I know why the chicken crossed the road.

So I would pull over and pick it up.

My day was full of chicken emergencies.

I am a chicken doctor.

I found a chicken on the side of the road yesterday.

I sat in a gym for 20 minutes holding a chicken wrapped in a beach towel.

I drove home with a chicken on my lap.

The chicken I found is not mine.

Also, I am a chicken doctor.

I found one of my hens dead in the coop.

I buried a chicken yesterday.

Apparently, I am not a very good chicken doctor.

The real question is.... how do you find the owner of the chicken that crossed the road?

I think I am the new owner.

Ramone calls coyotes, Timber Wolf, which sounds much scarier than coyote.

A timber wolf has eaten one of my hens and the dominate rooster.

Things are very creepy around the chicken world right now.

Yer Daily Dose of Feel Good

If you came here today to feel better about your dumb self, you, my friend,  are in the right spot.  For I am an THE Idiot Extraordinaire.

This week I hung a load of bed linens and blankets and towels out on the line and then my 'Thinkin' Ahead' button got pushed and I said, "Why not start burning some brush?"  Do you know where the burn pile is?  Yep, right next to my clothes line.  Do you know which way the wind was blowing?  Yep, towards the clothes line.  

But I figured it didn't matter  with the fresh air blowing  and I had the kids fold the dry laundry and put it away.  Now I keep smelling smoke in the house and having little panic attacks that the kids are torching each other.  I took a shower and the fresh towel I got out smelled like....you guessed it, smoke.  It was the last towel so I had to use it. 

And then there's this thing.

It's my prepubescent squash plant.  He's saving himself for just the right gal.  He's grown so big and so strong and so handsome but has produced zero offspring.  And like any good mother I am so proud of him that I continue to let him get bigger and stronger.  But what I really want to say to him is, "Please find a female and have some fun.  Babies are good.  I want to eat your babies.  Please go out in the world and spread your seed!"

I'm on the brink of cutting the apron strings here.  By that I mean yank the zero sexed guy straight out of the garden and toss him to the pigs.

And of course there's the rooster.  Clay named him Deacon.  He got the crud beat out of him by the other rooster so now we are letting him roam free.....and wak us up at ungodly hours in the morning.
There's something about having a rooster running around the place that makes me feel official.
And despite his annoying crow, I feel sorry for the guy.  Because, I'm a chicken doctor and I learned early in my training to love all my chickens no matter how much they irritate me.  

That's it for now from Idiotville.  Stay tuned and I might tell you about the time I answered the door straight out of the shower wearing my husband's robe with a hole in the absolute worst place. 

It's time I told you about the day.....

I locked myself in the chicken coop.

It was an accident, I swear.

I wanted the door shut so I could capture one of the hens that had been overly pecked.  Because, you know, I'm a chicken doctor.   But, I shut the door a bit too much and it, it, it locked me in.

I had the hen secured under my arm and I started yelling for "Ellllllen" and "Seththththth".  But they couldn't hear me.  Because they were inside watching a movie!  With their cousins!  And they had the volume on FULL BLAST!!!!

So, I started yelling louder and Louder and LOUDER!

And that's what brought the rooster into the coop to investigate.

Do you know what a rooster does when he sees a crazy yelling woman handling one of his hens?  That's right.  He attacks.

So, now I'm SCREAMING  Somebody PLEASE HELP ME!!!  While I'm kicking a pissed off rooster.

Of course the more I screamed for help the more he attacked me.  Finally, I let him have it and he scampered back outside just long enough for me to decide my only escape was to dismantle the leg on the feeder and use it to pry open the door.  So, that's what I did.

Man was I ticked.  And shaky.  And pissed.  And angry.  And a little out of my mind crazy.  

I needed someone to blame because it was obviously not my fault that I locked myself in the coop and like always nobody came to rescue me!

My destination was the house to eat my young.  Or just spit fire on them until they were nice and charred, then I would  feed them to the chickens.  

I asked my two oldest children to reenact the whole scene.  Notice Ellen's new braceless smile!

And ACTION!

Teeny Tiny Eggs

*Update on Miss Pastey Hiney* 

I know you all have been praying and loosing sleep over our Buff Orpington with the prolapsed pooper shooter. I think you should know that I stuck my fingers up that chicken THREE times before she got better. The third day she prolapsed I decided I had to take a different approach than the honey on the hiney. I used sugar instead of honey, genius I know. I also slathered her with vegetable oil and poured oil and 1/8th of an Ibuprofen in her food. I guess you could say she had her oil changed and a lube job to boot. Today when I checked on her she had laid TWO eggs and had managed to keep her crapolotic inside her poopmoreola. So there ya go, I can heal a chicken. Rechelle and I have discussed renaming my blog to "One Sick Chicken", but that doesn't apply anymore, so there.

This is our first dozen eggs.  They are very cute and tiny.

See?  I can fit all of them in one hand.  Uh, do I need to mention that I do sorta have large-ish hands, but still.
I also dropped one on the wood floor right after I took this photo.  You know what?  It didn't break!!!  That my friend is the sign of a good egg, it should have a nice hard shell.  I ate a big bowl of scrambled eggs this morning.  My daughter ate some too and after a couple bites she said, "Mom, you want these?"

No. Aren't you hungry?

"Yeah, I'm hungry, but scrambled eggs give me a headache."  

What?  Do fried eggs give you headache?

"Nope, just scrambled."

Is it me or is my daughter a bit weird?

Just call me the chicken doctor.

Guess what I had to do again tonight? I'll give you a hint. Spoink.

This time I got it all on film.  I know!  How lucky are all of you?!

This is Clay saying, "Are you seriously going to take pictures of this?"  Yeah.  Isn't his haircut cute?  He has an awesome stylist.  She lets him sit outside and get bombed by mosquitoes while she hacks away at his sweaty head.  He never leaves her a tip or for that matter pays her!  Humph!

Here's our poor little gal with the prolapsed pooper shooter.  She layed an egg today so I'm hoping that the egg was her problem.
My assistant does not have a very good attitude.  It's so hard to find good help these days.
My diagnosis; Pastey Hiney.  Dear me, that is just not pretty.  Mr. Assistant, please take Miss Pastey Hiney to examination room 1.  I need to go get my surgical tools.
Uh, could someone please get the water logged DOG out of the examination room!  This is a sterile environment!  I don't need my patient getting upset!  Geesh!  Who is in charge of security around here?  Wha?!  THE DOG!  Oh, Moses smell the roses!  What has the medical world come to?  And the fly?  The fly on Mr. Assistant's arm?  Please.  People, is this a medical facility or a barnyard?  Huh?  What's that?  It's a barnyard?  Oh.  Then we're good.  Carry on.
Okay, Miss Pastey Hiney, let's take a look.  Mmm Hmm, just as I suspected.  Yes, your crapolotic has fallen out of your poopmoreola.  I'll get you fixed up in a jiffy.
I'm just going to clean you up.  You should just feel a little pressure and maybe a small pinch.  Isn't that what they all say instead of this is gonna hurt like hell?  
Now, I'm preparing the special ointment that was made by millions of tiny buzzing pharmacists.  

Just a dab'll do ya.

And now..... Spoink.  

Okay, I want you to stay quiet for a couple more days and you should work on preening your feathers a bit hon, you're looking a bit shabby and I don't mean shabby chic dahling.  And try to keep your pooper shooter inside your body, I don't want to see you back here tomorrow.

Goodness, this doctoring business really works up an appetite.  Now who wants chicken for dinner?

Squeezing Cherries

Today as I was admiring my flock of chickens I noticed one of the girls had a bit of a pasty hiney.

Oh boy I thought, I gotta look at that poor chicken's butt. So I caught her and carried her to the garden to have a look.
Her little bottom was covered with chicken sh*! and there's more. Lots more.
Her insides were NOT on the inside. They were dripping out of her poopy hole. Yes, they were.
Cripes. I didn't know what to do for her. Call a vet? Have chicken for dinner? It was a bit much. So I put her back in the coop and went inside to look in my chicken book for an answer.
But, my book didn't say anything about a chicken with it's guts hanging out of its pooper shooter. So, I waited until Clay came home so I could Google....like any good chicken owner would do.
Within minutes, I discover my little Buff Orpington had a prolapsed colon and the quick fix was to put some honey on the spot and shove it back inside. So, I went back out to the coop and with the assistance of Clay I cleaned her up with some warm water, slathered honey on her protruding colon and spoinked it back in where it belongs. I was wearing rubber gloves, if that helps your mental picture. I put her in isolation and hopefully she will be okay.
Now, who wants some cherry pie? Huh? Anyone? No? Not hungry? Okay, more for me.

BTW, that cookbook is one of my favorites and that pie was amazing!

Bok

Hello little chick-chick.

Could you sit right there and be my Easter decoration?  Little fuzzy chick.  This is a little fuzzy....chick.  I try hard to make my photos meaningful and poetic.  Right.

Ike with a bucket of chicken in ye old basement.  This makes the old saying, "Let's pick up a bucket of chicken while we're in town" not so appetizing.

Are you a rooster?  I'm thinking you might be a  Barred Rockin' rooster.

Chicks in their hot headquarters.  Hot chicks.  We have lots of hot chicks in our house. 

Hello little fuzzy chick.  Why don't you stay this cute?  Why do I have to wait six months for you to lay an egg?  You're really only good for producing fertilizer for six whole months.

Check out this chick.  Looky what's not on the photo...look closely, no date!  Yeah, uh-huh, that's right, can I get a 'You Rock April'? (so what if Clay grabbed my camera and fixed it, I was still in the room)  And how about that scarf?  Huh?  Yeah, my daughter said, "Why are you wearing that?  Are you going to where that out of the house?"  followed by a  lot of sighing and eye rolling.  She has issues with having such a cool mom.

Hit and Run

Seth found one of our chickens beside the coop yesterday, she was dead. I asked if she was attacked, he said that she was just laying there with her wings spread out a bit. I thought the poor thing might have died from heat exhaustion before she got to the water. Poor, poor chicken, whatever could have happened to her?

Then Clay came home and reminded me that I came barrelling down the drive way honking the horn yesterday. The chickens went a bit wacky and ran across the road just as I was passing the coop. "Could it be that you ran over a chicken yesterday?" Clay suggested with a tone of accusation.

I was involved in a hit and chicken run accident. I am guilty, I killed a chicken.

There has been no end to the imitations of me squealing down the drive way and gurgling chicken bocking from my husband and children. My sons also like to act out how the chicken must have been launched into the air making what obviously was rocket launching sounds to crash next to the coop with gurgling chicken bocking. Poor, poor chicken she didn't know what hit her or maybe she did and her dying bock was, "Whyeeeee? April, whyeeeeee? Brooooockgllggl, uhg."

Intruders!

For several weeks we have been dealing with three little furry creatures that make it their soul purpose to have nightly skirmishes in our garage. They eat all the cat food and then start growling at each other and tearing up anything they can get their little hands on. Sometimes, they wake me up in the middle of the night with their antics and then I wake up Clay hoping he'll go put an end to all the annoyance. Clay sits up in bed and scratches his whole body swears that he's seeing the ghost of his aunt's-nephew's-son's-wife and asks me "Do you see that, do you see that?!" then he flops back down and resumes his sleep and I lie awake less concerned about the wildlife in the garage and wondering if my husband is in fact in touch with another dimension.

Yesterday, I went to put my precious few chickens to bed. I locked them in the outside run and then I walked around to go inside the coop to collect the eggs. When I opened the door the girls started throwing an all out tizzy fit and several of them ran right back outside. I rushed back to look in the run to see one of our nightly visitors crawling up the wire! So, I cleared the rest of the chickens out and closed up the coop so he couldn't escape. I yelled to my daughter to get the camera.


Oh, My-Giddy-Up-Murray and Holly Crap Balls!!!! We caught a raccoon in the coop!



















I stood there watching that little sucker, contemplating how I would torture the chicken eating-cat food stealing-wake me up every night- furry punk.




















He nestled himself in the corner exposing his belly and panting like a dog. My children made loud exclamations that were not helping my evil thoughts of this creature's slow and painful death.

"He's sooooo cute! Look at that little face! Oh, he's scared, poor thing!" and the clincher.."Can we keep him?"




















I kicked the cage and said in my best Clint Eastwood voice, "I know who you are and I know what you've done. Don't try to act all innocent. You're going to die. Just as soon as my husband gets home. Any minute now. He'll be here soon and then you're history. Just a few more minutes. "

The raccoon decided it was going to be a long wait, so he got comfortable.



















And then he posed for a few close ups.





















When Clay finally arrived on the scene the raccoon and I were practically friends, but I told Clay to go get his gun anyway. After several minutes of prodding the raccoon with a shovel and pole and metal rod and then just opening all the doors in the coop, the intruder climbed out onto the roof and made a break for the woods.
















Look at that pose! He looks like he's been hunting for years. But, in reality this is the first time he's shot at a living animal. He got two shots at the raccoon and hit him both times, but not fatally. The raccoon ran down in his hole and we haven't seen him since. Clay's heart rate didn't drop back to normal for several hours.
















Hopefully the message has been sent; We will not tolerate cute woodland creatures killing the chikens or tearing up the garage, my husband has a gun, named Bessy no less, and he's only mildly afraid to use it!

I betcha...

never had a chicken flappin' around in your minivan trapped with your two little ones laughing their ever-lovin' heads off at the poor chicken panicking about where the heck the escape hatch is located!



*no chickens were harmed in the writing of this blog*

Eggcellent

The first egg.