Musable

Twice, Einstein figured a way into the chicken pen. Both times, I went out to find him cornering one of the poor chickens, who are too docile to peck at him. The first time, a couple of weeks ago, we thought he’d actually killed one of them. She was playing dead, though, trying to get him to go away. I can’t blame him for it, of course: he’s a puppy, curious, and thinks that any creature that moves - a person, another dog, a cat, a toad, a chicken - is something that has the ability to be a playmate. He’s right, everything does have that ability. Whether they have the inclination is another story altogether. These little bouts have not put the chickens off their feed or stopped them from popping out eggs. We’re getting two a day now, which means that either the girls are on a longer than 24 hour cycle, or someone isn’t putting out. If it’s the latter, we may be having fresh chicken dinner sooner than expected.

One thing we did find when making some brownies was a double yolked egg.

Unexpected, but we don’t candle the eggs around here to sort them. We just eat them in one form or another.

Something that starts with an E.

Would you look at that.

My money would have been on the fattest one to start laying first, but Quiche beat her to it and gave us this perfect little egg this evening.

Because it was the first, of course we had to take a look at it.

Perfect yolk.

And thankfully, no aliens or other weirdness inside.

Unfortunately, the three of us here had all just finished eating a couple of bowls each of some hearty stew, and the thought of frying this up right now was a bit nauseating. We’re hoping to con….vince Aubrey to eat it when she gets here.

Wasn’t me. Didn’t do it.

There are some very important lessons to be learned in life.

How to drink from the massive water dish out back. Having a big brother show how it’s done is helpful.

Because you never know when thirst will hit you.

Staying out of the way of the Princess. She is, after all, the Princess.

But most of all, how to be cute. Although this is probably something that comes naturally.

We’ve been motoring along here.

The chickens, at just over three weeks, continued in their baby dinosaur phase.

Mostly, like any babies, they ate, slept, pooped, and required frequent changes of their dirties.

A new puppy, just in time for my sister’s 29th birthday, and my 40th.

He - Einstein - sleeps quite a bit, too. But only after he’s been running around like he’s on puppy uppers, playing as only puppies can.

We were also awaiting the arrival of yet another baby, who would continue that time-honored tradition of eatings, sleeping, and pooping.

Fortunately, she held off on making the birthday party really lively.

My sister and I had been letting our hair grow out so we could then have it cut off and donated to Locks of Love. We had decided that would be a fine birthday present for both of us.

That turned out well.

Although for some reason - and we didn’t realize this until well into the evening during the party when my sister pointed it out - mom and I were wearing the same color. Must be that whole spring thing.

Night, actually. I’ve never watched Lost, as I don’t watch a lot of network television and even fewer series shows. I believe the last series I used to watch on even a regular basis was ER, many years ago, and then not as religiously as some people watch “their shows”. I happened to catch pieces of it the other night (time travel? seriously?) because of this crew:

The chickens were sleeping, too, but not on the couch and not particularly interested in waking up every now and again to see what was happening on the show.

Mickey thinks so, anyway.

The thing about chickens is that really (from a pet standpoint), they simply aren’t all that bright. Which is fine, really, when you think about it. They’re not like dogs, who need and crave attention, and not like cats with their “One day we will take over this planet, as soon as we hit our quota of naps.” mentality. No, chickens - or chicks in this case - spend much of their time peeping and cheeping, pecking away at anything that looks like food, sleeping, and pooping. Eventually, they’ll earn their keep by paying for their room and board in eggs. When Heather and Michael brought over our three on Saturday, a small moth got into the house and was flittering around, to and fro. He made the mistake of getting into the box where we’re holding the chicks until they are old enough to go outside. I waved it over toward the watering dish, and when it alit, one of the chicks snatched it and gobbled it down. Nifty. I can’t wait for them to be outside putting a hurt on the grasshopper population. They also got one worm apiece from our composting batch, but that’s it for those worms. Their future treats will be from the bait shop.

And when I said they weren’t particularly bright, I meant it. This, after all, is not what is generally thought of as chicken feed. But I suppose someone has to be the nonconformist.

Back on the 18th of February, I mentioned that my cat, Boots, was dying. We knew it wasn’t going to be much longer, and so it wasn’t - after all, she was about 18 years old. I had been sleeping on the couch for about a week or so, Boots with me, just to have some time together and to be with her in the event she happened to go overnight. The Wednesday after posting that, I had gone to the NOC to do a few things, and when I got back after midnight, I found her on the floor, back legs splayed out, on the threshold between the dining room and kitchen. She couldn’t stand well and couldn’t walk, and I knew that this was not the way it should be. I scooped her up and laid down on the couch with her. At some point, I drifted off, and when I woke up around 4 AM Thursday morning, found that she had pulled herself out of my lap, to the floor, and over toward the front door. I picked her up again and made her as comfortable as possible until we could call the vet to take her in.

We did, speaking to the very nice folks at a new vet’s office, closer to the house. They told us to go ahead and bring her in. I wrapped her up in a towel and carried her outside to show her the spot we’d picked out for her: the west side of the property, near the very largest tree on the property, with lots of sunshine (because she loved rolling around in the sun and being outside) and a place where I could get some flowers to grow (because she, although the smallest cat, was bold and in another life was probably a jungle cat of some kind). When I took her outside, she turned her face toward the sun and I could see her nose twitching, sniffing the fresh air. There was a bluejay in the big tree, chattering away at us as we looked at the spot.

I started back across the property toward the house and the car, and Boots had her head hanging over my arm, still sniffing the air. As I reached the front porch, I turned her head toward me, and saw that quite clearly, she was, at that moment, dying. We called the vet’s office back and told them we would not need their services for this after all. I sat down on the porch, Boots wrapped up in my arms, the sun on our faces, a slight breeze brushing us, and then she was gone. Peacefully. At home. With her people.

The flower seed we planted that morning over her is already starting to come up.

No doubt that’s one of the things she would dream about when she slept like she did in the picture above, taken a day before the new year arrived.

Rest in peace, old girl.

My cat is dying.

She’s been dying for awhile, of course, just as we all are at our own varying speeds.

Her time is simply coming to an end sooner than that same end is coming for the rest of us.

For now, she occasionally gets outside to sun her old bones, but mostly she sleeps. She eats a little here and there, drinks a bit from time to time, but not much and not a lot. She’s still affectionate, and her motor still runs harder and louder than you’d expect from such a small cat.

And she still has her buddies to keep her company until she’s finally ready to move on.

That might make a good title for a b-grade horror/sci-fi flick.

The seed flats that were blown over and crashed on the ground appear to be surviving, and even thriving. I did not get any photos today since I spent the bulk of the early part of the day in bed wishing away the nastiness that has infected me. Tomorrow, though, some pictures and hopes of sorting out what is where in one seed flat, given that my layout doesn’t match any longer. It wouldn’t be bad to be surprised by any or all of it, but it would help to know what’s what when we prep them to move to the frames. Also on th list: order more chicken and worm poop - our worms are about ready for their next tray, it seems, so eventually, we should be self-sufficient on that. I’m not sure how much poop three chickens will put out, but whatever they give will be cured and then added to the outside compost pile to add to the party. Heather tells us that our chicks will be ready probably the first week o March - only a couple of weeks away, so we need to get cracking (ha - get it?) on a coop for those critters.