lights, snowmen, and stockings that we decorate the house with it looks like I will have to add bunny gates to the list; placing them in the living room around the base of the tree just to keep Minna from taking any more baths there. Fortunately, I am adept at making bunny gates out of metal grids. I just hope Minna doesn't learn that she can push the gate aside like she does with her puppy pen as there is nothing that I can zip tie the gates to in order to keep them in place. She is nothing if not determined. </span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-65814201546792276152020-11-05T16:03:00.002-08:002020-11-05T16:06:00.418-08:00The catio, and how it came to be<span style="font-family: georgia;">Max is a lover of the great outdoors. He likes to look at the great outdoors, smell the great outdoors, and - most importantly - be in the great outdoors. This would be fine if he were a dog and thus easily contained behind fences. Alas, he is a cat and fences prove little obstacle for him. He can wiggle over, under or through our fences and is therefore not allowed to be in the great outdoors. (Too many dangers for a small creature like him to be exposed to around here.) To make it up to him, and to try and curb his desire to dart out any door open longer than about 2.3 seconds, I wanted to build him a catio. You know, a patio for cats. Dad, however, was not so keen on my idea to fence in under the front yard deck to give Max a place to hang out where he could be safely contained but still enjoy the outdoors. "It will look ugly and cost too much money," he claimed. </span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> So I did what any good daughter would do: I waited until he went on a trip and did it myself. (That is how many of our projects get done around here.) One weekend, while Dad was on a bike trip and Mom was at a medical conference, I gathered the lumber and hardware cloth from Home Depot and put the catio together. The hardest parts of the entire project were digging out an enormous concrete footing from a previous decking project that was in the way, and getting a roughly 15 foot long 2x6 board into place 5 feet up off the ground. The rest of the project was relatively simple. I built wooden frames that I screwed to the underside of the deck so that I had something I could attach the hardware cloth to. I put in a door so that we could access the catio, or so that in case of emergency someone from inside the house would be able to get out, and added a small cat house and then some bark dust to keep the mud under control. The last thing I added was a cat door in the existing house window and I was finished. All told, it took about 3 days from start to finish. Mom was quite pleased as she had always been on the catio bandwagon. Once Dad got over the surprise he seems to have accepted it as well. He will occasionally even say to me, "I'm so glad I convinced you to build that catio for Max."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">Max seems to be quite content with his new catio. Granted he would likely prefer it if it were in the sun so that he could lounge around when the weather is nice but he does go out there quite often, especially at night when he can hunt for whatever little creatures it is that he hunts for. Bugs, moths, little shrews that he brings - still alive - into the house with him for Mom to find in her office... you know, the usual.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiho-Q71DGCus7Xo8xVCRGEEjA0Ph24pKi3Ha1afkO-7lcSuXS3aiGUsKSJpU9TAnQMy-3uVV5j_nUYvXGXjQYjWuJgt8EezWhLcT27_vEMKmnCUv6F3MKk-BvRip2oqcOZRzD8Juwdr5po/s4048/IMG_20190528_133728.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiho-Q71DGCus7Xo8xVCRGEEjA0Ph24pKi3Ha1afkO-7lcSuXS3aiGUsKSJpU9TAnQMy-3uVV5j_nUYvXGXjQYjWuJgt8EezWhLcT27_vEMKmnCUv6F3MKk-BvRip2oqcOZRzD8Juwdr5po/s320/IMG_20190528_133728.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">A view of the door to the catio, and the cat house inside it<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1DpuzYBZR_XWJOGBw8ThjAMNGTjbaX2Gg750n-4ECgNbM9X8VjylWvIy6ARVTEljXASRGS7CTN-lXZPqsqOaaR4vYjbqt2joVFh8C1juYUqIWCjdzG039-KHKhkdgRGAQi44nXA4E-zJm/s4048/IMG_20190528_133709.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1DpuzYBZR_XWJOGBw8ThjAMNGTjbaX2Gg750n-4ECgNbM9X8VjylWvIy6ARVTEljXASRGS7CTN-lXZPqsqOaaR4vYjbqt2joVFh8C1juYUqIWCjdzG039-KHKhkdgRGAQi44nXA4E-zJm/s320/IMG_20190528_133709.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Front view of the catio</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXpHjUqF70dL4eO6cLmSlRFWSHKEZtZ5kggH_48ORj0-sVFrmhBhCe9Ub789NgCqrovkzMNCtZYV2PaTV3qDJBa8nEsdQL88JSpvjkCypZR8twbecJwN8fZ_H7PeEha9Hq1prpzFo1CNT/s4048/IMG_20190528_133601.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXpHjUqF70dL4eO6cLmSlRFWSHKEZtZ5kggH_48ORj0-sVFrmhBhCe9Ub789NgCqrovkzMNCtZYV2PaTV3qDJBa8nEsdQL88JSpvjkCypZR8twbecJwN8fZ_H7PeEha9Hq1prpzFo1CNT/s320/IMG_20190528_133601.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Catio side view<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltNCAS0o2T1cy2wsHLKtxhRNdbwYrn2uXUebqJuxShCGR-1ro9FnIAEpA4YLURQlX5rBP-bRaemLnHH0rOBhHvEUFiKf05i5HwLqEVlSh-Ojw2BuzFsh41NSo6ua-Q5rWaoKxeJDG5O6X/s4048/IMG_20190528_133536.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltNCAS0o2T1cy2wsHLKtxhRNdbwYrn2uXUebqJuxShCGR-1ro9FnIAEpA4YLURQlX5rBP-bRaemLnHH0rOBhHvEUFiKf05i5HwLqEVlSh-Ojw2BuzFsh41NSo6ua-Q5rWaoKxeJDG5O6X/s320/IMG_20190528_133536.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Catio side view, with Max's hanging bed inside<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-79640779835428815782020-09-16T15:01:00.007-07:002020-09-16T15:15:40.911-07:00Some updates from the Unfarm<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Well, apparently my resolution to blog more this year is going swimmingly. (Not.) At any rate, here are some updates from the Unfarm to catch you up on what has been happening.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We lost Mynx, our little black and white spotted kitty cow, last August when she went into kidney failure. She had been declining for a while but we had been giving her medications and sub-cutaneous fluids for a couple of months in an effort to support her kidneys and buy her some extra time but we finally ran out of time for her on August 3, 2019. She took a turn for the worse and we had a vet come out to the house to put her to sleep where she would be most comfortable, at home, surrounded by the people who loved her. It brought an end to the Era of Mynx, which lasted well over a decade in our home. She was never a cat that loved to be picked up and held - in fact, she would scream like you were trying to murder her - but give her a lap to sit on and a hand to lick and she was a happy camper. The only time she allowed us to hold her without screaming at us was the day we found her. She followed us through the neighborhood and let us pick her up and carry her home when it became apparent that she was going to stick with us even if it meant crossing a busy street or two. Not once did she utter so much as a peep. So we carried her home, tried to find her family without success, and officially adopted her and had her spayed a week or two later. We never did find out exactly how old she was when she found us, but we figure she was at least 13 years old, probably closer to 15, when she passed away.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2C3QQb4zAsyxGhJtAow4b0aTPZonpZCz0TJvQvUOLkktgiuiGco7m4dIohuzXXrENI9QpSTFAE5NjYqHL53mmAMFdnhl3DV7Ow-Qj6SbueSi9DEUpbp2XJd97jk9Fp7Sh6Z9dAGofKv6/s4048/IMG_20190515_171203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2C3QQb4zAsyxGhJtAow4b0aTPZonpZCz0TJvQvUOLkktgiuiGco7m4dIohuzXXrENI9QpSTFAE5NjYqHL53mmAMFdnhl3DV7Ow-Qj6SbueSi9DEUpbp2XJd97jk9Fp7Sh6Z9dAGofKv6/s320/IMG_20190515_171203.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mynxy cat, our kitty cow</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We gained two ducks, and lost one of them. In the spring of 2019 I adopted two ducklings from the feed store and named them Gwendolyn and Genevieve. True to form for the Unfarm, Genevieve ended up having special needs: a cricked neck when she was quite young, but that got sorted out with help from the bird specialist vet we go to, and they grew up to be strong and healthy girls (both of them - imaging that!) and attached to each other at the hip. They would spend all their time together and hung out with the other ducks, Minna (our oldest female) and Fern and Aida (our two males, named when they were ducklings with the hope that they would be females, alas it was not to be.) Things were going quite well until February 2020 when Genevieve developed respiratory symptoms and our regular vet was out of town. We took her to two other vets who saw birds, but not as their sole practice, and treated her as best we could but she succumbed to her illness on the evening of February 13, while I held her.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtiNrdU2iwzC1TwM2N7o3Kij5hcxAYP5BUHbu-8_TsErVuSsbEDcHvTdvPlIFJ5e1SO17grl9xgNsbKE2nXY6hmFJR-rDArAjrvxt2M7HevA22BhMyAu150JWt5FHQMwHitb7jEhz_rfT/s320/IMG_20190501_173107.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genevieve, on the left, and Gwendolyn, on the right<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">We gained two ducks, and lost one of them. Having a sense of deja vu? In the spring of 2020, I adopted two more ducklings from the feed store and named them</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Fiona and Gemma. This was in an effort to get the right mix of ducks so that the girls outnumbered the boys, to spread out the boy's attention over a wider population of females. So in came Gemma and Fiona, both mallards or rouen ducks, I still am not sure. They were doing great, getting along with the rest of the flock until they got spooked. The rototiller was brought into the back yard (not by myself, but identities are withheld to protect the guilty party) and it spooked </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">the ducks into running. As the larger males, Fern and Aida, came barreling down on Fiona and Gemma, Fiona decided to take off. Literally. He (as we were beginning to suspect, as he was starting to develop what looked like male plumage) lifted off and landed outside the yard on the street beside the house. Fortunately no one was coming and it is a quiet street anyhow, so we attempted to get him back into the yard but he spooked again and flew off. The last we saw of him, he was flying east along our street. We put up signs and notices online, and searched the nearby area and local ponds for him but never found him. Fortunately, Gemma seems to have gotten over her loneliness and has joined the flock with Minna, Gwen, Fern, and Aida. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSUWxmNKiYl0q-2agMI7-VLSZGjgIUfM09980qDIAqDRoQ2dLP8DKdH6oRJwmo79kh23ikxVGarDb-EXihb9FoHxPwh-bzanhhO0QG0SilJTYRsoI7JHSMLSfVPIhhm2kEfhoGInN8JRo/s4048/IMG_20200420_145057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4048" data-original-width="3036" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSUWxmNKiYl0q-2agMI7-VLSZGjgIUfM09980qDIAqDRoQ2dLP8DKdH6oRJwmo79kh23ikxVGarDb-EXihb9FoHxPwh-bzanhhO0QG0SilJTYRsoI7JHSMLSfVPIhhm2kEfhoGInN8JRo/s320/IMG_20200420_145057.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gemma on the left, and Fiona on the right<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">So there you have it. An update on so</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">me of the comings and goings here on the Unfarm. We are hoping for a relatively calm fall as 2020 has been stressful enough for everyone as it is. Here's hoping you and yours stay safe and well.</span></p>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-51037533401372130742020-04-10T21:16:00.001-07:002020-04-10T21:23:22.735-07:00Face mask tutorial<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Well, it's happened. Mass panic has set in, people are worried about catching the corona virus and masks are becoming increasingly scarce. My mom, known around these parts as "grandma" to all the animals, works at a pediatric health clinic and even their supply of masks is dwindling down. Because of this, and because my mom can't seem to stop volunteering for things despite having little time and less energy, we have gone into mask production, making masks for nearly everyone at the clinic. We mostly followed directions we found online, with a few tweaks to make them work better for us and be a bit quicker to make. The following is a rough tutorial with a few pictures to try and make it easier to understand. Here's hoping you don't need this post, but if you do I hope it helps.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Face mask tutorial</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Supplies needed: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 piece of hand bendable wire, approximately 6 - 7 inches long, thin but not too thin if that makes sense</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 pieces of 1/4 inch elastic, 7 - 7 1/2 inches long</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 piece of preshrunk flannel, 6 x 8 1/2 inches (black fabric in photos)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 piece of preshrunk cotton, 8 1/2 x 15 1/2 inches (pink fabric in photos)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Steps:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1. Serge or zigzag stitch the two shorter (8.5 inch) edges of the cotton fabric, and all four sides of the flannel fabric.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2. Fold the cotton fabric together along the short edge, right sides together. Mark along the top, joined edge 1 1/2 inches in from the long sides, on both edges and stitch from the long edge in towards the middle using a 3/8 inch seam allowance, stopping at the 1 1/2 inch mark on each side.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RvbYk1mJkFg/XpEj_BR6CqI/AAAAAAAANUE/Oc_b6sHxkAwS7h9jlWqA34A7gE6hi3ZqgCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_20200403_162147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RvbYk1mJkFg/XpEj_BR6CqI/AAAAAAAANUE/Oc_b6sHxkAwS7h9jlWqA34A7gE6hi3ZqgCPcBGAYYCw/s320/IMG_20200403_162147.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stitching 1 1/2 inches in from the edge of the long side of the cotton fabric. Do this to both sides at the edge opposite the fold.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3. Press your seam open. There will be a gap across the middle where it is not stitched.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70T1sTMbS9gDBR_o1-8iiSHbHCTAvK2cmDVd_tm3hqq3_QCKUsS0SJ67Hj7D27H-CSFBv-sGGyhQaBzEq-eBNfiKwGPJg51L5YGVQY6ER_e-dc5hGIjcbl-ifwxexb43c_lfSmvCfHvei/s1600/IMG_20200403_162258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70T1sTMbS9gDBR_o1-8iiSHbHCTAvK2cmDVd_tm3hqq3_QCKUsS0SJ67Hj7D27H-CSFBv-sGGyhQaBzEq-eBNfiKwGPJg51L5YGVQY6ER_e-dc5hGIjcbl-ifwxexb43c_lfSmvCfHvei/s320/IMG_20200403_162258.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pressing the seam open, one edge is not serged as it is a selvedge edge, otherwise it would also be serged.</span></td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4. Mark one side of the fabric 1/2 inch from the seam and fold along that line. Press. Slip the flannel fabric under the seam allowance - matching up the 8 1/2 inch lengths, butting it up against the seam edge. The flannel should cover most of the cotton fabric down towards the fold. Do not worry if the flannel doesn't reach all the way to the bottom folded edge. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTpvm6Neq24/XpEk5IIfrmI/AAAAAAAANVQ/fDdzZ8XU5hsac_8u_XJQ3x-O1nwvU22TACPcBGAsYIg/s1600/IMG_20200405_220110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lTpvm6Neq24/XpEk5IIfrmI/AAAAAAAANVQ/fDdzZ8XU5hsac_8u_XJQ3x-O1nwvU22TACPcBGAsYIg/s320/IMG_20200405_220110.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 inch folded edge is showing, flannel is under the seam allowance, butted up against the seam edge.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">5. Unfold the fabric and sew along the seam allowance on the flannel side, capturing the flannel in the seam. You will be sewing in a tube so that you don't stitch the two sides of the cotton fabric together. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5EreVCNiqo8/XpEkpXD0YgI/AAAAAAAANVQ/oJJrc7rYvfg5bvfVCIm32ranUisjtf_YgCPcBGAsYIg/s1600/IMG_20200405_215934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5EreVCNiqo8/XpEkpXD0YgI/AAAAAAAANVQ/oJJrc7rYvfg5bvfVCIm32ranUisjtf_YgCPcBGAsYIg/s320/IMG_20200405_215934.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sewing the flannel to the cotton, under the cotton seam allowance.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">6.Trim the corners of the bottom of the cotton fabric - along the fold, just a teeny amount, about 1/4 inch, so that you can slip the elastic into the corner more easily.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDceH4AEfIkhjkoxW3U4TShwMJ9V1V91R85I92tZxfw7BHI4lYMbuArVWTjdAzwCXI3H_LPYdyiIBrtTnYMgdOfw5pI_fpkYbtVM36i0w6CteNqyqVuc721SDiykPUsM4INxrF_BUUSLnd/s1600/IMG_20200405_221257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDceH4AEfIkhjkoxW3U4TShwMJ9V1V91R85I92tZxfw7BHI4lYMbuArVWTjdAzwCXI3H_LPYdyiIBrtTnYMgdOfw5pI_fpkYbtVM36i0w6CteNqyqVuc721SDiykPUsM4INxrF_BUUSLnd/s320/IMG_20200405_221257.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cutting a small (approximately 1/4 inch) triangle out of the bottom two corners (along the folded edge of the cotton.)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">7. Place the mask so that the flannel side is up, folded edge of the cotton is along the bottom and the gap or pocket in the mask is near the top. Stick the first piece of elastic in the top right corner of the mask, between the two layers of the cotton fabric, sticking out just slightly so you know you are catching the elastic when you sew. Anchor your stitching then start sewing (with the smallest seam allowance that will allow you to catch all three layers of fabric but especially the two cotton layers in the seam) from the top right corner to about halfway down the first side of the mask. Leave the needle in the fabric and the presser foot down while you stop sewing and feed the elastic down to the bottom right corner, being careful not to twist it inside the mask. Poke the elastic out of the cut in the corner you made in the previous step, letting it stick out just a little bit (a couple of millimeters or so.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">8. Keeping the needle in the fabric, continue sewing down the side while you hold the elastic in place, then turn the corner and sew along the folded (bottom) edge a scant 1/8 to 1/4 inch seam. You may not catch the flannel in the bottom seam and that is okay.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">9. Before you reach the corner, place the second piece of elastic in the bottom left corner of the mask, poking out just a bit. Sew around the corner and back up the left side of the mask, catching all the layers like you did on the right hand side. STOP SEWING AT THE SEAM LINE FOR THE POCKET OF THE MASK, DO NOT GO ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP ON THIS SIDE. Anchor your stitching. Leave the elastic inside the mask, don't worry about sewing in the second end of the elastic yet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">10. Turn your mask right side out once you are sure you have caught both layers of cotton in your stitching. When you reach the last corner, where you stopped sewing, turn out carefully, leaving a small amount not turned out so that the wire casing has a neat finish to it. (It should roughly line up with the rest of that side when the rest of the mask is turned out.) Press.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QYLWJu7JGFDxekjcd49-IZRjhlaVdD87cJRa7i_tPyVVekRzE3s6cuTYfDgf4ViQuBjZc5uk4g6zwhBWekqFpa8A0e15pOEfJfBQ_cLjkfsNO8_l1blaezzo5m5TBP7YMLx_Om-Fbcgh/s1600/IMG_20200405_221756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QYLWJu7JGFDxekjcd49-IZRjhlaVdD87cJRa7i_tPyVVekRzE3s6cuTYfDgf4ViQuBjZc5uk4g6zwhBWekqFpa8A0e15pOEfJfBQ_cLjkfsNO8_l1blaezzo5m5TBP7YMLx_Om-Fbcgh/s320/IMG_20200405_221756.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The mask, turned right side out, with the last end of the elastic not yet anchored. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">11. Sew a casing for your nose wire. Stitch along the top edge of the mask pocket with at least 3/8 of an inch from the top of the mask. Anchor at both ends. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4KmJFMoa9u_vKXRxcS5MpRLTRlmQY9amcTvp3MZ0AXrBOZwjhRQf5C_ahfGTSC4rW7QFoggzli4rYJbxkzEw9AvUDqZhL2VSLTBVnypyHB2jgwIJGyHtg4yAUBM8Cxxo23BN9GCZ_uVC/s1600/IMG_20200405_221905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW4KmJFMoa9u_vKXRxcS5MpRLTRlmQY9amcTvp3MZ0AXrBOZwjhRQf5C_ahfGTSC4rW7QFoggzli4rYJbxkzEw9AvUDqZhL2VSLTBVnypyHB2jgwIJGyHtg4yAUBM8Cxxo23BN9GCZ_uVC/s320/IMG_20200405_221905.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sewing the casing</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">12. Take your nose wire and a wire tool and carefully turn the ends of the wire in about 1/4 to 1/2 an inch towards the center and clamp down. This makes a rounded end at each end of the wire to protect your face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">13. Slide the wire into the casing. After the wire is in place, slide the loose end of the elastic into the casing a short distance as well. Shift the wire down to the opposite end of the casing so that you don't break a needle by hitting the wire when you sew the casing closed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3X1SMyBhP6UXxv66EQxean3oNQMVjcLdhZPEeYGULOWfwNwRwrnGmxpfQDkB52Sd1kVffH0qdIJIL2KCg0u-kRi54aBxmVUZb5ye5Slr1oAZPDcS0nS9H-ocFNrNquzUlmhpGlnVDvdL/s1600/IMG_20200405_222210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM3X1SMyBhP6UXxv66EQxean3oNQMVjcLdhZPEeYGULOWfwNwRwrnGmxpfQDkB52Sd1kVffH0qdIJIL2KCg0u-kRi54aBxmVUZb5ye5Slr1oAZPDcS0nS9H-ocFNrNquzUlmhpGlnVDvdL/s320/IMG_20200405_222210.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sliding the wire into the casing.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">14. Sew the casing closed, making sure you are sewing over the end of the elastic as well, going over your stitching a couple of times to anchor it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">15. Turn your mask so that the pocket side is facing down and create 3 pleats, pinning in place. You want the pleats to be heading downwards, towards the bottom of the mask (the top side being the edge with the pocket in it.) I usually just estimate the pleat size and spacing, trying to get them close to the middle of the mask and roughly equal in size. Press well to hold the pleats in place while you sew them. If you press well enough the pleats will hold fairly well and you can remove your all your pins on one side to sew the pleats in place. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d2z9c6mNMWy3ckfIPVIel6ay_RGXnkYnj0hxLLtzstW9w1V7bgaXxPcMsaociDVJnyV6jmntVIQj4XpjXbpW0NOM2BJzIxleyzSIneh62FaYL9NS1ovq-GbLEPrtm6kTS2dV5RUaJpfM/s1600/IMG_20200405_222602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d2z9c6mNMWy3ckfIPVIel6ay_RGXnkYnj0hxLLtzstW9w1V7bgaXxPcMsaociDVJnyV6jmntVIQj4XpjXbpW0NOM2BJzIxleyzSIneh62FaYL9NS1ovq-GbLEPrtm6kTS2dV5RUaJpfM/s320/IMG_20200405_222602.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Pinning the pleats in place on the mask. The top of the mask in this picture is actually at the bottom of the photo, the pleats are facing downward.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">16. Sew your pleats in place, with approximately 3/8 inch seam allowance.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">17. Your mask is ready to wear. The pocket side is the side that goes against your face and you can place a filter of your choice inside if you so choose.</span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-18843390842660387932020-03-21T20:02:00.003-07:002020-03-21T20:05:54.185-07:00Hello, my name is Houdini<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We have, amidst our chickens, an escape artist. One of the "littles" (our most recent batch of chickens, as opposed to the "bigs" who have been here longer) has been getting out of the back yard. At first we weren't sure how exactly Savannah was escaping, but we would occasionally find her in the front yard, wandering through the garden or in the neighbors yards, searching for bugs. Each time, we tracked her down and put her back into the relative safety of the back yard. A couple of days ago we finally figured out how she was making a break for it: she was going over the six foot high fence. All this time we assumed she was going under the fence and we dutifully shored up any holes and gaps but she still managed to get out. When we saw her walking along the top of the fence the other day we had our answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today, while doing a random head count on the sneaking suspicion that Savannah might have gone on walkabout once again, we came up one short: Savannah was indeed missing. Thus ensued a search that grew more serious and frantic when we failed to locate her in one of her usual haunts. We checked the front yard, the side yard, the neighbor's yard and the other neighbor's yard and yet another neighbor's yard. We searched the little forest across the street and the empty water district lot and the backyard once again. No sign of her. It was on our third or fourth search of the closest neighbor's yard that we heard a soft clucking sound and suspected she was nearby but we still hadn't laid eyes on her. As we turned around to give up and look elsewhere I happened to spot her in the corner of the front yard, behind a pile of wood I had stacked against the fence while I made a catio last year. She was nestled in as if she was planning on laying an egg there and after coaxing her out with bird seed we discovered that laying an egg had indeed been on her mind. Today and for the previous two weeks. She was guarding a nest of 15 eggs, making it evident that she had been escaping to the front yard regularly, for the last two weeks at least, to lay her eggs where she was sure to be safe from the prying eyes of other chickens and the thieving humans who feed, water and shelter her, before slipping quietly back into the back yard to join the flock while the humans remained ignorant of her escapades.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We are unsure as to whether or not she was becoming broody or if she simply didn't want other chickens around while she laid her daily egg. In the event that she was going broody we did move her eggs into the little little coop - a small coop that only gets used when a chicken needs to be quarantined or we have baby chicks - to give her a chance to settle on them should she so choose. She did not choose. She promptly hopped out of the coop and ran off to join the other littles to search for treats or bugs. We'll likely leave the eggs there another day or two to see if she changes her mind, but in the meantime we're probably going to have to consult professor YouTube on the proper technique for clipping a chicken's wings. She simply can't be allowed to wander the front yard unsupervised - there are too many dogs, cats, bobcats, coyotes, and cars for it to be considered safe - and despite what she may think, we do know what is best. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvOLLzpDKqf2u4pLvMhfZB4PezWB1yBjgab0A4sEELp_hUNKw4Cwn0wRhw7jQHjo8TCNCA6JCQHP3xjlATfR5k5QKM7v0VsK7xNbDk7n6qzwJ7gJZQ4Cg_ugAEVjCRX2noW0i_bi8mutV/s1600/IMG_20200321_164743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKvOLLzpDKqf2u4pLvMhfZB4PezWB1yBjgab0A4sEELp_hUNKw4Cwn0wRhw7jQHjo8TCNCA6JCQHP3xjlATfR5k5QKM7v0VsK7xNbDk7n6qzwJ7gJZQ4Cg_ugAEVjCRX2noW0i_bi8mutV/s320/IMG_20200321_164743.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pile of wood leaning against the side of the house and the fence</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLNfAU2HVE1XnasaiOWZbu_E0Ns54JDRtkQxcoIBgGDjdTq5SIvK_fVCXuVQ1fcw1CseOrb3exknDELLtNb-tUvHRM8T32YbiHxWQkTrmp3pRD_8Cy2INpAF8yEzJVGe-1dhnEDz4rGyb/s1600/IMG_20200321_164750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRLNfAU2HVE1XnasaiOWZbu_E0Ns54JDRtkQxcoIBgGDjdTq5SIvK_fVCXuVQ1fcw1CseOrb3exknDELLtNb-tUvHRM8T32YbiHxWQkTrmp3pRD_8Cy2INpAF8yEzJVGe-1dhnEDz4rGyb/s320/IMG_20200321_164750.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The corner where we found Savannah</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpH8MIWlem86Py0C4tGvBosBZX_MLps57RzaedL5Y2r37WIHDAYNJNETSvtun5BOjmpFi7zy3eGV2rMVRUzw9nLOkkMa_hZ1PXMjrlJuLgg6XWN2GaU6eVGMO5vK2np-6qk4VOYYU5OlU/s1600/IMG_20200321_164754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwpH8MIWlem86Py0C4tGvBosBZX_MLps57RzaedL5Y2r37WIHDAYNJNETSvtun5BOjmpFi7zy3eGV2rMVRUzw9nLOkkMa_hZ1PXMjrlJuLgg6XWN2GaU6eVGMO5vK2np-6qk4VOYYU5OlU/s320/IMG_20200321_164754.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savannah's nest of 15 eggs</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-27545166151487409112019-08-12T20:26:00.000-07:002019-08-12T20:26:07.958-07:00Oops, we did it again<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well, we did it again. We rolled the dice on a new batch of chicks and we ended up with three little hens... and a rooster. Oy. This one is a barred rock rooster named Lilly. Had he been a she it would have worked out well because then we would have Lucy and Lilly, two barred rock hens. As it stands, Lilly is definitely not a hen - which I began to suspect early on when he grew faster than the other three (Pearl - a black Australorp, and Sally and Savannah - speckled Sussex hens) and his legs were bigger as well. The tell tale pointed feathers and the doubt erasing crowing didn't show up until several weeks later. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8ZwGpyaGJ3mUzkp1Ec1ot17aP2dccPCElJVG9L1-9j6tfzK_jmVAAoHwOQeTOWYY3Rfjb6hWXxjG4txGVYahnc8vr47RN3F5yOT9bxNyVF7gKTNuHwpTRAVMtquK9GJPFFoIgQ23-CAl/s1600/IMG_20190810_191941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8ZwGpyaGJ3mUzkp1Ec1ot17aP2dccPCElJVG9L1-9j6tfzK_jmVAAoHwOQeTOWYY3Rfjb6hWXxjG4txGVYahnc8vr47RN3F5yOT9bxNyVF7gKTNuHwpTRAVMtquK9GJPFFoIgQ23-CAl/s320/IMG_20190810_191941.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Savannah and Sally</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfaPVaD3ffWUYN0KG3Y4bk04iFm34qswbPM5LVmT18CvWelTzV3rlFvmxNGiM8R_MuC1M9OTSAqd5p1jkwuutbBojbforL8LQMhsA1maVb5vwkHzcCCDi8cUYtyOkAFyXeguEYWXQNole/s1600/IMG_20190810_191850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfaPVaD3ffWUYN0KG3Y4bk04iFm34qswbPM5LVmT18CvWelTzV3rlFvmxNGiM8R_MuC1M9OTSAqd5p1jkwuutbBojbforL8LQMhsA1maVb5vwkHzcCCDi8cUYtyOkAFyXeguEYWXQNole/s320/IMG_20190810_191850.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Pearl, hanging out in the top of the Japanese maple tree</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So now we have two roosters and two separate flocks: the "bigs" and the "littles." Gretchen rules the bigs, who reside in the bigger coop and spend half the day in their run, and Lilly is the leader of the littles, who sleep in the little coop and spend the whole day roaming freely simply because they are littler than the bigs and haven't integrated into the flock yet. I'm sure the neighbors are thrilled.* We will be making Lilly a crow collar soon, however, so hopefully the crowing will calm down a bit. Gretchen seems relatively resigned to his crow collar: he seems to crow less frequently than Lilly and when he does crow, the volume is somewhat reduced. I have often wondered if the diminished volume of his crow is a source of some embarrassment to him so he just decides to stay quiet most of the time. Lilly, currently without a crow collar, has no such inhibitions. He crows regularly and loudly throughout the morning. He seems to refrain from raising a ruckus as soon as the bigs are let out of their run to free range during the afternoon and evening. Lilly appears to recognize that Gretchen is indeed the supreme ruler of the backyard (even the dogs are scared of him) and is wise enough not to tangle with him or antagonize him in any way, including crowing, which would only serve to alert Gretchen to Lilly's location hidden away in the grape arbor any way. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In thinking about it now, I realize that we seem to have bad luck with barred rocks. Aside from Lucy, every other barred rock chicken we have had here on the Unfarm has been a rooster. A few years ago, when we allowed Georgia to hatch a batch of eggs after she went broody, we ended up with several barred rock chicks (on account of the fact that Georgia was stealing the other hen's eggs and rolling them into her nest) and every one of them turned out to be roosters. And now Lilly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We can only hope that he will be a friendly rooster so that we are not forced to send him away. Dad tolerates Gretchen when Gretchen is confined in the run but will not venture into the backyard when Gretchen is roaming freely, as Dad is adamant that Gretchen will attack him if given the chance. I have always found him to be pretty nice to Mom and I but maybe he just doesn't like men. I don't know if our luck would hold out if we ended up with two "attack roosters."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">* Note: Fear not, we actually talk to our neighbors fairly regularly and they don't really seem to mind the chickens. One neighbor actually suggested we get a rooster to accompany our hens, not realizing we already had one at the time.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0cAv700jcPw5bHKfgt4thKmfa33TRJS2z_vmAMYVMPf0lJO0OLNWXAteTB9w8M-rDNkae5NVJVIF3ibMHhNDS4WwmTDpsYPhZUMzxgPIQwtSlpBDKEPpG75FyRLxqUkND3vk8L9ASdFQ/s1600/IMG_20190810_191947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0cAv700jcPw5bHKfgt4thKmfa33TRJS2z_vmAMYVMPf0lJO0OLNWXAteTB9w8M-rDNkae5NVJVIF3ibMHhNDS4WwmTDpsYPhZUMzxgPIQwtSlpBDKEPpG75FyRLxqUkND3vk8L9ASdFQ/s320/IMG_20190810_191947.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lilly, our barred rock rooster<br /></span></td></tr>
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<br />Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-14341774498717433902019-05-07T18:07:00.000-07:002019-05-07T18:13:13.729-07:00Josephine's big adventure - a short story<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't know why the cages I have are deemed suitable for mice. All three of my mice can (and do, on a regular basis) get out of their cage by squeezing between the bars of said cage. I have long known about this propensity of my mice to escape the confines of their (cat-proof) housing - hence the placement of their cage on a rolling cart in the center of the room without anything leaning against it or trailing down off of it so as to "strand" the mice on a sort of island in the bunny room from which they cannot escape so that they do not go roaming about the house on their own. This technique has always worked well for me, so long as I do not leave things on top of the cage, apparently. I made this mistake a few weeks ago, leaving a fabric hammock sitting on top of the cage after the mice chewed off all four of the supports that allow it to hang from the ceiling of their cage. I thought nothing of it at the time but came to regret that decision the following morning when I did my customary head count of the residents of the mouse house. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Coming up one mouse short of the three that are supposed to be in the house, I counted again. And one more time, just to be sure. Unfortunately, repeated counting did not change the fact that one mouse was most assuredly missing. Josephine had somehow gotten out and off of the rolling cart. As the hammock was also off the the cage and now sitting on the floor I can only surmise that Josephine entered the hammock which then fell off the top of the cage onto the floor below, taking Josephine along for the ride. I had not idea how many hours head start she had on me so I began searching for her all over the bunny room: under furniture, in the closet, and behind chairs without success. This was Monday morning. By Thursday evening I had searched the entire upstairs multiple times over, largely ignoring the downstairs as that is a) difficult for her to get to with two flights of stairs between the upper and lower floors, and b) the domain of the cats, where Mynx and Max regularly hang out. Late Thursday evening, however, we noticed that Max was extremely interested in the closet under the stairs, staring at the crack under the door with unusual intensity. Upon opening the closet we found... wait for it.... nothing. I looked on the floor between my art portfolios where Max had been staring and there was no sign of Josephine: no mouse, no mouse poop, no holes chewed in anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was about the shut the door when I happened to look at the top of my art portfolio and there she was: Josephine - hungry, thirsty, and probably a bit tired but otherwise alive and well. How she made it from the upstairs to down I have no idea. What I wouldn't have given for a tiny little GoPro mounted on her head to see what exactly she had been up to these last four days. Alas, we will probably never know. I had hopes that Josephine would learn a valuable lesson about the safety and comfort afforded her by a life behind bars, so to speak, but it appears she did not. She was out of the cage again just last night. This time, however, I did not leave anything on top of the cage that could fall off. At least one of us learned our lesson.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQoQwTmc6LphYgAuLPvIOM5of7DhsZ_zMWFlnHY8NUI6Xb0WAQWiN7S3KNBhD27EQ4tFEWnIxGcHxojX0GlYK0G_xExzRMtT1QRZq5COCJPdeI3BdQ3qbmKNCKtHpEByLzDhvPByyDdST/s1600/IMG_20190323_185437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDQoQwTmc6LphYgAuLPvIOM5of7DhsZ_zMWFlnHY8NUI6Xb0WAQWiN7S3KNBhD27EQ4tFEWnIxGcHxojX0GlYK0G_xExzRMtT1QRZq5COCJPdeI3BdQ3qbmKNCKtHpEByLzDhvPByyDdST/s320/IMG_20190323_185437.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josephine, alive and well, against all odds</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-8261003383489969672019-03-04T19:26:00.000-08:002019-03-04T19:26:46.598-08:00More departures on the Unfarm<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Ready for your daily dose of depression? I have more departures from the Unfarm to announce, unfortunately. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">First to go was Axel. On February 9, a few weeks ago, we made the ever difficult decision to have Axel put to sleep. Prior to February 9, he had been having some trouble with his eye being a bit teary and goopy so we took him to the vet and got him on eye drops and antibiotics with instructions to return in two weeks for a follow up appointment. At our follow up appointment, however, instead of being improved he was pretty much the same and the vet noticed a small lump on the side of his head. We took x-rays and the results were discouraging to say the least: the upper part of his jaw on the left side of his face was simply not there anymore. It turns out that the bone cancer that we thought we were rid of with the amputation of his front right leg had cropped up in his jaw and eaten away at the bone until there was nothing left. With him at risk of a spontaneous fracture of the remaining portion of jaw and his quality of life taking a turn for the worse we spent one more evening with him at home with all the other animals and took him in to see the vet the next day when Mom could be there as well. Before we left for the vet's office I made him a small batch of carob chip cookies and he had those as his last meal. After that we gathered around him, petting him and telling him that we love him as they put him to sleep. We had him cremated, and placed his ashes into a wooden urn with his picture on the front, reserving a small amount of ashes for a tiny pendant urn that I can wear around my neck to keep him close to me, as we have done with Kita, Maia, and Buddy as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Axel was loyal to a fault and would follow me everywhere, barking whenever anyone tried to get near me, even if they were family members. He was always smiling and he just kept on pushing through every obstacle that was thrown at him. He will indeed be a tough act to follow. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZA26gWsawabEmHl9TVBK-47cK5WZQ4lCFCany4Pv-KZyeOHAZh9JHeTfvo46ymJcMBk5CmnmTGyklfxtEa3orpxYChpsnV7SQevVxorXbyjCY2u3zM8fKdPtFRThYn1WRZbRC-l_sSYw/s1600/IMG_5323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFZA26gWsawabEmHl9TVBK-47cK5WZQ4lCFCany4Pv-KZyeOHAZh9JHeTfvo46ymJcMBk5CmnmTGyklfxtEa3orpxYChpsnV7SQevVxorXbyjCY2u3zM8fKdPtFRThYn1WRZbRC-l_sSYw/s320/IMG_5323.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Axel, smiling as ever</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our second departure happened just this afternoon. We lost Penny, our Welsummer hen with the spurs, after a long residence here on the Unfarm (for a chicken, at least.) I was unable to find the photos of her batch of chicks, taken when we first brought her here to the Unfarm, but I was able to find evidence of her being here as far back as 2009, placing her at ten years old at least, which is an admirable feat for a chicken, especially one as low down (at the very bottom, to be exact) on the pecking order as she was. I'm not certain what caused her death - whether it was due to natural causes like age or whether the other chickens beat her up - but I found her today out on the pathway in the back, surrounded by a bunch of her feathers and already passed away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Why Penny was so far down on the pecking order is also unknown to me. Of course I can speculate all I like: maybe it was because she had spurs, or because she didn't grow up with the other chickens, or because she broke her toe when she was young and always walked with a limp since then. What I do know is that she was a nice chicken and was spoiled as much as a chicken can be - she got her own coop away from all the others, she got uninterrupted meal times and was free range 100% of the time (whereas the others are closed into the run for half of the day before they are let out), she would hang out in the house with me at times and I even made her a harness to take her for walks out in the front yard. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZ-bnlvcKTGTsMvlAXBmnTiQSZ4Eo8TIoVPPuWDIhoDt3TVgkROZ3JzJQCJGRPVCuPSek9KxC3qKIj6Mh-kz8BAu8tR3KT4quFxpni9MZuoFWhaIuIm3pmN_zFsTU4Z6lrO56GSsYEEeL/s1600/IMG_20180523_183650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZ-bnlvcKTGTsMvlAXBmnTiQSZ4Eo8TIoVPPuWDIhoDt3TVgkROZ3JzJQCJGRPVCuPSek9KxC3qKIj6Mh-kz8BAu8tR3KT4quFxpni9MZuoFWhaIuIm3pmN_zFsTU4Z6lrO56GSsYEEeL/s320/IMG_20180523_183650.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Penny in her walking harness</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So there you have it; a recounting of the recent departures here on the Unfarm. I can only hope that the next post is more lighthearted. Until then, hug your pets, tell them you love them, and appreciate the time you have with them. </span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-33544921500828274212019-01-07T16:55:00.000-08:002019-01-07T16:56:59.661-08:00Three cheese vegetable quiche<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've decided to ring in the new year of blogging with another quiche recipe, although this one is a bit lighter (I feel) than the previous one that I did back in - EEK!- August of 2018. Ahh, how time flies when you are busy procrastinating and taking care of 22 animals of assorted varieties. At any rate, this recipe was tested out on Christmas morning when I was forbidden from doing our usual breakfast of sticky buns, welsh pancakes with orange sauce, and baked eggs because we were planning on doing that the day after Christmas so that my sister and her fiance could partake and my mom said "absolutely not" to doing it two days in a row. She's in weight watchers and is, in general, a killjoy when it comes to the creation and consumption of tasty treats. I did modify this recipe a bit as it originally called for mushrooms and I tend to think of them as being very slug-like once cooked and, therefore, inedible. The general consensus was that it was a very good quiche so I am passing along the recipe to you, gentle reader.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Three cheese vegetable quiche</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 Pillsbury refrigerated pie crust, softened to room temperature</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 tablespoon vegetable oil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 red onion, diced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 cup milk (I used both whole milk and 2% and both quiches came out fine)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 large handfuls (approximately 3-4 cups) fresh spinach, diced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 teaspoon dried minced shallots (or onion)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3 egg whites, lightly beaten</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 eggs, lightly beaten</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/4 teaspoon salt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/4 teaspoon pepper </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 cup Gouda cheese, shredded</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 cup smoked Gouda cheese, shredded</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">3/4 cup Cheddar cheese, shredded</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Roll the pie crust out into a 9-inch glass pie pan and crimp the edges as needed. Prick the crust all over with a fork and bake for 10-12 minutes. Take out and set aside. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">While the pie shell is baking you can work on the filling. In a skillet, heat the vegetable oil and add the red onion and cook over medium high heat until tender, about 4 or 5 minutes. Let cool slightly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In a large bowl, combine the milk, spinach, minced shallots or onion, egg whites, eggs, salt, and pepper and stir until all the ingredients are well mixed. Stir in the cooled onions, as well as the Gouda and Cheddar cheeses. Pour the whole mixture into the pre-baked pie shell and bake for 35-40 minutes, or until the center is puffed up and light golden brown. Let cool and set up for 10 minutes before serving. Serves 6.</span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-39683694130472440732018-08-13T18:34:00.000-07:002018-08-13T18:35:02.244-07:00Crustless vegetable quiche<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The other day, desperate for a change for dinner from our usual rotation of spaghetti, macaroni and cheese, rice and beans, and stir fry, I found this recipe online and adapted it for what we had on hand and to accommodate my intense hatred of mushrooms. (I tend to think that they have the texture of a slug - not that I have ever eaten a slug but I've seen enough of them to get a rough idea of their probable texture.) I got rid of the mushrooms entirely and replaced broccoli for the asparagus originally called for. I also used a slightly smaller zucchini than was stated in the original recipe because, although I am a vegetarian, I tend not to like vegetables. My general opinion on the categorization of fruits and vegetables is this: if it tastes good, it is a fruit; if it tastes bad it's clearly a vegetable. All in all, although this recipe is full of veggies, it wasn't bad. I would even go so far as to call it quite good. And if you dice the vegetables small enough you might even get a picky eater (such as myself) to eat their greens. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The prep time is about 20 minutes, depending upon how meticulous you are with your dicing, and the cook time is about an hour. Additionally, even though we ate this for dinner I'm sure it would make a good breakfast or brunch dish as well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">8 egg whites</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">4 whole eggs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 cup skim milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 teaspoon salt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 teaspoon dried oregano</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/4 teaspoon dried thyme</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/4 teaspoon pepper</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">16 oz fat free cottage cheese</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 cup shredded monterey jack cheese, divided</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 cup shredded cheddar cheese, divided</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/3 cup flour</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 teaspoon baking powder</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1/2 of a yellow onion, diced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 medium zucchini, diced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">2 cups broccoli, diced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">1 - 2 tomatoes, diced, seeds removed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Preheat oven to 400 degrees F and spray a 3 quart casserole dish with cooking spray. In a large bowl, whisk together the egg whites and eggs until fluffy. Add in the cottage cheese, 3/4 cup shredded cheddar, 3/4 cup shredded monterey jack, milk, flour, baking powder, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, oregano, thyme, and pepper. In a large skillet over medium high heat, saute the onion, zucchini, and broccoli with the remaining 1/2 teaspoon of salt for about 5 minutes or until tender. Add the cooked vegetables and the diced tomato to the egg mixture and fold everything together. Pour into the casserole dish and top it with the remaining shredded cheese. Place it in the oven on the middle rack. Bake for 15 minutes at 400 degrees then lower the temperature to 350 degrees (leaving the quiche inside the oven) and bake for another 45-55 minutes or until it is set and lightly browned. </span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-63869940537065004862018-08-01T16:41:00.000-07:002018-08-01T16:48:14.624-07:00Three [escape artist] mice<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We have three new mice here on the Unfarm. Recently my two previous mice, Evangeline and Francine, passed away and the mouse cage sat empty with a vacancy sign out front that must have attracted the attention of three new mice who I have named Hermione, Ingrid, and Josephine. (I have been going through the alphabet with mouse names and have already had an Angela, Bernadette, Caroline, Daphne, Evangeline, Francine and Gemima so H, I, and J were up next.) In addition, as the mice are small and relatively unobtrusive it no longer really phases my parents when I show up with three new ones. Thus Hermione, Ingrid, and Josephine came to live on the Unfarm with very little fuss involved. I suspect that had I also brought home a hamster in addition to the three mice there would have been a bit more uproar so I wisely refrained. Besides, the mice were most likely going to end up as dinner for some snake so I really am in the business of saving lives here. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Josephine appears to be the oldest of the three as she is the largest. Hermione and Ingrid are likely much younger and upon settling them into their new home I quickly discovered a problem with this: they are so little that they easily fit through the bars of the mouse cage. I checked up on them a few minutes after getting them settled and found only Hermione and Josephine in the cage; Ingrid was running around the outside of the cage. Fortunately I quickly caught her before she could escape into the rest of the house. Unfortunately, all three of my various mouse cages have bars with the same amount of spacing between them so the only way to fix the problem is to set the cage up high on a rolling cart and hope that the height and lack of anything to use to climb down to the ground will deter them from getting lost should they decide to escape. Well, that and to feed them well and hope that they grow fast and soon are unable to squeeze themselves through the bars any longer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am, by nature, a bit paranoid and overly anxious so I do check on the mice and do a head count several times a day to make sure that no one has escaped and up until a few days ago the combination of the height of the cage off the ground and the fact that there is really nothing exciting outside the cage (no castle house, no wheel, no food or water bowls) seemed to keep them safely inside the cage. A few days ago, though, I did my morning head count only to discover that one mouse was missing. But she was nowhere to be found on the outside of the cage or the top of the cart so surely I must have miscounted. Nope. There were definitely only two mice in the cage. Becoming frantic I began looking around the room in frustration as there are probably a million places a small mouse could hide and I had no idea where to start. Before I could go into a full blown panic I noticed some mouse droppings on my tabletop easel on the second shelf of the rolling cart. Further investigation revealed a rather frightened looking Hermione crouched on top of the easel. How she got down there I will probably never know. It's not like there were a bunch of tiny mouse sized sheets all tied together and thrown out of the cage dangling down to the second shelf. I retrieved her and placed her back in the safety of the cage (we have cats, after all, who would probably love to catch one of the mice outside the cage.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Since her misadventure, none of the mice have ventured outside the cage (at least not to my knowledge). Hermione did pop her head outside the cage bars last night but when I peered at her and said, "where do you think you're going?" she pulled her head back in and went about her mousy business. I am hoping that they soon grow too big to get through the bars, much like Josephine, and I can stop worrying so much about them. Until then I plan to continue my head counts and abundant feeding schedule. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodX_tQi-Pe38yr6ZS89WUeRPoYMcN7OhZ1DxWNpf0v-C1LoHtdVnolSvJPQw8aV3kqCSo8oqCgyJGAx6ADHtQ0b7Vl0OYEXk0rybOqfVTZjFjRR6xv8braferRbhkKqMtsftoyAwbeZhj/s1600/IMG_20180725_162630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodX_tQi-Pe38yr6ZS89WUeRPoYMcN7OhZ1DxWNpf0v-C1LoHtdVnolSvJPQw8aV3kqCSo8oqCgyJGAx6ADHtQ0b7Vl0OYEXk0rybOqfVTZjFjRR6xv8braferRbhkKqMtsftoyAwbeZhj/s320/IMG_20180725_162630.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josephine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXSQjTx2XE1niM5iT2MQdVm-l3wG_lmKw0d9tMEfQ_-Kc1FvnSSL4fbD0JGp0Z-x9JBLks0Jxy3rCJkMVk6ucFY-nzs1MglLgJ0-RWdz9JI3GEOVHzIhd1XdTpNl5zOi53g4pqPGPRMTj/s1600/IMG_20180725_083519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXSQjTx2XE1niM5iT2MQdVm-l3wG_lmKw0d9tMEfQ_-Kc1FvnSSL4fbD0JGp0Z-x9JBLks0Jxy3rCJkMVk6ucFY-nzs1MglLgJ0-RWdz9JI3GEOVHzIhd1XdTpNl5zOi53g4pqPGPRMTj/s320/IMG_20180725_083519.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hermione, the escape artist</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_43j-qazjUlQ0A19rF80LFI-138bcdQuYZSuHH7BQmMcJNNlYG9d0Q0eGbROI64AFU7stxXN8JUFctI2GCcXFAs3LQSQa2nQgKdZO6QGn1QuWHRatLYP41kn2fe2BKeKKlCSzc2ocVoze/s1600/IMG_20180801_164403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_43j-qazjUlQ0A19rF80LFI-138bcdQuYZSuHH7BQmMcJNNlYG9d0Q0eGbROI64AFU7stxXN8JUFctI2GCcXFAs3LQSQa2nQgKdZO6QGn1QuWHRatLYP41kn2fe2BKeKKlCSzc2ocVoze/s320/IMG_20180801_164403.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ingrid, our original escape artist</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-50866926565042987612018-07-16T17:05:00.002-07:002018-07-16T17:05:30.802-07:00Hero worship<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The ducks, Fern and Aida - who turned out to both be boys despite my female names for them - adore Gretchen. And who wouldn't? Gretchen struts around the yard like he owns the place. He has a flock of hens to choose from and he always gets the best and tastiest treats simply because he is the largest. No, there are no pesky gentlemanly characteristics to get in the way - he will push anyone aside to get what he wants, whether they are wife, mistress, or daughter. It is no wonder, then, that the boys look up to him and seek to emulate him whenever possible. This emulation includes attempting to mate with the hens who flap and squawk and run away as fast as possible. (But not always fast enough - they have been caught several times even though you would think a chicken could easily outrun a duck... it probably has something to do with the fact that there are two ducks versus the one hen.) It really doesn't matter how many times you tell them that there are no such things as "duckins," they refuse to listen. Or maybe they simply figure that fair is fair - Gretchen tries to mate with Minna, after all. Apparently he believes in the "duckins are possible" theory as well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The ducks are let out first in the morning and Fern and Aida will often forego a large breakfast in favor of running up to the dog run fence to watch as Gretchen then eats his breakfast. The rest of the day the boys spend following Gretchen around the yard as best as possible. The boys are unable to fly up and over the dog run fence so if the chickens happen to be in the dog run (where their coop is located) the ducks are out of luck and have to settle for walking along the fence line staring at Gretchen all the while. If Gretchen does happen to leave the dog run and head out into the yard, the boys can usually be found within several feet of him. They dare not follow too closely as Gretchen tends to turn on them and chase them off but this has done nothing to dampen their hero worship of him. It seems that in their eyes, Gretchen can do no wrong, which is a refreshing change from listening to my dad and my brother complain about "Hooligan" (the name Dad has taken to calling Gretchen) and his dislike of men and certain neighbors which he expresses by attacking them. But as he would likely be butchered if we were to send him anywhere else, re-homing him would probably be a death warrant so for now at least "Hooligan" stays and the ducks will continue to have someone to look up to.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELUtiWiqNsFyWAOf8Rs471PG0EwylgpOLOKlL06Dzv-JPWAH5jaO34PgghcxxX9LovakSNTLKkfuJ4a8zkcMmkBY00tWgJCoPOkL0CvxjXs2EVxOmM4kPSwsWYc4Uk8PLZXX5I730S-qs/s1600/IMG_20180609_160921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELUtiWiqNsFyWAOf8Rs471PG0EwylgpOLOKlL06Dzv-JPWAH5jaO34PgghcxxX9LovakSNTLKkfuJ4a8zkcMmkBY00tWgJCoPOkL0CvxjXs2EVxOmM4kPSwsWYc4Uk8PLZXX5I730S-qs/s320/IMG_20180609_160921.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The boys, hanging around outside the dog run fence while Gretchen ignores them from within. Aida is on the left and Fern is the one with more white on his head, on the right.<br /><br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HG4qzz6j_5tRtYxDbOHIY7jNPMf6nM3SZYNRGLJ_p-LJZ1B-ezS0yk2q372ULJx3_8-uUUnVBrQj2Zb1_Gs9yuGE0UZxEkhbp1yb_1VYJmI1ka6_OFDl6vpQTw1REg8yPCv-N0PVCtto/s1600/IMG_20180611_134024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HG4qzz6j_5tRtYxDbOHIY7jNPMf6nM3SZYNRGLJ_p-LJZ1B-ezS0yk2q372ULJx3_8-uUUnVBrQj2Zb1_Gs9yuGE0UZxEkhbp1yb_1VYJmI1ka6_OFDl6vpQTw1REg8yPCv-N0PVCtto/s320/IMG_20180611_134024.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Gretchen, in the yard, with the boys remaining at a respectful distance.</span></td></tr>
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Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-50333905006259442282018-06-13T17:05:00.000-07:002018-06-13T17:12:46.307-07:00Hatching chicks on the Unfarm!<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last summer, my dad went on an epic bike ride from Washington state all the way to Maine before flying back home. My brother was temporarily in San Francisco and my sister lives in Colorado. This left my mom and I alone to tend to all the Unfarm chores. This was a huge mistake on my dad's part because that also meant that my mom and I were left alone on the Unfarm with no one to tell us "no" so when Georgia, our partridge Wyandotte hen decided to go broody we said "yes." We let her sit on her eggs - all 15 or so of them by the end - and attempt to hatch them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This was our first experience with hatching chicks and we didn't know quite how to go about it so we let Georgia do most of the work with keeping the eggs at the right temperature and humidity and turning them when needed. This worked well enough for the first two chicks. At that point, Georgia decided she was done and hopped off the nest for good. I only found the two chicks - who we named Luna and Sally, Luna because the solar eclipse was the next day and we wanted at least a semi appropriate name considering the occasion - because August 20th I was laying in bed with my window open and I heard rather frantic peeping that didn't sound like any of our local birds so I went out to investigate. I found Georgia in the run with one chick and the other chick was stuck in the coop, peeping her head off, trying (in vain) to call Georgia. Checking the nest box I found the rest of the 13 eggs beginning to cool off. Georgia had apparently decided that she was good with two chicks and the rest could fend for themselves. Having candled the eggs (probably way more often than we needed to or would be advised because we were so excited to see the little chicks developing inside) we knew that the eggs were all full of living chicks so in a panic I ran inside and set up the incubator, which I had purchased from the feed store upon seeing Georgia up and off the nest at one point, thinking that she had abandoned her eggs. (Hens will occasionally leave the nest to grab a bite to eat or go to the bathroom without any ill effects on the eggs. I discovered this <i>after</i> purchasing the incubator.) I carefully transferred all the eggs into the incubator and set it up on the kitchen table where we would be able to keep an eye on it and it would be relatively safe from dogs and cats. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxy19DcL-JyqlMkYQ-_7iAMVt_uHwzqMH5CMOtEZeu8ZRD5sF6rVkKwQshkWdxGGJXUqIbtEoEymLG_I0NObICFiYL8JGLfa2G9xmqX4yjjC512pBJrYag_PdQMfF2js69RBMjxAbsqWe/s1600/20170824_204911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaxy19DcL-JyqlMkYQ-_7iAMVt_uHwzqMH5CMOtEZeu8ZRD5sF6rVkKwQshkWdxGGJXUqIbtEoEymLG_I0NObICFiYL8JGLfa2G9xmqX4yjjC512pBJrYag_PdQMfF2js69RBMjxAbsqWe/s320/20170824_204911.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The incubator on our (rather messy) kitchen table.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The two chicks that had hatched got set up in the bunny room in a brooder pen that we fashioned out of a dog crate and brooder kit with a heat lamp on top. There was one unfortunate incident in all of this: one of the eggs in the nest had cracked open but the shell membrane had started drying out and was shrink wrapping the chick inside, who wasn't moving. Figuring it was a loss, but unsure what to do with it I just stuck it under the heat lamp next to Luna and Sally and waited until Mom came home from church to decide what to do about it. However, upon showing it to Mom we noticed it was starting to move so it was still alive in there but seemed unable to get out of the remainder of it's shell. So we took tweezers and very carefully peeled the membrane and shell off of the tiny chick. Not sure if the chick would make it or not, we named her Lucky in hopes that her name would give her good luck and help her survive. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjhAVexdBc9f4-6z6KO5pnQuNY4PUcS5vO7e5otBj69t_fJJuAaFCrifiJmNaMjNSsn4mwf-XKhQ7gTiVrXrsHX7NfCpJ1hSv-3jvrj6q7cUf7XajUcZB_xBuHeAFyq0aWZkXhuncqxFK/s1600/20170820_134629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjhAVexdBc9f4-6z6KO5pnQuNY4PUcS5vO7e5otBj69t_fJJuAaFCrifiJmNaMjNSsn4mwf-XKhQ7gTiVrXrsHX7NfCpJ1hSv-3jvrj6q7cUf7XajUcZB_xBuHeAFyq0aWZkXhuncqxFK/s320/20170820_134629.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Lucky, half in and half out of her shell</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNa0aqHfzvJYtDwvaPiFaX0ftUtm22_VU-PbcfiDYo6zBjDMZ4B2t9S9PC9a6uP6NTIFU_3kF1IES__FlXbnEVFRksNglRIF9x2LCIcAMJOFdEl-b6pWzwkP5BrqxCNPZads4Cw947JAe/s1600/20170820_105042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNa0aqHfzvJYtDwvaPiFaX0ftUtm22_VU-PbcfiDYo6zBjDMZ4B2t9S9PC9a6uP6NTIFU_3kF1IES__FlXbnEVFRksNglRIF9x2LCIcAMJOFdEl-b6pWzwkP5BrqxCNPZads4Cw947JAe/s320/20170820_105042.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Luna and Sally hanging out underneath the heat lamp, before the brooder crate was set up.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />Once Lucky had dried out and was relatively mobile we brought Georgia into the house and set her up in the brooder pen with her chicks. She was, as it turns out, a really dedicated mother. She'd let the chicks snuggle up under her feathers to sleep or hop on her back for a ride and she always made a gentle clucking noise when food was provided to show the chicks what was food and made sure that they ate before she did. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXLUapzbePze3HIJ-K-03rFx0DWaqS8ZcDcSqDqEmJ-jlSTeqNaziOAzj7tvvKeTYe7MSm-CuxYe88CDr9V9D9-seI8EVNrm9Zo4q5scbrpZKyFQyxEtQqu_xoETPZ_Upilz_snRRYGry/s1600/20170823_152603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXLUapzbePze3HIJ-K-03rFx0DWaqS8ZcDcSqDqEmJ-jlSTeqNaziOAzj7tvvKeTYe7MSm-CuxYe88CDr9V9D9-seI8EVNrm9Zo4q5scbrpZKyFQyxEtQqu_xoETPZ_Upilz_snRRYGry/s320/20170823_152603.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Georgia give a chick a ride in the brooder pen.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The rest of the chicks hatched over the next week or two in the incubator - the reason for the staggering in hatching times was that Georgia only laid a couple of the eggs herself, we believe. The rest of the eggs she rolled into her nest as soon as the other hens laid them, and then sat on them herself, so each chick was a day or two behind the previous chick in terms of development. Once they were all big enough to be outside we set up a small pen for them so Georgia could be with them outdoors but the other hens and Gretchen would not be able to get to the chicks and possibly hurt them.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjGNrfkSjeNhfK32FnVLW46A19VzdEO9nzbwahQ00yh4PQUkzeEv9RD35BEP99CH_l2xUm_Wmq7UKEW_0oXr9QkxTlX6sQI7rNpP6YU6t-jhsDKwnx70S3gr7HTHnSoVCsQQXH_LDMcBu/s1600/20170831_100543.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjGNrfkSjeNhfK32FnVLW46A19VzdEO9nzbwahQ00yh4PQUkzeEv9RD35BEP99CH_l2xUm_Wmq7UKEW_0oXr9QkxTlX6sQI7rNpP6YU6t-jhsDKwnx70S3gr7HTHnSoVCsQQXH_LDMcBu/s320/20170831_100543.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A chick in the incubator, just after hatching.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4zeyocoa2CAt-5FHHBRCbNR4np7Tw6sfdpsdBMy3AbVNu4L5qQ_9SF83w8RtJa371cLQ0bk2oksmXna3G3KRL0cCt9Clfjz-lItgboFlfSrRmubpoeXZIVM-Lnvv9I6n_CZYMTGpkxRR/s1600/20170827_132141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM4zeyocoa2CAt-5FHHBRCbNR4np7Tw6sfdpsdBMy3AbVNu4L5qQ_9SF83w8RtJa371cLQ0bk2oksmXna3G3KRL0cCt9Clfjz-lItgboFlfSrRmubpoeXZIVM-Lnvv9I6n_CZYMTGpkxRR/s320/20170827_132141.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Drying off in the incubator. You can see the other eggs still incubating.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3KeSiMLoz8O-7a38BGA9GZc3tgVcOK_Ynpfc_aOGifztfa5lP1jqaxDyWHKNsApqjEEAE-7phvkYRO3XqHziQSow1BLBHBJYfAOpi7MaRafxeeMF0tHM4h7z8lmY4AjQTEJ7CSWy6JWV/s1600/20170826_205919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC3KeSiMLoz8O-7a38BGA9GZc3tgVcOK_Ynpfc_aOGifztfa5lP1jqaxDyWHKNsApqjEEAE-7phvkYRO3XqHziQSow1BLBHBJYfAOpi7MaRafxeeMF0tHM4h7z8lmY4AjQTEJ7CSWy6JWV/s320/20170826_205919.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of our few blondies, we think these chicks are the offspring of Bridget, our Rhode Island Red hen.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvnGa9gC1Ap5cee8kQW3pUb23wQIkw-6HzODLsSjQJvKAYaXNJ2x8EUC2_VV_NzV7jtlB8MdzxlL1i_-BsgGVDxt2jfScDVULKI7cWjG9fBua3lcVKLak7FRVP6XjKRHtVXm8ERg2SPqz/s1600/20170915_181528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNvnGa9gC1Ap5cee8kQW3pUb23wQIkw-6HzODLsSjQJvKAYaXNJ2x8EUC2_VV_NzV7jtlB8MdzxlL1i_-BsgGVDxt2jfScDVULKI7cWjG9fBua3lcVKLak7FRVP6XjKRHtVXm8ERg2SPqz/s320/20170915_181528.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Georgia, the proud momma, in her outdoor pen with several of her chicks.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
By the way, Lucky survived and is doing fine and she is one of the four chicks that we kept. The others were given to a friend who has a farm and was in need of some more chickens. Sadly, all of our barred rock chicks turned out to be roosters. We were planning on keeping some of the barred rocks if they were hens as their mother, Lucy, is so very friendly. How we ended up with one hen that produced only males and all the other hens producing only females is a mystery to us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHM2sRInBSQikaUxC72E3hR8R5KnH9kbFyO2sv9cfll28s77c5h9gTdWAm8n-qkc-qGtaSx5WFU69B6cN-SJzlesoyr9YctrtZkqOiFv9rwRUXjubOr_m6XV6grMmZa8J_jPiQZGaxCsa/s1600/IMG_20180524_200644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWHM2sRInBSQikaUxC72E3hR8R5KnH9kbFyO2sv9cfll28s77c5h9gTdWAm8n-qkc-qGtaSx5WFU69B6cN-SJzlesoyr9YctrtZkqOiFv9rwRUXjubOr_m6XV6grMmZa8J_jPiQZGaxCsa/s320/IMG_20180524_200644.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lucky, a beautiful black hen.</td></tr>
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<br />Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-63513030333139530772018-06-04T16:09:00.000-07:002018-06-04T16:13:15.544-07:00Arrivals and departures on the Unfarm, duck edition<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I've put it off for almost a year now but I am finally making myself do it. I have to announce the departure of Maggie, one of my favorite ducks. He (named when we thought he was a she) was a beautiful solid white Pekin (you know, like the Aflac duck) that was especially devoted to his mate, Minna. He would bravely defend her from mating attempts by Gretchen and stood up to any hens that decided to chase Minna. He traveled with us to the beach, to our family house on the Puget Sound, and on camping trips where he and Minna were always a big hit with everyone. He lived most of his life (at night) inside the house with Minna and the bunnies in my art studio, locally known as "the bunny room," where he tolerated wearing a diaper quite well and was generally a very loyal, calm, and friendly duck. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unfortunately, a short time after moving outside into the duck house, I went out in the morning to let him and Minna out for the day and found that Maggie had passed away sometime in the night. I took his body in to the nearby humane society and had him cremated, and his ashes now sit on one of my bookshelves in my room, along side several other cremated pets. At some point I fear my deceased pets will outnumber my books - and I have a lot of books - but that is the hazard when you live with animals: you are almost guaranteed to outlive them. Sadly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At any rate, Maggie's sudden and unexpected departure left Minna alone in the yard and ducks are not designed to be solitary creatures. Also unfortunate was the timing of Maggie's passing. Duckling season was over and procuring new ducks in the middle of July was going to be more troublesome than I would have liked - I usually just get my ducks and chicks from the local feed store about a mile up the road. As it was I had to scour craigslist and got lucky when I found someone in the city who had just hatched a batch of Ancona ducks. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fortunately for me, my mom was visiting my sister in Colorado and my dad was on a cross country bicycle trip so it was the perfect opportunity to get two ducklings (as ducklings should always have at least one other duckling with them.) I find it's generally better to ask forgiveness than permission in situations involving the procurement of more pets. This then is how we ended up with Fern and Aida - two beautiful dark brown and white ducks who turned out to both be males. I would have preferred to have ended up with at least one female duck out of the two so that the girls outnumbered the boys but at the very least Minna is no longer the only duck in the yard and could spend her time with the boys if she chooses to (which she does, on occasion) and there are now three ducks to huddle together in the winter time in the duck house at night to keep each other warmer as the duck house lack central heating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As beautiful as Fern and Aida are, I don't know as though I would go the route of a private breeder again for acquiring ducks as the boys are much more nervous and flighty than any ducks I have ever gotten from the feed store. I think it may have something to do with how much handling the ducklings got initially, the feed store ducks being exposed to almost constant attention whereas the small breeder ducks didn't receive as much attention in their formative days. That's my theory, anyway.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdc49TUiuuTKUt98NsFspv0uDOg5iFYHAYXXGZRZStt5oHf1tpavYbFdeUq-2Fgix4PdMaHEC8Ao8r2kIFq85M_pKujUALwKUP2SuS6ozhrURfVmu2lE36KKhEL0CVXsVRq2Ik1gBCTrEz/s1600/IMG_20140523_170703.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="625" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdc49TUiuuTKUt98NsFspv0uDOg5iFYHAYXXGZRZStt5oHf1tpavYbFdeUq-2Fgix4PdMaHEC8Ao8r2kIFq85M_pKujUALwKUP2SuS6ozhrURfVmu2lE36KKhEL0CVXsVRq2Ik1gBCTrEz/s320/IMG_20140523_170703.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maggie and Minna</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MJVCEIuPj9Ffn-4KqF2jCUOdeBxwlDA2TGyPOB1VfyYiOhyoi1UJRK6TMRVYlBm5UYPQZEQSUL9ULQYvYQyvnk6BDBgAUuyxHFn1Ne56FW_6nfU1AC0vQX9u0sMA7qNBkEszlN0gkQI9/s1600/IMG_20180524_200749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MJVCEIuPj9Ffn-4KqF2jCUOdeBxwlDA2TGyPOB1VfyYiOhyoi1UJRK6TMRVYlBm5UYPQZEQSUL9ULQYvYQyvnk6BDBgAUuyxHFn1Ne56FW_6nfU1AC0vQX9u0sMA7qNBkEszlN0gkQI9/s320/IMG_20180524_200749.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aida, with the darker head is on the left and Fern with the lighter head is on the right. They are both quacking their displeasure at my presence in the yard. </td></tr>
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Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-11540658062329039552018-05-30T21:39:00.000-07:002018-05-30T21:39:49.595-07:00Minna goes missing<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Less than a month after Sophie went missing, we are now faced with a missing duck. Minna is small, brown, and rather inconspicuous to begin with and when she wants to secret herself away she is remarkably good at staying quiet and going unnoticed even if you happen to be standing right next to her. She does this frequently, actually. I'm not sure if she is hiding from me or trying to stay under the radar of the boys (Fern and Aida) and Gretchen, all of whom I suspect of trying to mate with her although I have only actually seen Gretchen attempting it. At any rate it is not an uncommon occurrence here on the Unfarm for me to wander around the backyard calling Minna's name while she sits in whatever spot she has chosen and waits me out. I suspect she also laughs merrily at my increasingly frantic searches as the ducks seem to have very little sympathy for my nerves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Usually, the evening routine is that the ducks will get dinner after the chickens go to bed and then they waddle on in to their own coop for the night. This is usually when Minna decides to make her appearance: as soon as she hears the lid to the food bin opening up. The other night, however, she failed to show up so I went in search of her, fearing the worst (as anxiety is my forte.) I searched in all the usual places: under the deck, behind the wheelbarrow and beneath the fronds of the day lily. No Minna. So I widened my search and as I was nearing the gate separating the relatively safe backyard from the hugely unsafe (and therefore off limits to all unsupervised birds) front yard, where any wandering coyote or neighborhood dog could spell disaster, I saw Minna's head poking underneath the gate. It seems she had decided to exile herself from the backyard and was enjoying life in the front yard, sans any birds of the male persuasion. Which was, I may have mentioned, hugely unsafe. Mystery one: where is Minna? Solved. Mystery two: how did she get out? Unsolved. At any rate, she was found relatively quickly and I didn't have to spend a sleepless night worrying about her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What I thought was an isolated incident turned out not to be when Minna was discovered missing again the next day. This time, the first place I looked was the front yard as time was of the essence if she was wandering rather slowly through it (she walks with a limp from an old injury and so does not move very fast and is, therefore, one of our most vulnerable animals.) I found her almost immediately, sitting underneath the trailer right outside the gate. How exactly she got there was still anyone's guess because recent tilling and weeding activity in the side garden had exposed several gaps along the bottom of the fence line that were just big enough for an enterprising duck of Minna's size could fit through, not to mention the gap and the bottom of the gate. We blocked off the bottom of the gate with a block of wood and that seems to have stopped Minna's forays into the front yard for now (solving mystery two) but I fear it is only a matter of time before she finds a new escape hatch. She is, after all, highly motivated to keep out of the way of the Gretchen, Fern and Aida; despite explaining numerous times to them that "no means no," they refuse to listen to me.</span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-26347535091951764012018-05-23T19:19:00.000-07:002018-05-23T19:21:49.390-07:00Chicken harness<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Penny, currently our oldest hen, gets picked on. A lot. By pretty much everyone. She is definitely low hen down in the pecking order here on the Unfarm. I don't know if it is because she sports spurs (nothing like Gretchen, the rooster, of course but spurs nonetheless) or because she walks with a limp from an old injury she sustained when she was still young (let it not be said that we neglect the health care of our animals: the vet tried putting a cast of sorts on it but it still healed up crooked) or simply because she didn't grow up with the rest of the chickens and is thus outnumbered. But whatever the reason, she gets chased and pecked at and harassed on a daily basis. This has led her to spend most of her days hanging out in safety zones: the grape arbor, behind the old screens from the failed catio, or up on the deck. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Feeling bad for her and inspired after a trip to Coastal Farm and Home Supply, I decided to sew our feathered friend a harness so that I could more safely take her out in the front yard to get a break from the constant harassment in the back yard. You can simply purchase ready made hen harnesses from Coastal but Mom vetoed that idea and I was too impatient to order one online and have it shipped so I broke out the sewing machine and cobbled together a harness using whatever we had on hand: mesh fabric, a D-ring, a buckle, and some nylon strapping. After a bit of trial and error, and several fittings which Penny (fairly) patiently sat through, we had a working harness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A neck loop goes over her neck and is attached to a back strap and then an apron like piece covers her belly and attaches to two side straps that connect through the back strap, holding the whole harness on her. A D-ring on the back strap allows me to attach a leash and take her for "walks" which don't look like walking so much as wandering around and pecking at the plants, but she seems to not mind it too much. Unless I drop her leash and let it trail behind her, then she runs squawking around the yard in circles until I pick her up again. The only reason for this behavior that I can think of is that she thinks the leash is somehow chasing her and it freaks her out. At any rate, Penny seems to enjoy her newfound freedom away from the rest of the flock and if the neighbors didn't think we were crazy before, they do now that they have seen us walking our chicken. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVWig1YQuAVVEJ5AzMZeS6tW9KW0yT90zjQ7olNJWD80Zz4_Zoam48L_PL1f16zX6px2HVW6LSMn8MBueFEPYYmLDn0u7_9az7_fYCBevUajE0eoKS0VlY_879EqcWP43E3pOYZeAONrt/s1600/IMG_20180523_183659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVWig1YQuAVVEJ5AzMZeS6tW9KW0yT90zjQ7olNJWD80Zz4_Zoam48L_PL1f16zX6px2HVW6LSMn8MBueFEPYYmLDn0u7_9az7_fYCBevUajE0eoKS0VlY_879EqcWP43E3pOYZeAONrt/s320/IMG_20180523_183659.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Penny sporting her harness, hanging out on the front deck.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFB7R8NRp8LGCRDr5lKxVu55y5uDJYGKrdgzZT0gkb8avikthaj7dEZjcQDMbqKhTmGkBrPmTPoJpqY10RR1R0u1qLluwRNLIIO7nMswvTnAHY1OQsSZ3Lv0pq2RW66xaQ_OVEks4qRGGh/s1600/IMG_20180523_183636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFB7R8NRp8LGCRDr5lKxVu55y5uDJYGKrdgzZT0gkb8avikthaj7dEZjcQDMbqKhTmGkBrPmTPoJpqY10RR1R0u1qLluwRNLIIO7nMswvTnAHY1OQsSZ3Lv0pq2RW66xaQ_OVEks4qRGGh/s320/IMG_20180523_183636.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You can see the back strap of the harness a little better in this picture. The leash is not attached when she's just hanging out on the deck.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174897095076896443.post-2340236590158412602018-05-21T20:58:00.000-07:002018-05-21T20:58:42.575-07:00Terror on the Unfarm<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For several days last week the Unfarm was terrorized by a spider. It began when a large, fast moving spider was spotted in the downstairs bathroom. Normally this would be a cause for concern but hardly a reason to live in terror. Except that this particular spider was spotted by my brother who is apparently scared of spiders and his method of dealing with them is to close the door to the room and blockade the bottom of the door with a towel or something, instead of simply killing or removing the spider. When I spotted the sheet shoved under the door to the bathroom the next morning I knew immediately something was up and asked my brother what it was, exactly, that was trapped inside the bathroom. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Armed with a mug shot of the offending insect (or at least a physical description) and the location of it's last known whereabouts I carefully stepped into the bathroom and prepared to do battle. Unfortunately, I was too late. The spider had either hidden somewhere in the bathroom or sneaked out under the sheet somehow. In any event, it was not to be found so the bathroom was reopened and we lived under the constant threat of the spider's imminent re-emergence for several days. The downstairs bathroom was avoided in favor of the upstairs bathroom and we tread lightly and kept an eye out whenever we had to go downstairs. Those were troubling times, I tell you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Thankfully, after spending part of the week living in terror we woke up to a note on the refrigerator one morning that stated, "Attention, all! The horse sized hairy tarantula has been captured before it could eat anyone." Mom had, apparently, caught sight of it as it was crawling in front of her office door downstairs and had killed it and removed it from the house. I am pleased to report that the downstairs bathroom is once again in use and we can all sleep easily, no longer worried about spiders crawling into our beds in the middle of the night. Crisis averted. Until the next one, of course.</span>Heidihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04317983230553340636noreply@blogger.com0