Although I have told the universe several times that I don’t need any more proof that things only fall apart when Gene is gone, drama keeps happening. Today was a particularly long day, topped off with an over two-hour commute filled with slow drivers who totally made me break my resolution to not flip off anyone over the age of 65 who drives under the speed limit. (My hand was getting so tired that I had to draw the line somewhere, and I figured respecting my elders was a good place to start, although I stand by my medical opinion that it’s a good, practical form of physical therapy for my broken wrists). At any rate, I was looking forward to my gourmet frozen pizza and an adult beverage. The first thing I noticed when I got home and looked out the window was a goat butt swaying in the door of the chicken coop. As I ran out onto the back deck, I realized there were munching goats as far as the eye could see; butts were everywhere since the heads were stuffed into various feed bags. As soon as they realized I was home, they started to romp and frolic as only prison break goats can. I tried to lure them back into the pasture with treats, but as soon as I slammed the gate shut, they ran out the hole in the back fence they’d created while I was at work, diligently earning the money that pays for the eight tons of feed they gorged on this afternoon. I would chase three goats in, and one goat plus a sheep would barrel back out. There was complete disrespect for my authoritay. I’m pretty sure my friend Abigail is tired of racing to my house to deal with all my drama, but she’s way too nice to say anything. She helped me mend the fence (and by “helped” I mean she fixed it for me), and now all is well again. The critters are lucky they’re so cute.
Poor Puff Daddy is still in the chicken hospital; he still can’t put any weight at all on his right leg. This morning he started crowing, which I took as a positive sign. Of course, he could have just been annoyed that I woke him up so early, since I get up before dawn. Either way, he seems happy enough in his warm comfy box. I read online that leg fractures, if that’s what it is, can take about a month to heal, so looks like he’ll be inside for awhile. Lucky Gene!
Jack the fuzzy duckling seems fully recovered; I swear they double in size every day. They are starting to enter the gawky adolescent stage where they have feather spines coming in, but no actual feathers yet. The chicks are also growing at an accelerated rate; poor Gene is going to have to start the coop renovation the minute he gets home, because they’re starting to run out of real estate.
I’m getting two eggs a day from the rescue ducks, so I’m pretty excited about that. I still haven’t tried one, mostly because I want to make Gene a duck egg omelet when he gets back, and see if he notices the difference. I’ve never had a duck egg before, so I’m a little afraid to go out on that particular culinary limb alone. Since they’re white, maybe I’ll hardboil and dye them for Easter.
Speaking of Easter, I’ll close with proof that spring is finally on the way — the hummingbirds are back!