Round peg, triangular hole...

Unexpected things sometimes happen when you have critters. Yesterday afternoon around dusk I went out to lock the chickens and ducks up, and check on everyone.  Celeste goat, along with the rest of the hoof stock, was hanging out by the hay rack.  We got the hay rack two years ago, and it's nifty. The goats like to stick their heads right between the bars while they eat. The horse sometimes snacks off the top, but mostly likes to drop her pretty head down and eat up all the stuff the goats spill.  There is a tray to catch some of what they scatter, and this whole system means less wasted hay.

Celeste was on the far end of the feeder,with her head through the bars, as it often is.  It did occur to me, for one brief instant, that she might be stuck.  However, she was standing quietly, eating, and I reminded myself that she and her sister goats had eaten from that rack thousands of times, uneventfully. Besides, if she were stuck she'd be hollering her fool head off.  I went inside, cooked and ate supper, and launched into a peaceful evening of surfing the net, watching a little TV, and hanging out with my sweetie.

5 hours or so later I went out with the dogs for "last call."  I admired the starry sky domed overhead, listened to the silence, and for the billionth time, thought about how lucky I am to live here.  Then I decided that even though there was plenty of hay in the rack, I'd be nice and toss a couple flakes of the second cut, special hay on top of the pedestrian hay that was lining the thing.  The critters approved, and dived into the my offering with gusto.  Though it was very, very dark, I stood near the fence and listened to the animals munch. The goats love the second cut hay so much they make "Mmmm" yummy noises when they eat. It's fun to listen to.

In the dim light, I noticed that Celeste was still standing exactly where she was when I was out last.  "Could she possibly be stuck?" I wondered.  She seemed unconcerned, eating and humming happily.  I couldn't go to bed without checking, so I walked across the yard and through the gate.  Bravo flew past me to smell all the smells in the pasture. I walked gingerly, because in the dark I couldn't see if there were hidden patches of ice.  The animals were surprised to see me there, and all came to greet me, except Celeste.  I stepped carefully to the end of the rack where she stood and gently pulled her neck to make sure it could slip through the bars. She resisted, reaching in to get more hay. I reached up and over the top and pushed her head, and she pushed back. "MORE HAY!" she insisted.  I pulled and pushed, she did the same.  I deduced that indeed, she was held fast. I was pretty sure that if I could lift her head up towards the top of the opening, and push her backwards at the same time, she'd be free. But she was fighting me at every turn.  There was just one thing to do.

Back across the pasture, through the gate, up onto the deck, into the house.  "Chris?" I called up stairs.  "Be right there," he said, that patient man.  I heard his feet hit the floor. I heard him put clothes on. He'd already been in bed, possibly asleep.  He kindly trundled down, willing to help at a moments notice.  "We have a stuck goat," I said.  "OK," he replied, putting on his big boots.  He never questioned.

I brought a flash light this time, so it was a little safer making our way out there.  Chris and I work well together, and he immediately sized up the situation. Without speaking he took one side and I took the other. I reached over the bars and lifted the goats stubborn, bony, head.  Chris got behind her and pulled.  I twisted her head a little, squished her ears in and POP, she was free. She looked unconcerned by the entire situation, and merely moved a little to one side and resumed eating.

Now this is a very pregnant goat. See how round her belly is on the right side?  If you place your hand just there you'd feel kicks and squirms. Imagine if she'd spent the whole night out there, stuck and standing there.  She pointed out a flaw in the design of our feeder.  Now we need to find a way to fix it. Unexpected things happen on a farmlette. But Chris' reaction is never a surprise.  He is always there to uncomplainingly back me up when things go wrong.

And then this happened...

When you have farm animals, you have animal feed. And when you have animal feed, you sometimes have rodent visitors.  I've been contemplating getting a "barn cat," for a few years.  We don't really have a barn, but we have a nice garage where a cat could live comfortably.  So, when I recently found out about two little kittens which were not being cared for properly and needed a home, I thought I'd give my idea a whirl.  First I went and met the kittens.

They are little things, 3-4 months old I'd guess. Very friendly boys. Next we stopped and bought things kittens need. A litter pan, kitty litter, toys. Lots of toys. A soft bed and a nice tote to tuck the bed into so they could have a cozy retreat.  Then we brought them home.

And because we are who we are, we popped them right into the bath tub. They were a little grubby.

We cuddled them in towels, and then fluffed them dry. And they were very good about all it.  

And then they were all clean and cuddly and sweet smelling.  

They are settling in nicely, being playful and purring up a storm.  Now they need names.  I hope they will be a positive addition to FairWinds, and eat lots of mice. 

Mother hen...

In late fall, when the days get shorter, many chickens cease to lay eggs.  They require a certain number of hours of light to keep their reproductive tract firing along. Many people put a light bulb on a timer in their coops to fake the birds out and keep some eggs shooting through the pipeline. We did that our first year or two of having chickens, but then I decided to let them rest as nature obviously intended.

Though we are still firmly in winters grip, the days are growing longer, and my hens have begun to lay a few eggs.  Two a day last week, then 3, and yesterday there were four brown eggs in the nest box.  It was good timing, too, because Chris, as he heaved 50 lbs. of chicken food into the back of the truck, was commenting on how expensive our home raised eggs are.  He had to hush when he realized the egg carton on the second shelf of the 'fridge was overflowing.

All of this gets me to thinking about mother hens.  In English, the term is used to describe someone who is mothering, especially in a fussy or overprotective way.  Growing up, my siblings and I often described our mother and maternal grandmother as being "mother hen's." Oh! They were worriers.

Having had the lovely opportunity to see actual chickens mothering their brood has been a delight.  Of course, some hens are better at raising chicks than others.  One especially devoted hen suddenly completely and utterly abandoned her 4 chicks when they were barely as big as my hand, and really too young and silly to be out and about without supervision.  But others seem to keep a special bond with their chicks well into adulthood.

A good mother hen will "set" on her eggs until all or most have hatched, then take her wee fluffy chicks to find food and water. She stays near the source of nourishment, letting the chicks eat, then fluffing her feathers and huddling over them to keep them warm.  After a few days, when they are stronger and have learned to stay near mama and listen to her voice, she will venture further afield. There is more activity, less resting.  I can't think of anything much cuter than seeing little chicks poking their heads out from under their mamas warm skirts. The hen keeps up an almost constant commentary when she has babies.  Sometimes the clucks are almost conversational, "Stay near me, little's, come along, scratch your feet in this nice dirt..." I imagine she is saying. Then there is an excited tone she makes that has the chicks running, "Here's a fat worm, a bug, some seeds!" There is also an emergency tone that has them running for cover, "HAWK! DOG! Unknown human! Come NOW!" The peeps dive for her underfloof, and vanish as she settles over them, muttering.  During the day, the babies converse back to her, as well, in shrill little peeps.  If one gets separated the volume turns up to an astounding level from such a small creature, and keeps going like a smoke detector until mama comes to rescue it. Even at night, when they are snuggled up and resting, one can hear sweet, soft, "peep, peep's" coming up from under the hens warm feathers, and she will answer with  soft, sleepy, reassuring clucks. "I'm here. All is well. Sleep now...."

When I see a biddy with her babies, so fragile and small, I understand why "mother hens" fuss and worry as they do. It's an awesome responsibility to raise a clutch of scrambling little peeps to adulthood. Every predator on the farm wants to eat chicken!  I feel a little sorry for teasing my own mother for her fussy ways, and realize I can't imagine what it was like to raise 5 kids and see them scatter as they grew beyond her careful control.