Original or Extra Crispy- Two Batches of Chicken

It seems that as soon as one family member recovers, we lose two more.  That has been the drill for the last 3-4 weeks in our house. The perpetual illness (and painfully slow Internet connection) prevents me from writing as often as I would like.  But so much has been happening, it would be criminal for me to not share it with the world at large.

I feel like everyone is growing up so fast. Annabelle is now able to sit in the stroller like a big girl without her carseat.  As a side note- as soon as Annabelle outgrows the carseat, I am going to hurl it off a cliff into a burning inferno of napalm...that is, of course, if my shoulder ever heals from carting it around for the last 6 months.  I was so excited to select a careseat that would allow Annabelle to use it until she reached 30 pounds.  No one bothered to tell me that I would not be able to carry her in it when she weighs 30 pounds.  Even at half that weight I am ready to hot glue some wheels onto it and carry it like luggage at the airport when I'm trying to catch my connecting flight. What was my point?

Growing up.  So Annabelle has become this little person who is thinking. I can just tell the wheels are always turning. She loves those dogs (the only reason they are still alive) and cannot take her eyes off of them. And just a couple of weeks ago, it was the dogs who elicited her first real giggle fit.

But she is not the only one who is growing up before my eyes, our 12 "practice" chicks have gotten so big as well.  They've gotten so big that last weekend we took them out of the brooder and turned them loose into their coop.  And much like Annabelle is acting like a little person, our chicks are acting like little chickens.

If anyone is curious what a dozen baby chicks sound like, I took the liberty of recording this little clip for you shortly after we turned them loose in the chicken coop (if you are unable to open it or play it I'm sorry).  And that's just 12 of them.  Imagine what they will all sound like.

We found ourselves in the quandry of having two batches of chickens on our hands.  So we had decided to release the first batch into the coop because we knew the babies were coming and I am so terrified of chicken cannibalism that I felt we had to separate them, and bryan agreed.  Despite what some people may say, I do want to help with the chickens whenever possible so while Annabelle was napping I went outside last Sunday to help Bryan get the coop ready, and get the brooder ready for the new baby chickens. 

check out that bedding!

As it turns out I am not very good at lifting heavy things, removing a door from it's hinges, constructing perches, carrying perches, etc.  So I volunteered to spread the bedding out on the floor of the coop. Bryan brought some straw home, so I opened the large garbage bag full of straw and began to dump it out on the coop floor.  And I as watched the large swirls of oat dust pool up around me in the enclosed space, it occurred to me that perhaps this was not the best job for a person with seasonal and environmental allergies.  Sneezing commenced almost immediately.  But I made the best chicken coop bedding mixture that I have ever seen. The chips and straw were evenly dispersed and those chickens LOVED it. I could tell.



Once we had turned the chicks loose in the coop I actually was slightly worried that it was too soon, that they weren't ready.  They didn't do much but huddle together. And as I stood in a chicken coop I realized that having baby chickens was not unlike worrying about Annabelle.  And then I worried that perhaps my life had taken a strange turn since I was standing in a chicken coop mentally adding bullet points to all the ways the baby chicks were like Annabelle.  I was at a work dinner last night and a friend commented on how long she had known me and never would have guessed my dinner conversation was going to be about chickens...that I owned.  How right she is. 



But last week I spoke to an old friend I hadn't spoken to in a few years and mentioned where I was at in my life, and what my goals were for me and for my family and he said "well that's what you always wanted."  And I started to think back to conversations I had in the past, and what my life was like before I moved to the city and I do think deep down, chickens and babies were in the plan somewhere.  Thankfully Bryan took a few hours off of working during his busy season a few years ago to track me down to get my plan moving. 

But once again, I digress.

So I was worried it was too soon to turn them loose but Bryan said it was fine.  We watched them huddle together, strategically placed their feed and water and then left the coop.  But Bryan is always thinking and once we were outside he pulled me around to the side of the coop where the window is and we peered inside to watch the chickens. And sure enough all of them were eating and drinking just fine.  Yet another moment where I stepped back and saw myself standing on railroad ties peeking into a chicken coop window...and being relieved 12 chickens were eating. Who am I?  Who did I become?



releasing the chickens into the coop

 I wish that I had pictures of how big the first batch 12 chickens are, but they grow so fast!  The picture of the chicks on the left was taken Sunday and I feel like they are much bigger than this now.   Which also means they are faster.  It was quite easy to coral one or two before when we had them out of the brooder, but now...well it's a little embarrassing.  You have to be quick. They are still too little to respond to any sort of "chick chick chick" call (though I am skeptical this will actually ever work) so basically to try and catch one of these chicks involves a lot of running in small circles and saying things like "Come on" or  "gotcha. dammit" or "little bastards." 



Although I suppose it's noteworthy to mention that there really isn't any real reason to catch and handle the chicks at this point, other than to pet them and squeeze them..and torment them. It is also a little fun to feed them the chicken crack out of your hand or place them on their perches etc.  But remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Perhaps we should stop monkeying with the chickens. Another minor setback with our chicks having freedom is that it is harder to protect them from Milton



Milton whining outside the coop door listening to the chicks run wild

Unfortunately Milton still has little bit of growing up to do when it comes to the chicks.  When we held one out for Bernie to sniff, Bernie did try to eat it. But he opened his jaws slowly and gingerly, while keeping one eye on us as if to say "Am I allowed to eat this?"  The other night when we took one of the new babies and let Milton "sniff" it, his jaws rapidly snapped over the chick's head.  Luckily after some shouting he released the baby who still had his head and beak attached to his body. I asked Bryan if he thought the chick was ok and he said "sure, he's fine."  I thought to myself  Once your head has been in another animal's mouth, are you ever really ok?

We got the bigger chicks situated in their coop just in time because Wednesday Bryan got "the call"and all 27 of our babies were chirping away in a box at the post office. I know that I explained this process a few posts ago so we do not need to rehash it.  But in case there is any confusion, the evidence below will show that they do just mail you a shoebox full of live chicks. 

I was relieved when Bryan told me they were all very much alive.  Interestingly enough, they did not send us any extra "just in case" chickens as their website indicated they would.  So we now have a total of 39 chickens. All still very much alive.  So much for bryan's 30 percent mortality rate theory. We are going to have 39 chickens...which is TOO MANY chickens.

I sit here listening to the tractor outside and I think about how my evening routine has evolved over the last several months. I thought the biggest change was when I was pregnant and could no longer drink (or function like a normal human), but it seems now it's even more different.  Usually the wind down begins with Annabelle's bath which, lately, is like giving a badger a bath.  And then we sing my powerful and moving rendition of Guns N Roses "Sweet Child O'Mine" a few times to aide in further winding down, and then after bottle, story, and tucking her in (if Bryan isn't here)I wash the dishes (or lie motionless on the couch recovering) until Bryan gets home from work and he and I crack open a couple of beers after Annabelle has fallen asleep and go out and check on all our chickens (I enjoyed this ritual more when it was 65 degrees).  Our two batches are divided up into "the big boys" and "the babies." And yes, at night time check in we torment all of them. Tonight we tormented the babies by picking a few of them up (after I insisted one of them was dying).  The big boys were tormented by Milton, who cannot seem to control himself.  

So they are all here and alive. Both batches, all 39 chickens.  Now Bryan and I have the responsibility of keeping them all alive.  I'm sure my bed-spreading will play an integral part in that project. I cannot wait until they are grown and pecking at the bugs in the yard and giving us numerous, tasty eggs!  And pretty soon they will not only have to fear the wrath of Milton...but Annabelle as well. By fall I would imagine she will be just as frightening to them as Milton is.

the new babies

Just the FAQs ma'am, baby chicks have arrived....

Well the day we have been waiting for finally arrived. Actually it arrived a week ago but once again illness overtook our household making it impossible for me to get excited about anything...even the baby chickens. Annabelle was still recovering from her ear infections when I came down with a fever last Thursday that lasted for almost 5 days.  There's really nothing wittyI can say about fevers or fever-related illness.  It was very unpleasant and I'm glad I'm feeling better.

But on Day 2 of my fever Bryan came home with what looked 3 Happy Meal boxes.  Contained in each of those boxes were 4 baby chickens.  He brought them in the house to show me (because I was too weak to go outside and walk all the way to the chicken coop) and set the boxes on the counter. I was amazed at how loud those baby chickens were, and how unsettling the sound of them pecking the inside of the boxes was.  Bryan took one out to show me but at that point I didn't want to hold one because I was worried they would get too cold, and quite frankly...I was sick and it just seemed like a lot of effort.

Our Chicken coop

Luckily Bryan works well under pressure and while Annabelle and I went to visit Nana (remember? when we were trapped in snowstorm like they were in the book Alive) and poppy a couple weeks ago, Bryan got the coop almost entirely completed and our brooder finished and ready to go.  So our baby chicks had a safe and warm environment to go to since their Happy Meal boxes weren't suitable.

I would like to point out that these were not the baby chicks that we ordered from the hatchery.  These were supplemental chickens because Bryan got very excited and impatient and didn't want to wait for our 3/26 chick delivery.  So if anyone is keeping track, by the end of March we will have at least 37 chickens (remember? the hatchery sends extra chicks just in case a few die in transit, so more chicks are possible).  I think almost 40 chickens is a bit excessive.

Because we were buying off the rack, we did not get a
choice in chicken breed from the retailer. So we have a mix of boys and girls and we most likely have Rhode Island Reds, Red Sex Links (or New Hampshire Reds we are unsure of what we got), and Anconas. I was surprised that as babies, they all pretty much look the same.  About half are yellow and half are a light brown with some patterns are their wings.  Right now it is difficult to tell who the boys are and who the girls are....though it is possible to figure out who is who, I have requested we just wait until they are bigger and can tell with a visual check.

So far the baby chickens are doing very well.  It is more than  a week later and we still have all 12.  I think we have been lucky though because we are having frighteningly unseasonably warm weather in Wisconsin this week and next.  It has been in the high 70's all week. I think baby chickens prefer that to the normal March temperatures we have.  They are getting used to us, more so Bryan than me and are not quite as frightened when we enter the coop now.  I am sure everyone is wondering what my role is in caring for the baby chickens has been. I will answer that question.  It has been minimal.  HOWEVER I am not taking responsibility for my lack of involvement.  Bryan designed the brooder just like he hangs pictures and wall hangings...he did it for a tall person.  I cannot reach the bottom of the brooder, and therefore cannot reach the feeder, the waterer, or the chicks themselves.  We have discussed getting some sort of step stool for me, but we might as well just wait until they're bigger. 

Me, delerious with fever, crushing a baby
chick

Chicken care has been relatively easy (for Bryan)  we check on them in the morning, after work, and before bed to make sure they are warm enough.  Incidentally, the heat lamp is red because it helps prevent cannibalization..something I didn't realize would be a concern.  It has led me to wonder if while they are pecking the bejesus out of one another if they are saying to their friends "Hey, tastes like chicken." 

They are getting big very quickly and are starting to fling all their bedding everywhere.  Thankfully they are in the coop and not in the house.  We feed them chicken starter and ground up oats and cornmeal, which they LOVE.  One of them was eating it out of my hand.  We're trying to get me more accustomed to the chickens, it seems I spook easy (I refer you to my post about the cow that charged Annabelle and I).  I can't help but fear they are going to [eck out my eyes. Truthfully I am also slightly afraid I am going to squish them while I am holding them.  So each day I try to hold them and get them more used to me...and me more used to them.

So now I'm going to take this opportunity to answer some of the chicken questions I have gotten.  Once again I need to provide the disclaimer that I am not attempting to be a chicken expert.  I am answering these chicken questions in the way that I understand them, and in case you haven't figured this out, I am not a scientist.

FAQs I get when I mention we are attempting to raise chickens:

1.  Will you get eggs if you only have girl chickens?

       a:  yes.  we do have boy chickens (aka roosters aka cockerels), but you don't need boys for eggs.

           hens will lay eggs whether there are boys are not.

2.  Will you get baby chickens if you have boys?

      a: WE will not.  The only way you will  get baby chickens is if you allow the hen to sit on the egg

          for 28 (I think) days.  If you collect the eggs every day it doesn't matter if it's fertilized or not. 

          Because we are potentially going to have 37 chickens, we are not interested in breeding any

          more just yet.

3.  What color eggs will you have?

      a: brown.  and that's because we selected breeds that lay brown eggs...except for maybe Anconas. I

          think those might be white. 

4.  Is there a difference between brown and white eggs?

     a:  no.  Fresh eggs have slightly more yellow and more dense yolk, and their flavor may be slightly

          different (in theory better than) than store bought/commercially farmed eggs because we won't 

          be using a hormones or chemicals and our eggs will essentially be organic.

5.  Will you eat the chickens?

     a:  Yes. some of them.  37 chickens make a lot of eggs.  And we will most likely end up with a few

           too many roosters.

6.  Will you (meaning me) help butcher the chickens you eat?

     a:  what do YOU think?  no. probably not.  I would like to be the type of farm wife who is able to

          pluck and slaughter a chicken, but realistically I don't think I have the stomach (or knife skills)

         to do it.  Although I am getting to be quite handy with the .45, and as you may or may not recall

        shooting a chicken with a handgun is an acceptable method of butcher.

7.  Where do they live, eat, sleep, etc?

     a:  right now the chickens are in a brooder that Bryan built. It has their heat source, water, food,

          room to scratch and Bryan also built a little jungle gym for them to roost on and we placed some

          large bricks for them to roost (and poop) on too. It has a lid with wire mesh to keep them

          inside when they get bigger, and there's a thermometer inside so we can monitor the temperature

          inside.

Our brooder...with Annabelle inside testing it out. Because that's
what you do when you have a baby...put her in the brooder.

8.  When will you have eggs?

     a: Late July/Early August.  It depends on the breed but it should be in about 16 weeksish.

9.  Where do the chickens go after they outgrow the brooder?

     a:  the coop.  We had a freestanding building that Bryan turned into a coop.  The building itself

          was in okay condition, Bryan just put in windows (for ventilation and light), added an 

          inside wall to make it easier to keep warm, insulated it and then added some nest boxes and

          perches.  Our chickens will also be outdoors during the day.  Bryan still has to complete 

          their little doggy door, ramp, and fenced in area.  Chickens are creatures of habit and once

          they are used to their little fenced in area (and we are certain Milton will not eat them) 

          hopefully they can just roam free on our property.  They help keep the bug population 

          down.      

Coop in early construction

Nest boxes and perches

 I believe this concludes the question and answer portion of our discussion today.  Feel free to leave comments if you have additional questions. I can try to answer them in my non-scientific, non-official capacity.

Delivery of our next batch of chicks is around March 26.  I'm terrified these 12 chicks are going to attack and terrorize our new baby chicks when they arrive.  Bryan is brainstorming a way to separate the chicks. Originally we didn't think it would be an issue but the chickens are now wild with their flinging and flapping...a bit too rowdy a crowd for new babies.  Speaking of which, it seems Annabelle is too rowdy for our baby chicks as well.  When we pick one up and hold it near her she gets very excited and turns into Baby Huey and tries to snap a wing or neck off.  Now that she has part of a tooth poking out we need to be cautious that she doesn't think it's a McNugget.  Surprisingly Bernie also thought the baby chicks were a midday snack.  Bryan held one out for Bernie to sniff and right away he opened his mouth and tried to eat it.  Perhaps we should stop pulling these chicks out and trying to "introduce" them to our dogs and baby. 

Thanks to Nana, Annabelle has a chicken she cannot murder

Commutisms: Weekend Edition-Family Fails

A short-lived snowstorm that cut through portions of La Salle, Bureau, Putnam and Lee counties on Friday afternoon caused multiple traffic accidents, including a major one on Interstate 39 near Compton.
“It was rain that turned to slush and then turned to ice,” said Dean Ege, Mendota’s assistant fire chief.
While Mendota and Troy Grove firefighters assisted with a two-vehicle accident south of the city on Route 251 with no serious injuries, towing businesses from Mendota and surrounding areas were kept busy at multiple-vehicle accidents that occurred around 3:30 p.m. to the north on I-39.
For roughly four hours, traffic was at a near standstill as emergency personnel and tow truck drivers attempted to clear more than one accident scene between mile markers 79 and 82.
Although police were too busy Friday night to issue reports, Carol Ramer of Ramer Automotive and Towing said the backup apparently began when a semi hit a car and jackknifed, which then led to further cars and trucks stopping to avoid the crash, sliding into roadside ditches or crashing into other vehicles.
“Nobody can go anywhere, emergency personnel can’t go anywhere because people are parked all over the place,” Carol Ramer said at about 5:30 p.m.
Since temperatures weren’t cold enough to freeze the ground, conditions in the median and ditches along the interstate were a “soggy mess,” she said.
Ramer said state police had even called her looking for four-wheel drive vehicles to use to access the scene. The driver of Ramer’s semi-wrecker had to carefully back onto I-39 from the ramp at U.S. 34 because the road was so blocked.
“It was a junkyard,” said Paul Ramer of Ramer Automotive and Towing.
  (Courtesy of The News Tribune-LaSalle/Peru, IL)

On Friday Annabelle and I happened to find ourselves at mile marker 81 just in time to sit on interstate 39 for at least 2 hours. This was fail number three of this week. This came after believing Annabelle had been teething all week, only to learn she in fact was not teething but had a double ear infection.  Let's call that fail number one.  So I mentioned to the pediatrician that we had a trip to Nana's house planned this weekend and asked if it was okay to take her.  The pediatrician said "absolutely" and said a long nap in the car would do her some good (though I don't think she meant a 6 hour nap which was how long the trip actually ended up taking).  Whew! We hate to cancel Nana trips.  Then suddenly it seemed we were under a winter storm advisory for Friday, the day I was going to travel. 

To travel or not travel? That was the big question.  Bryan ultiatenmly gets to be the one who decides if we travel or not.  I have never exhibited any sort good judgement or decision-making skills in ANY scenario so we let bryan make any major decisions in our house.  He determined it would be safe to travel because his scar did not itch.  Fail number two.  I altered his decision and took the afternoon off of work believing IF any weather did occur, I would certainly beat it to Illinois.

I was wrong.

I missed the bad weather in Wisconsin for the most part but hit some horrible situation in Illinois, approximately 40 miles north of my destination.  I ended up stuck on the interstate behind what turned out to be a few multiple vehicle accidents.  The crappy part about accidents on the interstate in the snow?  There is never just one.  Once I was sitting on the southbound side, stuck...I noticed that the traffic had stopped on the northbound side as well.   It seems the distraction of the accident on our side caused a few more semis to jackknife on the northbound side, shutting the northbound side as well.  And then when I looked in my rear view mirror to see how far traffic was backed up, I saw that just behind me there were at least two semis that had also lost control of their trailers and now I was sandwiched between 3 accidents completely blocking any chance of getting out of it. On top of it, it was still snowing heavily therefore covering the interstate with snow. And I had Annabelle in the back, sick.  Fail number...four? Or does that count as two?

I wasn't really panicking because in the car I had enough supplies to keep us alive for a few days.  Clothes, blankets, baby food, diapers, formula (and natures formula), water, toys, books, phone, phone charger, and a full tank of gas.  This really wasn't that big of deal.  But when you sit in a car on the interstate watching both the interstate and all the vehicles parked on it get covered with snow, it starts to feel like a big deal...who doesn't remember the Donner Party? Thankfully Annabelle doesn't have any teeth yet.  But being stuck in bad weather with a sick baby, it kind of  and it makes you start to feel like a shitty mom.

With Annabelle sound asleep, my guilt was temporarily eased.  But the other thing I did not consider was a bathroom. After being in the car for about 5 hours (so far one of which had been spent sitting in park on I-39, I wondered what to do in that situation. Do I go in the ditch?  Do I open both car doors and pee between them? I think people would have suspected something was up when they saw a pair of pants on the ground between two car doors, wouldn't they?  I decided the best thing to was ignore it and wait until it was an emergency. And if worse came to worse...I did have Annabelle's diapers.

I decided a good thing  to do in that situation is to get out and make friends with truck drivers. They seem to have their shit together. I spoke to the driver next to me and he was able to tell me what had happened, approximately how far we were from an exit, and what mile marker we were located at.  When I stopped a fireman on foot walking he told me we would be sitting there for at least two hours. I said "But i have a baby in the car." and he said "The best thing to do is watch your gas gauge. If you think you're running low, turn the car off."  Do firemen receive formal training? I think I could have figured that out on my own. I wanted to call after him "Do you want me to feed her gasoline?" but I didn't because the small part of my brain that uses logic reminded me that I had 3 days worth of supplies in the car.  But like I said, when all you can see is snow, and you can't move...you start to go a little buggy. Even after an hour.

So my next conversation occurred with the driver of the truck behind me. He too thought we would be there a while. I also told him I had a baby in the car, as if one of these people would say "A baby? Well here, take this secret underground tunnel out of here."  This driver seemed to sense that I was starting to lose my grip and kindly offered me several Slim Jims.  He also said that plenty of milk in his truck for my baby (I didn't want to hurt his feelings and explain babies cannot have cows milk) which I thought was very nice. I felt I could identify and trust this man so I blurted out "I have to pee really bad."  and he said I could pee in front of his truck, between his truck and my car and no one would see, and then he handed me a wad of paper towels.  How kind!  As I reluctantly made my way to the front of his rig and contemplated peeing in the middle of the interstate amongst dozens of other vehicles I saw a fireman approaching vehicles and directing them to move.  I think that would have probably been near the top of embarrassing moments, peeing on an interstate in front of a semi having a  fireman approach me and tell me to move my vehicle.  Bullet-dodged.

I got back in my vehicle, moved per the fireman's instruction, only to sit and wait again.  When all was said and done I spent 2 hours sitting on the interstate wondering if I was going to have to eat a fellow traveler to survive.  When we were finally moving again I couldn't help but notice how many semis and vehicles were in the median just before and after this accident. It was as if no one was able to stop suddenly.  I have never seen anything like it. There were cars and trucks all over the place.

And while I got my vehicle back up to speed and reassured Annabelle she wasn't going to perish in the blizzard, I wondered what the acceptable amount of time to be stranded is before one can freely urinate on the interstate. I normally do not turn into Gloria Steinem, but I do think public urination is an area where men have it made. I think if a man would have peed along the interstate while we are all parked there, no one would have had an issue with it. But had I done it? Well, people would have been disgusted on thought I was a savage.  Oh well, I simply had to make it 40 more miles without peeing my pants and I would consider that a success.

I also pondered my mom fails of  this week.  100.3 fever and fussy? Must be teething.  Or perhaps a raging ear infection I ignored.  Storm advisory and potential blizzard? Perfect time to tkae a road trip! But after doing a little investigating I learned I wasn't the only one to make these types of bad mom decisions.

My mom told me that when she was four and a half she told her mom (my Grammie) that she had a tummy ache. Grammie told her that she probably had her underpants on backwards.  When it turned out my mom had her underpants on  correctly, Grammie insisted that she just didn't want to eat Chop Suey. That evening my mom's appendix ruptured.

My Grandma DeSalvo used to put my dad in the baby buggy on the porch in the winter and put some blankets over him so the snow wouldn't pile up on him.

And because I am equal opportunity whistle-blower,  I will also mention that Bryan's mom said that when Bryan's brother was five he kept complaining that his tooth hurt and she just assumed it was because he didn't want to go to preschool. Weeks later when he finally went to the dentist, he needed a root canal.

My mom told me about the time Uncle Wally (my great uncle) and her dad were attempting to shoot the air-rifle and didn't think it was working, So my Uncle Wally put his finger over the barrel of the gun, and as it turns out, it was in fact working. At the hospital the nurse asked Wally how old he was and he said "Old enough to know better."  As a result of that injury Uncle Wally's fingernail fell off which he put glitter on and made into a necklace and gave it to my mother for Christmas.

And when my sister was little they used to yell at her for sitting too close to the tv all the time. Turns our she was legally blind.

And when I was little I used to get in trouble for not listening.  Turns out after a hearing test, I really couldn't hear and needed tubes in my ears.

And of course when I was home one evening under my father's care I came up from my bedroom to complain that I was hot, so my dad cut the feet off of my footie pajamas (I'm told this type of garment alteration occurred in Bryan's house as well).

Bryan's dad told me a story that Matt and Bryan were outside and Bryan came in the house and got a knife. It turns out Matt was outside playing in the tree with a rope and ended up getting the rope caught around his leg and hanging upside down from the tree and Bryan had to cut him down.  Bryan corroborated the story but said that Matt had climbed the tree and tied the rope to himself as a safety precaution, and Bryan had come in to get the knife to cut him down.  So Bryan alleges this was not in fact a parental fail as Matt clearly had a safety plan in place. 

So I suppose I can rest well knowing that for Annabelle, being in a car for 6 hours wasn't much different than being asleep in her swing or laying on the blanket eating dog hair for the afternoon.  I suppose worse things will happen to Annabelle on my watch.

The good news is that Annabelle finally got to eat her Avocado. And I believe Nana has started her own Annabelle's Avocado plant as well.


Mmmm....



They're Not Hatched, but I'm Counting Them Anyway

Annabelle's chickens have been ordered, and in just a few weeks the chicks will be here. Since the inspiration of this blog is based on chickens, I thought it would be a worthwhile exercise to share each step of our chicken journey. Because, as my previous post The Little Match Rooster taught us...there is simply a lot about chickens I didn't know so I'm certain I'm not alone.

DISCLAIMER: I am not pretending to be a chicken expert.  Any chicken stories, input, advice, knowledge, etc. that I share is strictly from the point of view of a novice (aka moron) and is by no means instructional.  So if you know more than I do about chickens and raising chickens, please do not get upset with me. If this was an educational blog about chickens who would want to read it? That's no fun.  This is the blog of a woman who has no business doing HALF the things I do...and sharing it with a small group of curious people.

 If anyone reading this blog thinks any of the content is "How To" then they are most definitely in real trouble.

So begins the adventure that will be Annabelle's Chickens...

Let's pretend the first step in chicken ownership is selecting a breed. I do not know if that is really  the first step, but that was OUR first step. I'm guessing smarter people probably decide how many chickens they want and then actually make sure they have a functioning brooder and coop before actually purchasing chickens, but that's not how Bryan and I do things.  So....the first step is selecting a breed.

We knew we wanted laying hens (for eggs), and we wanted brown eggs.  We preferred they also be tasty in the event we have to thin out our flock, and we knew we wanted chickens with a good temperament so Annabelle can play with them (and so they do not peck out my eyes when I feed them which has started to make me a little anxious).  Because we live in Wisconsin, we also needed birds that were cold-hardy.  So after much research in my chicken book, the internet, and our spring edition of Chickens magazine we arrived at two breeds: Buff Orpington and Black Sex Link (or Black Star..or as I call it Black Sexter or as my mom calls it Black Sexy).

Buff Orpington

According to our

hatchery's website: Orpingtons are fluffy, sweet chickens. The Buff is a gorgeous, rich, golden color. Buff Orpingtons are excellent dual purpose chickens, as they will grow to a good, heavy table weight, but are also productive egg layers. You can expect between 175 and 200 eggs per year from one Buff Orpington hen. Orpingtons are known to be docile, sweet birds. Aside from their practical aspects, they make good pets.
Due to their weight, Orpingtons do not tend to be flighty and are easily contained. And, because of their feathering, they can withstand cold weather. There are many reasons for the Orpingtons’ continued popularity, both here and across the world.
Average Mature Weight: 5-8 pounds


Black Sex Link / Black Star

Also from our chicken supplier: Black Sex-Links are produced using a Barred Rock as the mother and Rhode Island Red Males.The Laying ability of this cross is phenomenal, you can expect to see eggs as early as 15 weeks of age. They are planned crosses, which are hardier and more productive than their parents' respective breeds. The Sex Link Hybrid is the result of crossing two purebred standard breeds. This hybrid makes for very vigorous chicks, rugged brown egg laying hens and good cockerel fryers.

So while there is a crazy amount of chicken breeds, we decided on Buff Orpingtons and Black Sexters.  Choosing the breed was the easy part.  You also have to decide if you want them "sexed" or not.

Chicken sexing was a lengthy conversation Bryan and I had  a few months ago in early chicken discussions. I don't really know where to begin with sexing, or how much info on chicken sexing is too much.  Basically determining a chick's gender is called sexing.  Bryan went into great detail how chickens are sexed, and all I will say about that is that it is worth the extra money you have to pay to get the gender of your choice.  So we deiced to get a "straight run" of Black Sex Links which means we get what we get..boys and girls.  I asked Bryan if he has to sex them, and he said no.  He claims that in a few weeks you can tell by looking at them who the boys are and who the girls are. Just add "chicken sexing" to the list of things I never thought I would be talking about.

There are some other things to consider when purchasing chickens.  When you order chicks from hatchery they ship them to you via the US Mail.  There are, of course, places you can purchase live chicks but we found this to have the best selection, best pricing, and best live delivery guarantee.  Now you may be asking yourself  "What's a 'live delivery guarantee?'" and I am here to inform you it is exactly as it sounds.  They guarantee that you will receive 90% of your order...alive. I hope Mrs. Church is reading this because not only did she have a number of chicken questions, we are about to get into a serious mathematical equation and since she was my 6th grade math teacher, I will need her to check my math.

We ordered 27 chickens.  The hatchery guarantees 90% of our order will arrive alive.  10% of 27 = 2.7.   That means if more than 2.7 chickens are D.O.A., we get a refund for the dead chicks. Right? WRONG.  It is a LIVE delivery guarantee.  So you have to count the number of live chickens you receive. As it turns out, they toss in a few extra chicks expecting that some will not survive the trip. So you have to count the number of live chickens you have, because you are actually getting more chickens than you ordered.  So, let's start again.  

We ordered 27 chickens. 90% of our order will arrive alive. That means we need to have 24.3 chickens alive in the box when it arrives.  What I would like to know is how do I determine if .7 of a chicken is living or dead?  If only 24 are alive, doesn't that mean that I am entitled to a refund of .7 of a chicken?  I don't know.

Really all of this math is irrelevant because what it means is that in a a couple of weeks there is a good chance I will come home to a box containing up to 2.7 dead chickens in it and that is moderately disturbing.  Sadly, I am learning this is all part of "farm living."  27 chickens is a lot of chickens (and most assuredly a lot of eggs), but Bryan is planning for a 30% mortality rate.  We expect some to perish in our homemade brooder due to chick disease (of which there are plenty), the cold weather may take a rooster (or at least part of their combs), and while I am embarrassed to admit it...we expect Milton to be responsible for some chicken deaths as well. Obviously every effort will be made to prevent such a massacre but...well...it's Milton. What can I say?

I spent a good portion of my evening last night reading up on chick care and how to properly raise your chicks (Bryan has extensive chicken knowledge,but I feel I should be educated as well) and I am still convinced that caring for an infant is easier than caring for a puppy or chickens.  Milton was far more challenging than Annabelle is, and now these chicks seem to require a great deal of care and attention.  For example, did you know that when you approach your brooder full of chicks you shouldn't approach from the top???  This is how predators swoop down on baby birds, so it is traumatic to baby chicks for me to come stomping in from above.  Stress is responsible for many chick deaths.  According to my chicken book the "polite" thing to do when approaching your brooder is to sing or hum to let them know you are coming.  These are things I did not count on when I suggested we get chickens.

 When I expressed my concerns to Bryan about our ability to properly care for these chicks for 4-5 weeks his response was "Honey, it's not that big of a deal. Chicks are really loud though, they're going to drive you nuts."  Apparently he thinks I am going to be bothered by the noise chicks make. What kind of monster is bothered by the sweet chirping and cheeping of baby chicks???  It's not like they're going to be in the bed with us. It certainly cannot  be worse than Milton's toenails scrambling across the floor when Bryan puts his boots on. And for someone who has to construct both a brooder AND an entire chicken coop this weekend, he is being awfully cavalier about the responsibility of owning chickens.

I told Bryan we need to go on a vacation because I am SO excited about these damn chickens it is all I can think about. Last night we had a beer to celebrate "Chicken Order Day" and it has been all I've been able to think or talk about (aside from Annabelle's teething which only permitted 4 hours of sleep last night, that has crossed my mind a time or two as well). That reminds me...if we go on vacation we now need someone to fill the woodstove, take care of the dogs, and now...feed the chickens. Crap. I really didn't think this through.  At any rate, I am so excited for our chickens to arrive.  And I can't lie, I get slightly emotional when I think that spring is just around the corner and we've already ordered the chicks. It seems like it was just a couple days ago when I was on maternity leave (God, I miss being on maternity leave), sitting in my brand new kitchen, surrounded by boxes, while preparing for Thanksgiving dinner and planning for Annabelle's Chickens.  She's almost 6 months old already and the chickens will be here soon. I can't believe it. I'm so excited for eggs and I'm excited to hear our very own roosters crowing in the morning.

But...always remember what my Grandma DeSalvo said about roosters, you have to watch out because they have those hard little peckers.

Annabelle's Avocado Plant - Day 9

Orange you glad I didn't say Avocado?

Clearly I have been unable to keep up with the demands of life and my blossoming writing career this week. In an attempt to make up for it, I am hoping to post twice today. Once during morning coffee, and once before bed. The second post will be dependent upon my ability to remain awake past 9:00pm. I don't want to combine the happenings of the last two weeks with the weekend outings and fun because, well... how much longer can these posts get before people lose interest completely?

Illness visited the farm over the last two weeks. Annabelle got her first cold, which I think we all handled very well. There was some confusion in the wee hours of the morning two Saturdays ago as to whether or not she had a fever.  I have decided that my thoughts on taking a baby's temperature are very similar to my thoughts on laundering, folding, storing, and putting on of baby socks.  The whole process needs improvement and accuracy is often sacrificed for my own sanity.

While I was certain Annabelle had a fever, I later realized the 101.3 temperature I believed she had was most likely due to operator error and was probably the reading from MY temperature from my last week of pregnancy.  Either way, a little Children's Tylenol wasn't going to kill her.  All I know is that there are many ways to take a baby's temperature but there is then a series of complicated to mathematical equations to arrive at her "true temperature."  So we put all the thermometers away and decided she had a cold and would most likely live.

Unfortunately Annabelle shared her cold with Bryan and I. Poor Bryan.  Since I have known Bryan, he has almost never gotten sick.  And after Annabelle and I joined him out here on the farm, he's been sick frequently.  I told him that Annabelle and I are like the Europeans discovering the New World and introducing disease to the American Indians.

Annabelle's cold lingered for about a week and a half. She does seem to be more aware of the world around her now. Annabelle HATES having her nose and face wiped.  The most traumatic part of her cold for her was having me constantly running after her with a Kleenex or washcloth to wipe her nose and face. She would scream and behave as though I was wiping her face with a gasoline-soaked rag.  So when I would blow my nose she would stare at me in utter amazement of the fact that I was not only tolerating the Kleenex on my face, but that I seemed relieved it was there.  Let the life lessons begin for Annabelle.

Along the lines of sickness, Bryan and I took ill as well. On top of our horrible colds, last Sunday we were the victims of food-poisoning.  Now I am told there is also a stomach flu circulating, and I suppose it is possible that was our affliction.  All I know is that last Sunday night Bryan made a wonderful dinner of grilled salmon, grilled asparagus, and wild rice. One hour and forty three minutes after finishing our dinner Bryan looked over at me and said "You look purple. Are you okay?" and I said "Well...I think so." knowing that I did NOT feel okay but did not want to hurt his feelings.  And then he asked again and I admitted that I did not feel so great and Bryan said "Neither do I." Two hours after that conversation that we were both scrambling for the one bathroom in our home...which is where both of us spend the next 12-16 hours. And after all of the violence of our illness ended we were left weak and dehydrated, unable to move...taking turns moaning and caring for our sweet Annabelle who remained unaffected by whatever was slowly killing her parents.

What no one tells you when you have a baby is that when you are sick you still have to take care of your baby. She will not go lay quietly in her room and read a novel while you lie on the bathroom floor begging your loved one to go get the .45 and put you out of your misery.

Another thing no one tells you is that when you are sick and the very idea of food makes you scramble for the bathroom (insert dog toenails on hardwood floor sound here) to heave into the toilet until your eyes are black and blue, you still have to feed your baby pureed Rutabagas.  I am lucky to have Bryan, he is much better in combat than I am, and he fed Annabelle her breakfast in the morning when we were still the the throws of the illness.  Later though, when it was my turn, and I grabbed that little frozen cube of Rutabaga..it took 3 seconds for me to say "No Rutabagas tonight, Annabelle. You're getting Pears."

I was  not so lucky either when I drew the short straw and had to go the nearest grocery store when we ran out of baby formula that night. I got in my car after spending hours throwing up, not bathing, no food or water for over 15 hours and drove my vehicle, delirious, to the nearest grocery store to get baby formula.  I pointed out to Bryan that if we lived in the city  the CVS pharmacy was 4 blocks away and I had friends that lived within minutes who would have helped us.  He wasn't interested in this information...and I still had to go to the store. Once I got to the store I had to go to the service counter where they keep the formula locked up. By the time I figured this out (actually I didn't figure out until after I grabbed a young stock boy by the elbow and sputtered "Baby Formula?" and he shakily pointed to the counter) I had passed the deli twice and was now dripping with sweat trying to keep myself from gagging and heaving while I asked for one can of formula.

When the manager handed it to me slowly, mostly likely trying to ascertain if I was a heroin addict attempting to steal formula to sell on the streets for drug money, I realized that Bryan bought the fish at this store.  So there I stood, dripping with sweat, braless, stinking of sick and God knows what else, in an orange sweatshirt that said CLINTONVILLE with the neck cut out of it (ala Flashdance), black yoga pants, Ugg slippers, and for good measure...fingerless gloves.  "Excuse me, I think you should know I look like this because my husband and I got food poisoning from salmon we bought from your store 2 nights ago."  The narration was met with a blank stare and silence.  This shrewd businesswoman was employing a sales tactic I learned early in my career.  Silence. People will always want to fill silence, so what did I do ? I kept talking.  "I mean, I think you should probably go check what is left and make sure no on else gets sick."  The woman smiled and said "Well I've never heard of such a  thing, what did you put it in?"  I couldn't begin to understand what she was talking about. "The Grill," I was incredulous, "We put it on the grill."  and she was still confused "But what did you cook it in?"  I lost my patience at this point. I was sick, sweating, and fed up with this country bumpkin not knowing what grilled salmon was. "Salmon. Grilled Salmon. Haven't you ever heard of grilled salmon?" I snapped.  She smiled and started giggling, "Oh, I thought you said CINNAMON."  it was at that point I sighed, took my receipt and my can of formula and left the Piggly Wiggly so I could return home to the couch.

The next day I was still unable to function normally and still hadn't eaten. But on the counter I had 3 ripened Avocados that was intended for Annabelle's dinner that day.  I personally do not care for avocados, or guacamole.  But I have made it my mission to make sure Annabelle tries a wide variety of fruits and vegetables, especially ones I don't like.  And avacados have a number of health benefits. 

Since I don't like them, I have no idea how to prepare them or what they are supposed to look like.  We tried to make her avacados a few days earlier and could barely cut it open, nor could we we mash it with a fork which everyone said you could do.  I did some googling and still couldn't figure out what the hell this thing was supposed to look like.  So, thankfully, I have a good friend and coworker who I knew would not make fun of me for being avocado-stupid.  And I still give myself credit for not just chucking it in the garbage and saying she didn't need avacados.  I packed it up along wit a knife and a container and brought my avocado to work.  I left it on the desk of a coworker and sent her an email that simply said "When you have time..."

She immediately informed me that my avocado was nowhere near ripe and that I needed to put it in a paper bag on the counter for a few days. I told her I had been keeping them in the fridge and she said they are like bananas and they won't ripen in the fridge.  I explained that I had these avocados in my possession for two weeks already and couldn't believe it wasn't ripe yet. I also couldn't believe that as a grown woman with a college education and a baby and had no idea what a ripe Avocado was supposed to look like.

As an interesting side note, the next day Bryan and I happened to watch an episode of "Good Eats" called  Apple Family Values which was all about apples.  We learned that apples give off more gas (pectin) than other fruits, so if you ever want to quickly ripen your other fruits or vegetables, you just place them in a bag with an apple, or place them near and apple and they will speed ripen.  And as it turns out...it works and the avocados were ripe...just in time for me to prepare them while recovering from food poisoning.

Basically, I attempted to fork mash the avocados in advance, early in the morning so they would be ready for Annabelle's dinner that night.  Had I been able to add a little formula (or breastmilk) to them I think things would have been ok.  But I couldn't do that in advance, so I decided to puree the avocados in the blender like I do with her other foods and then just store them in the fridge. 

I happen to have a high-end commercial grade blender.  It cost more than one of my car payments and I purchased it from QVC while I was 8 months pregnant and hormonal deciding it would be the perfect appliance to make her babyfood with. As it turns out, I was right, but this blender is very loud and scary and sounds like a fighter plane landing in the kitchen.  I scraped the avocados in and switched it on...only to watch it fling the 3 avocados to the sides of the blender.  To remedy this problem I added liquid. I used some of the steamer water from the peaches I just made for her.  It seemed to help, so I continued to add more liquid.  By the time I was done and satisfied with the consistency of these avocados, I had successfully made avocado whipped topping for Annabelle.  I have no idea what happened, but these 3 avocados were the consistency of cool whip when I was done.

Again, I do not care for avacado.  And while they do not have a particularly strong fragrance, there is something very wrong about seeing them in cool whip form.  I grabbed a spatula and started to scrape them into her little containers and felt the bile start to rise in my throat.  "You can do this." I told myself.  I was determined that Annabelle will like all the foods I do not like.   But I was not convinced a whipped avocados were a good first food for Annabelle.  I decided I would let her daddy decide when he got home.  if he couldn't stomach them, well then they would go in the garbage chalked up to another lesson I learned that week.

When Bryan surveyed the avocado whip he determined the constinacey was probably not ideal for her new little mouth just yet. But of course, me being me, I left them in the fridge just in case. I learned that avocados are similar to bananas in two ways, they need to be left out to ripen...and they will turn brown if you leave them out too long.  Needless to say Annabelle did not get to try her avacados last week, and it will be a while before I try them again.

Before I leave you with you I will share one more positive outcome of the avacado and two weeks of sickness.  My friend and coworker who helped me understand how avocados work told me that when she was in college she and her roommate would use the avocado pit to grow a plant.  I was disappointed to learn that they will not in fact yield and avacado, but it will grow a nice plant.  So that is exactly what I decided to do.  I'm not a plant person and I'm not an avacado person, but here is day one of Annabelle's avocado plant.

Day 1

When Good Cows Go Bad: Tales of Winter Boredom

It's been a busy week.  The activities and corresponding exhaustion have been endless.  We've been very lucky for a number for a number of reasons, mostly for an unseasonably warm winter here in Wisconsin.  I love that it has been 45-50 degrees and I don't care if the impending apocalypse is causing this climate change, I will sign up for 45 degree winters any day. 

I have learned this week what types of things I can do to entertain guests out here in the country.  I am hoping the warmer spring and summer months will attract more visitors, but I am fortunate enough to have a small handful of friends who wanted to make the trip out here in the winter. Last weekend my best friend Emily and her fiance Barry came to visit for the weekend.  Luckily they are easy to please and were not at all bothered by the random activities we planned. Friday night we simply grilled pizzas and the boys watched Emily and I drink two bottles of wine, easily the most alcohol I have consumed in the last year.   Daytime activities proved to be more of a challenge.

Emily and I bundled Annabelle up and took her in the stroller to the outlet mall to do a little walking and shopping.  Upon returning we learned the boys had the guns out and were shooting clay pigeons.  Not one to be left out of the action, I was given my chance to shoot as well.  For those who are not a fan of firearms, I believe it would be irresponsible for me to live in a house where weapons are kept and to not understand how they operate and how to use them.  That is a component of responsible gun ownership, which I support...obviously.

So after Annabelle went down for her afternoon nap Emily, Barry, and Bryan watched me do a little target shooting. Someone asked me if it bothered me that I revealed so much in my blog about our personal life, and aren't I worried about someone knowing where we live and so much about us? The answer is no.  Because, as it turns out, I am a very good shot with the .45.

Though hard to see, I did hit my target
almost dead center.

Emily chose not to take a turn, but was a good enough friend to stick around to see what kind of skills I have. Doesn't everyone do this when they have friends come visit for the weekend?

Saturday night we decided to go out to dinner, something Bryan and I rarely do now that we have Annabelle.  Our choices for dining are limited not only because of where we live, but the radius we are willing to ravel when we leave Annabelle with someone.  The place we chose seemed fine, however their nightly special seemed very bizarre, and I was alarmed when Barry ordered it.  It was an 18 ounce Chipotle Rubbed Prime Rib, with Pear Chutney and a port wine sauce.  That is a lot happening to a Prime Rib, which historically stands alone.  I was even more concerned when I discovered my Fillet Mignon had barbecue sauce on it.  I mean, that's simply not done.  Perhaps this is why when we returned home at 9:30, instead of playing board games, we all retired to bed.  Welcome to being a grown up.  I think regardless of the entertainment (or lack of) we had a nice visit and I was happy to see my friends.

Tuesday brought its own measure of excitement.  While getting ready for a work at 5:15a.m. I was certain I smelled skunk while I was in the bathroom. I chose to ignore it because anytime I think I smell something in this house, its better to ignore than task where it originates from.   And quite honestly, how much can you really care about something at five o'clock in the morning?   But while I was upstairs getting Annabelle dressed Bryan called up the stairs "Do you smell skunk?"  and I had no choice but to admit the truth.  I didn't need to wait for Bryan to go outside and investigate to know where the smell was coming from. That's right...the smell was coming from Milton.  Milton had been outside for less than 5                     minutes before locating and getting sprayed by a skunk.  I did what I do best. I finished getting ready kissed Bryan goodbye and said "I'm sure you'll have that taken care of before I get home, right?"  and he said yes.

In my defense I did assist with Milton's Silkwood Shower.  In case any of your pets ever get sprayed by a skunk, don't jump for the Tomato juice.  It doesn't work.  The recipe for skunk smell removal is  1 quart hydrogen peroxide, 1 cup baking soda, and 1 teaspoon liquid dish soap combined in an mixed open container.  Apply liberally to your sad sack of a dog who LOVES to swim in muddy retention ponds and creeks, but will do anything to escape the bathtub.  The only negative aspect to the de-skunking solution is that you can't get it in the dog's eyes, so you can't apply it to his face.  And I'm sure Milton was nose deep in that skunk when he sprayed, so we're just patiently waiting for the smell to wear off his face in good time.

I was also fortunate that this Friday a good friend of mine wanted to drive the 60 miles outside of the city on a Friday night to visit Annabelle, Bryan, and I when I'm sure there were a number of better ways she could have spent her time.  Because it was going to be dark when she drove out here I was very concerned about her getting lost.  If only there was some large landmark I could have given her to help find the house...

Oh wait! I do have one. A giant poo-covered semi! Why didn't I think of that?  Perhaps that will help narrow down which house is ours.  I supposed I need to quit getting anxious about various pieces of farm equipment, machinery, and vehicles in the yard. That's going to just be a part of life.  And there could be worse things to have in one's front yard. I once found a condom (I did not get close enough to investigate if it was new or used) in my yard in Milwaukee, so perhaps I should just count my blessings.

My visit with my friend on Friday night was fun, a much needed "girls night" for me as they are now somewhat sparse.  I do feel bad for her because while my night consisted of beer, wine, snacks, and girl talk, I have a feeling hers consisted of drinking in moderation, watching "Dance Moms" and "Toddlers & Tiaras" while trying to look the other way while I clumsily nursed Annabelle with a blanket over us that Annabelle repeatedly just pulled off me.  And the evening was rounded out by watching Bryan and I fall asleep on the couch at 10:30.  She's a good friend.

Yesterday brought another day of gorgeous weather so I couldn't just sit in the house another moment. I bundled Annabelle up, snapped her securely (or somewhat securely) into the stroller and decided to take our first walk in the country since moving out here.  I decided to head to the north because I drive to the south every day and wanted a change of scenery.  I was so excited.  Annabelle was getting fresh air and sunshine and I was doing some much needed physical activity and personal reflection. 

Now I debated whether or not to share this story, because it does somewhat diminish me as a hearty country woman.  It makes me seem very citified...and stupid. My mother and sister and both attest to the fact that I literally grew up with cows in our backyard, so I have no idea  why I reacted in such a way.

To begin, while walking on a road with no sidewalk and no shoulder, you need to walk in the road but facing oncoming traffic to prevent getting run over by farm implements (or cars).  For some reason I could not for the life of me figure out which side I was supposed to be walking on!  It was as though if I wasn't in a car I had no idea which side of the road traffic was supposed to be on.  So basically I ran a zigzag pattern back and forth and waited for a car to come by to help me figure out where to walk.

Annabelle and I walked about a half mile down the road when I decided she would love to look at the cows in the pasture.  I saw that there were two cows by the fenceline so Annabelle and I walked toward the fenceline so I could show her.  She had by this time fallen asleep so it was somewhat pointless. But I still went through the motions "Look Annabelle, do you see the cows? What do cows say? Moo.  That's right, Moo."  I heard myself acting like an idiot, but I'm learning that's what parenting is. Just acting like an idiot each and every day hoping the law of averages allows you to occasionally get something right. 

Now perhaps I was shouting because I had my iPod on and maybe that is what set her off.  But while I was talking I realized that one of the cows was aggressively approaching the fence.  I stopped talking and could hear my heart pounding in my chest as I found myself face to face with this grizzly beast:

After snapping this picture I found myself paralyzed with fear. Every time I took a step, she took a step. And I realized that I had now challenged her by looking her in the eye.  I started to walk a little faster and she ran toward the fence. I was trying to think of ways I could prevent Annabelle from being trampled when this cow decided to charge us.  I kept walking and tried to remember anything I learned from Steve Irwin when he was challenged by a Croc.  I could remember nothing, and could feel the adrenaline coursing through my heart.  I quickened my pace only to see (out of the corner of my eye) that the cow was GALLOPING toward the fence. I thought about running but was afraid it would spook the cow and, well...let's be serious, I am not much of a runner and it would most likely result in further incident.  

I did a u-turn and crossed the road and debated yelling for Bryan.  But we were a half a mile from the house and he was most likely running machinery and would be unable to hear my cries for help.  The cow also turned around and followed us back the way we came from.  I kept walking and waiting for her to break through the wire fencing and trample me me to death, certain I could fling annabelle into the weeds, hopefully sparing her young life.

As the cow got to the end of the pasture she lost interested and returned up the hill to the barn. I walked quickly back to the house where I had to explain to Bryan why I had returned after only being gone a short time.  To his credit, he did not laugh at me immediately when I explained that Annabelle and I had been charged by a cow.  He didn't even try to convince me that I was stupid or over-dramatized the events.  He very kindly said that she was curious, and perhaps she had just had a calf because they do get protective when they have calves. 

The conversation quickly got stupid because I told him I was upset that I was scared of a cow, so he asked me if I wanted to bring the gun with next time.  I said no because I needed a license, to which he replied "you need a license to shoot a cow?" and then he slowly started to make fun of me.  We agreed that I would simply have to try it again, perhaps when I didn't have Annabelle with and could maybe keep my wits about me.

The only downside of this week is that Bryan claims to have woken up this morning with no ability to hear out of his left ear.  While I want badly to feel sorry for him, it is mostly just annoying me. He now has an excuse to ignore me and pretend he did not hear.  He also has said that if his hearing isn't better tomorrow he wants to be put down, which is very possible now that I know how to safely and effectively operate the .45. He also has the lost the ability to control the volume of his own voice and keeps shouting things like "A German grenade went off right here."  and then points to his ear, or he plugs the good ear and yells "Nothing. I can't hear anything."  This may be his last day on Earth.

Other than being charged by a cow, and Bryan's recent disability, I think it was a good week. As usual all these events just remind me to be thankful.  I'm thankful to my friends who still want be my friend despite my present geographical restrictions, and I'm thankful to Bryan who not only wants to keep his family safe (from intruders and Holsteins alike), but is also willing to put up with my daily antics.

I am also thankful for owning a mop and broom as the warm winter also means perpetually muddy dogs.