Dear Sir(s) and/or Madam(s):

I would like to direct your attention to the picture at right; it is a lovingly constructed brooding box. Of particular note is the bright blue swimming pool, complete with basking rock/swim deck. You’ll notice a heat lamp, and if you’re unusually astute you’ll also notice it’s not illuminated. Perhaps you are wondering why no life-sustaining heat is pouring forth. Perhaps you are also wondering why I’m sending a letter with a picture of an empty brooding box to the US Postal Service. I’m sending you a picture of a dark and lonely brooding box because IT’S YOUR FAULT IT’S EMPTY!!!! I capitalized those letters on purpose, for I wish to indicate that I am, in fact, shouting at you. I would also include a frowny-face emoticon, but I shall keep this letter professional. Allow me to explain the reason for my ire, and the reason for which said ire is directed at you. For the last three weeks, I have been calling numerous feed stores, asking when their shipment of cute, fuzzy ducklings will arrive. In each case, I was promised a specific date, guaranteed by the hatcheries sending the ducks. And by “sending”, I mean utilizing the US Postal Service. Those promised dates, marked in ink on my calendar, have come and gone. Let me re-direct your attention to the photo at right. Notice the lack of ducks happily basking in the glow of the heat lamp, or paddling contentedly in the wading pool. Notice the lack of food and water available, because do you know what nothing eats? That’s right – nothing. Let me pose another question:  how is it possible for the USPS to delay four separate hatchery orders to four separate feed stores in a span of three weeks???? Do you think ducklings enjoy being in a cardboard box for extended periods of time? Do you think I enjoy being responsible for the fact that the four feed stores within fifty miles of my house have changed their phone greetings to “___ Feed Store, no the ducks aren’t available yet”? Since federal law prohibits me from expressing my dissatisfication with your operating procedures to the extent that I would like to do in this letter, I will close by requesting that you pull your collective heads out and deliver me some ducklings already. Fly like an eagle my a$$.
Respectfully,

Me

Despite my longing for ducklings being thus far unfulfilled, I actually have acquired four adult ducks. Gene found someone who had ducks she needed to give away, so last weekend my friend Abigail and I went to go pick them up. When we got there, the poor ducks were so mud-covered you couldn’t even tell what color they were. They didn’t have access to anywhere warm and dry, so they weren’t in terribly good shape. Chasing them around proved that I wasn’t in terribly good shape either, and by the time I caught the fourth duck, I was as covered in mud as they were. (And on a slightly related note, if some weird avian duck flu hits Washington state, it’s probably my fault – I think I swallowed about a gallon of gross duck mud). They seemed to perk up when we got them home, probably because they looked around and saw nothing but spoiled and pampered goats, chickens, turkeys, rabbits, and the world’s luckiest sheep. After a week of clean bedding and water, they are doing well, and Gene even went out and bought them some powdered duck vitamins that make their water look like Tang. 

All the other critters are their usual content selves. Princess Ariel and Woolimina are ecstatic with their new surroundings, and Woolimina isn’t skittish anymore. She runs right up to me the moment I walk through the gate, and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I always have Wheat Thins, or at the very least, a few Ritz crackers with me. Speaking of Ritz crackers, I made the mistake of assuming that Harvey and Claire, the now-gigantic bunnies, would happily share a cracker while I prepared their evening meal. Have you ever heard a bunny hiss? It’s like hearing a cute fluffy kitten drop an F-bomb — it just ain’t right. Both bunnies take meal times very seriously. Claire, in particular, has graduated from throwing her food bowl at me if I don’t make with the lettuce fast enough to charging at my hand. And hissing. Thank god for distracting Wheat Thins.

Sadly, the bunnies aren’t the only ones who blatantly disrespect my authority. The two Polish Crested roosters, Sean Paul and Marley, have decided that they rule the backyard. Until about two weeks ago, they would wait until your back was turned, and without warning you’d feel a feathered talon ball bouncing of your butt (they can’t jump that high). Lately, though, they don’t wait until you can’t see them coming. They just attack whenever they feel like it. I tried wearing unbuttoned flannel shirts outside, so that when they squared off with me I could take the ends of it and flap my arms, pretending like I have giant wings. I must have ruined the illusion by yelling, “You want a piece of this?” It seems as if they do, indeed, want a piece of that, because their response is usually to hang off my jeans. Chivalry is not dead on the farm, however, because King Julian routinely comes to my rescue. Just this afternoon Marley was having a go at my shins, and King Julian came flying out of nowhere and knocked him over. I’m officially a part of his flock now.

Princess Ariel

It’s been a wondrous week here on the farm. I started out the week as usual, trolling Craig’s List to see if anyone was selling a critter I couldn’t live with out (specifically a miniature pot-bellied pig, but don’t tell Gene.) I found something even better though – someone nearby was moving, and needed to sell their female pygmy goat. The price was too good to pass up, so naturally I emailed the seller, set up a pick up date and time, then asked Gene if it was okay. He said yes, so today he took me to Port Orchard to get Princess Ariel! When we got there, we saw she was standing by a miniature sheep, which the seller said we could buy for an additional fee. He then said if we didn’t take her, he would have to take her to the butcher because they were moving soon. He added that he would eat her, for dinner, and possibly again for breakfast the next day if there was any left. Despite that gloomy proclamation, Gene held firm to his “no means no” stance regarding sheep, even doomed ones. When Gene put Princess Ariel in the transport crate, she immediately started crying. It was a heart-wrenching sound, full of despair at the prospect of leaving her companion of two years. The sheep was also despondent; she was running back and forth the length of the fence, bleating and crying as she tried desperately to get to her best friend. Naturally I was beyond heart-broken at this point, so with growing horror I asked Gene if we could please, please take the sheep too. He still said no, and since I didn’t want to cry in front of some guy I had just met, I got into the truck and started crying there. Gene got in the driver’s seat, and it was only in retrospect that I realized he didn’t start it. He sat there for minute, then sighed and told me to go find out if the guy would take a check, and we came home with a sheep too!!!!

Woolinda Woolimina, the world’s luckiest sheep.

We named her Woolinda Woolimina, and she is the happiest sheep on the planet. Catching Woolimina was somewhat challenging, as she is much more skittish than Princess Ariel. Gene and the seller chased her into their pen, which was a somewhat creepy partially walled off area underneath his house. My contribution, since I can’t successfully grab a sheep with either of my broken wrists, was to guard the entrance so she couldn’t run out again. I got the bad job, since one of Woolimina’s horns points straight out, kind of like an ugly unicorn. I didn’t feel as though I was in a position to complain though, since I wanted to catch her and get her in the crate before Gene had a chance to change his mind. It was also kind of fun to watch the seller chase her around using his cell phone as the room’s only source of illumination. He chased her up onto a ledge, and when she jumped off, Gene literally snatched her out of midair by her wool. It was so cool – like something you would see in a rodeo, if bulls had wool and didn’t weigh so much. They got her into the crate with Princess Ariel, and they both immediately stopped crying and started cuddling. Even Gene had to admit we were doing the right thing. At least I assume he thought it, and just didn’t choose to voice it. He did ask me what I intended to actually do with a sheep, and I assured him that if the apocalypse came, I would be able to make socks and sweaters for everyone with our new renewable supply of wool.

Once we got them back to the farm, Gene positioned the crate right inside the pasture gate. At first they were both too afraid to come out, but once they did they immediately started exploring all the climbing toys and the wooded area. Since they didn’t have any toys and lived on a grass lawn before, they seemed as happy as a sheep and goat could appear to be. They both seem to get along with Princesses Fiona and Buttercup, and my friend immediately came down to view our newest acquisitions and said she would bring back Jack and Sam, since Princess Ariel isn’t fixed either. That doubles my odds of getting baby goats!!!! Potentially lots and lots of baby goats.

Party of 12

But these two aren’t the only reason this week has been wondrous. I was getting cabin fever being stuck in the house, since I can’t drive yet, so Gene took me to one of my favorite places, the local feed store. Naturally I dragged him over to the chick display, and asked him if I could replace the one chick who didn’t make it out of the eight we had bought a few days ago. I then pointed out that it seemed strange to have three of one breed, but only one or two of the other breeds. We left with four new chicks! And even better, the feed store bumped up their duck delivery schedule, so now I get ducklings next Friday!

At least they’re eating healthy.

In non-animal news, my seeds have sprouted in the new indoor greenhouse! I know I said that in the last update, but now they’re even bigger! I planted another two flats of seeds yesterday, and will do several more as soon as we get another set of lights. When I checked in on the seedlings this morning, I noticed that upon closer inspection, some of the leaves appeared somewhat chewed. Then I noticed that my prized bean seedling had been reduced from its once-glorious 12 inches to a two-inch ragged stem. It didn’t take me long to realize what had happened – all I had to do was look toward the doorway to see two kitties smashing their faces against the mesh, trying to get in for some more snacking. Apparently I need to make extra-sure the door is zipped all the way shut.

Gene’s lucky I only got 8

This time of year is even better than Christmas – all the feed stores are getting their chicks in stock!!! Gene and I agreed that six was a good number, but once I actually gazed upon their cuteness I decided I couldn’t possibly take home less than eight. I got a Wellsummer, a Barred Rock, three Cuckoo Marans and three Silver Laced Wynadottes. I love having a full brooding box again! It looked (and sounded) so sad and empty sitting there unoccupied in the garage. The feed store employee said there’s a 10% chance some of the girls will turn out to be boys, so I hope this batch is more statistically accurate than the batch of four fancy breed chicks we got last year. We were promised they were 75% female, but we ended up with Sean Paul, Marley, and Puff Daddy, and only one Fluff Mama. My next date to look forward to is March 21st – that’s when the ducklings and quails come in! That also means Gene’s got less than a month to build the Quail Sanctuary and the duck’s secure sleeping area. Not that they’ll be ready to leave the brooding box before April, but I like to plan ahead, which is easy given I’m not doing any of the actual work.

Princess Fiona and Jack

Sam

In other exciting news our neighbor brought over her two boy goats, a La Mancha named Jack and a pygmy goat named Sam, for a play date. We’re hoping it turns into an actual date for Sam and little Princess Buttercup so I can have baby goats in June! Ironically Sam seems to be quite taken with Princess Fiona, who is like 20 times his size. All four of them are having a grand old time romping around the pasture, and Buttercup is finally warming up to Sam. The two boys are going to stay the weekend, so hopefully by Monday the magic will happen. 

Feeding time has proven particularly interesting with four goats – normally Fiona and Buttercup don’t eat a ton of the orchard grass I put in their feeder, but once they realized Sam and Jack loved it, all four embarked in a straight up eating contest. Fiona had so much orchard grass crammed in her mouth she couldn’t even chew it, and Jack buried his head in the feeder so no one else could get any. Fiona finally got sick of Jack both figuratively and literally hogging the feeder, so she head-butted him halfway across the pen. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to do that while in line at a buffet so seeing it actually happen was rather gratifying.

Thanksgiving, contemplating dark thoughts

Against all odds, Thanksgiving is still alive and well. He’s actually lost a bit of weight so he can get around a little better, but anyone looking at him still exclaim, “Wow, that’s a lot of turkey!” He has absolutely perfected the art of mean mugging, and he doesn’t always want to come out of his pen, particularly if it’s raining or muddy outside. Today was one of those days where he was perfectly content to keep his food bowl company, but unfortunately for me his water dispenser was empty. Changing out the water dispenser is tricky, even when Thanksgiving hasn’t plunked his fat butt in front of it. It weighs about thirty pounds full, and since I’m still one-handed, opening and filling it is enough of a challenge without also having to navigate it around fifty pounds of grumpy turkey. Like any other predator, he can smell my fear, and he never fails to slowly sidle over to block the doorway when my back is turned and my attention is occupied with the dispenser. So when I turn around, I realize I’m forced to gingerly step over him to get out of the pen, all the while internally chanting, “please don’t take out a knee cap with your ginormous beak” over and over again. Getting the water dispenser back inside the pen is a similar ordeal, only what I’m carrying is heavier. It’s only a matter of time before I start having nightmares about waking up and seeing him perched at the foot of the bed.

For Valentine’s Day Gene got me the best gift ever — a huge indoor/outdoor pop-up plastic greenhouse! Naturally he set it up in our backroom so I can start sprouting all the plant starts I’m going to sell at the Farmer’s Market. It sits over the heating vent so the seedlings will stay warm and have a slight breeze, and most importantly the plastic walls keep hungry kitties out. We are going to build shelves for it and get a hanging light as well; I’m really excited! On a somewhat related note, for those of you who are local and want to buy plant starts, let me know if you have any special requests (andiesfarm@hotmail.com). Otherwise check back soon for the availability list!
 
In other plant starting news Gene also built me a cold frame to harden off all the seedlings. He’s almost done with it, he just has to finish the walls. The back of it is lined with gravel and water filled PVC pipes to help retain heat. I’ve been keeping Gene busy with my incessant requests for new construction projects. He is going to build me a secure sleeping area for the ducks, and he’s also working on a plan to expand the chicken mansion. He already built raised hay storage that runs across the top of the goats’ bedroom; next he will cut a portion out of the back wall and add an extension. With all those projects I’m not sure when he’ll get to the Quail Sanctuary.
I figure he’s got at least a month before the feed stores get in their game birds. I’m going to get some silver-laced Wynadotte chicks next week, but they’ll live in the now-empty brooding box for at least two months.

I haven’t been able to help with the construction projects at all since I’m back down to just one hand for a few weeks. Oddly enough Gene seems to work faster without my input, but I’m sure he misses my supervisory skills. For now I spend most of the day sitting outside with the critters if it’s nice out; I have mastered the art of one-handed photography. The only real challenge I’ve had so far is herding the pesky goats; they outgrew their collars and I kept forgetting to replace them so when Fiona escaped the pasture yesterday hilarity ensued. A fence fell on the gate during the storm, and since then it hasn’t latched properly. She finally figured out how to open it, which I noticed just as I saw her butt disappearing into the chicken coop. Luckily for me she was wholly unprepared for the sheer volume of indignant squawking, and she came barreling back out thirty seconds later. I finally got her back by the gate by luring her with Wheat Thins, but she didn’t want to walk through the mud puddle at the entrance again. The more I pushed her, the higher up in the air her butt went; “You can push me up but you can’t push me forward” is one of her favorite games. She’s also smart enough to only play it when I have an arm in a cast.

I do enjoy the excuse to stay home and spend two weeks of dedicated chicken-watching though. Fluff Mama and Christmas have developed a friendship; they don’t cuddle or anything but Christmas doesn’t actively hunt and try to eat her when she wanders into their pasture. That makes them practically besties. Puff Daddy and the new Golden Sex Link chickens are doing well too; I think he will eventually become the rooster for their flock. They still haven’t ventured outside the coop, but seem happy enough inside. Apparently they’re a touch agoraphobic…I’ll add chicken valium to my list of things I need to invent.

It’s hard to believe that a mere week ago we had snow on the ground and ice covering everything else. Sure, everything is coated with frost in the morning and when I wake up it’s only 30 degrees, but for the last two days it’s been sunny and fifty degrees in the afternoon! After last week’s craptacular weather, I almost put on shorts today. The farm critters have been ecstatic – everyone was taking naps in the sun beams. I’m sure next week will be back to the normal rainy and miserable, but for now we’re all basking in the sun here at the farm.

Today was a day of many firsts – Fluff Mama laid her first egg, which was cream colored and tiny. The Golden Sex Link chickens spent their first night in the big coop with all the chickens, which appeared to be so traumatic for them that I think I will make millions by inventing chicken Valium.  I guess I can’t blame them for being scared, since up until now their entire world has consisted of a heat lamp and four boring walls. I expected them to be excited to experience the real world, not to cram themselves into a corner and try to hide from it. By the end of the day they were eating and drinking, and even doing a little bit of mingling, although they looked like the most awkward cocktail party guests ever.

Princesses Buttercup and Fiona got their first pedicures today; it was my first real attempt at hoof trimming. It went exactly like I expected it to go. There was lots of chasing, lots of swearing, and lots of narrowly avoided rear kicks, which culminated in me calling my neighbor, who actually knows how to do it.  I provided the Wheat Thin bribes, and she held them steady for me while I administered the trimming. (On a separate note, I’m directing a very obscene gesture toward the lady on YouTube who made the procedure look incredibly easy. She must have made millions off of her goat Valium.)

In other news, the mini-greenhouse I imported from Italy is amazing. After many days of careful deliberation, I chose seeds, planted them, then made up a seating chart. I moved the greenhouse into the backroom, and totally forgot to move the chart with it. On the plus side, I planted beans, which is the one seedling I can identify the moment it sprouts (mostly because it pushes the bean-shaped shell up out of the ground). Four of the eight rows of seeds sprouted within days!!! When I take the cover off, I get a whiff of the Tuscan countryside. Now I just need to order like fifty more mini-greenhouses, and my plan to sell plant starts at the Farmer’s Market in May will be off and running. 

I let Harvey and Claire have some quality time this morning, in order to implement my plan to sell baby bunnies at the Farmer’s Market, right next to my plant starts. If cute fuzzy baby bunnies can’t draw customers into my stall, I don’t know what else will. From what I could tell, mostly all that happened was Harvey chased Claire around the bunny pen and succeeded only in pissing her off mightily, which I expect is similar to dating in the real world. She got so huffy that she went and sulked in her nesting box. Her expression was so vexed-looking that I offered her a lettuce treat by holding it in front of her. Do you all remember that scene from Star Wars where the monster worm erupted out of the asteroid and tried to swallow the Millennium Falcon? Ya, her reaction was like that, but my hand was the space ship. I literally saw the entire thing in slow motion, including the part where she roared and grew fangs. In the future I’ll stick to just putting the treats in her food bowl.

The day after our epic Western Washington snowstorm, an even more epic ice storm moved in. Although it resulted in some beautiful pictures (what doesn’t look prettier encased in ice?), having an inch of the stuff coating every surface didn’t make for a happy farm mama. The ice turned my lovingly shoveled paths into skating rinks, and every time a chicken took a feathered, squawking tumble they glared at me like it was my fault. Apparently they’re smart enough to realize when they’re being laughed at so I dispensed extra oat treats to boost their fragile egos back up. All the critters spent most of the last week living it up inside their various residences, only venturing out into the cold at dinnertime. 

I managed to get quite a bit of garden planning done while I was stuck indoors. I put in my various seed orders, and everything but the live plants have been delivered! The day my Seed Savers Exchange order came, I was so excited I told everyone about it, even the check out person at the QFC. This year I got seeds from all over the world, with absolutely no regard for the indigenous climate and growing conditions. The way I see it, Russia and Japan can’t be that different from Washington…I ordered a new kind of miniature greenhouse/seed starter this year. It’s imported, so it must be amazing. It has 47 little cylinders that supposedly promote strong root growth. I was sure that I would fill it within moments of unpacking it, but it’s still sitting on the kitchen island, waiting to realize its potential. I absolutely cannot commit to what type of seed I want to start. Do I want 47 different seeds? Or 1 row of 7 seeds? 2 rows of 14? I can’t get past the numbers, much less a commitment to what type of specific seed. Sigh. Check back next week. 

“guava” starts in my greenhouse

I also checked out an indoor garden store in downtown Belfair this weekend. I had never been in one before, and it was conveniently located right next to a marijuana dispensary. There were signs all over the place stating that because federal law prohibits growing pot at home, if you asked specifically about how to grow marijuana, you would be kicked out of the store. Gene and I spent about 30 minutes inside prowling around, and it was unbelievably difficult to sort out the conversation we had with the sole employee inside. For one thing, he never stopped talking. Ever. For another thing, the entire place looked like a black velvet day-glo painting had thrown up all over the store. The clerk expounded at length about growing his pumpkin crop inside his bedroom, how to funnel the heat from the lamps through ducts to heat the rest of the house, and how difficult it was to control the lighting so the crop didn’t go to seed. The whole time I’m totally distracted by trying to figure out if he’s really talking about pumpkins, or if he means “pumpkins” (nod nod wink wink). Sigh. I have so little street cred it’s not even funny; I could never do undercover work. Given my profession, I felt compelled to make sure he understood that by “growing seeds in my greenhouse” I literally meant growing seeds in my greenhouse, and when I told him I had a good pumpkin crop last year, it was the kind of pumpkins you carve into jack-o-lanterns, not the kind you roll up and smoke, then overdo it with Mountain Dew and Cheetos.

And with that, I will leave you with today’s Zen moment – proof that no matter how cold, snowy, and icy it is outside, all you need to be truly content is a warm corner with a hot air vent.

For the first time in possibly forever, the news got the weather right. All week, it’s been “Snowpacalypse” this, and “Snowmageddon” that, forecasted to hit between four and six o’clock this morning. Being renown for my pre-planning skills, I took the day off of work in the hopes that epic amounts of snow would prevent me from safely leaving my driveway. Sure enough, when I rolled out of bed at the crack of eleven am, I looked out the window and saw nothing but white. We got at least two feet! (Gene insists that it’s more like one foot, but I’m sticking with two feet just for the bragging rights.)

This is the first time the chickens have ever seen snow, so of course I brought my camera with me when I went to outside to turn them loose. Before I opened the coop, I shoveled a play area for them in front of the door, and also created a path to their winter enclosure. I then had to knock the 18 feet of snow off the top of the winter enclosure, because it was sagging dangerously and I didn’t want anyone getting squished. When I opened the coop door, all of the chickens just sat on their roosts, staring at me like they were annoyed I was letting the cold air in. Apparently they could see all the snow through their window, and decided it was much nicer inside. When a few of them finally made it to the door, the “WTF” expressions on their faces was priceless. Chickens, much like their mama, do not enjoy snow. They made good use of the paths I shoveled, and if one of them wandered off the path, much squawking and flapping was heard. The goats barely left their shed all day, preferring to cuddle up in the straw and stare out the door. 

Poor Gene had to get a ladder and shovel off the roofs over the turkey, goat, and rabbit areas, since the weight of 24 feet of snow could conceivably cave the roof in. The only critters who didn’t seem fazed at all by the snow was the ducks. I’m pretty sure the ducks wouldn’t even notice if a nuclear bomb went off in the backyard… they seem content to waddle around investigating puddles no matter what’s going on around them. They do look decidedly dingy though; no matter how many times I change their pool water, it’s been so cold lately that it’s always slushy, so they haven’t gotten their daily bath in lately.

Ceri absolutely loves the snow. This is the first time she’s seen this much of it, and she played for hours in the front yard, bounding around like an antelope. I discovered that the laser pointer, her favorite toy, works really well on the snow, so we played that until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. 

Ceri wasn’t the only one who got to play outside – our neighbors Keith and Abigail (our raccoon hunting friends), got a new quad, so they were having a great time in the snow. I got to go for a ride too, which was awesome. It doesn’t get more country than that, riding on the back of a quad through a ton of snow with a happy German Shepherd running along beside you.

A few days ago I went into the Bunny Ranch to dispense wheat thins, which are Harvey and Claire’s absolute favorite treat. As I was leaving, I noticed the decorative beaded latch-pull I had made to open the door from the inside (since the latch is on the outside) had snapped off, leaving just a short piece of wire to use. With the door open, I tried to reattach the beaded wire, but as happens with most of my repair jobs, I ended up breaking the whole thing. I mentally filed the project under “things to ask Gene to fix later” and went on with my day. Fast forward a few hours to when I convinced Gene to come with me and give the bunnies some quality cuddle time. In my defense, as I was opening the door, the thought “don’t let the door close” was echoing repeatedly in my mind. The minute I followed Gene inside, that thought was instantly replaced with, “Wow, Claire looks even fluffier today” and then I heard the click. I learned two things that day: 1) Gene built an extremely solid Bunny Ranch and 2) Gene is very good at improvising tools to get himself unstuck while I’m much more suited to panicking and developing situational claustrophobia.

In chicken news, they are all as tired of winter as their mama is. The chickens can only spend so much time in their winter enclosure before growing so bored they’re willing to venture out into the rain and wind. The inclement weather doesn’t seem to hurt them any, but it does result in some very interesting hair styles. Fluff mama is rocking the Grace Jones look, whereas poor Puff Daddy looks like he’s trying to be a hipster channeling the early 80s and way over did it with the gel products. The only critters who don’t mind the rain are the ducks…. and with that, I’ll leave you with today’s Zen Moment, which Gene has dubbed “Three Tired Ducks”:

2012 started out in a very positive direction here on the farm. Our neighbors Abigail and Keith were more than happy to help us with our marauding raccoon problem in exchange for me babysitting their kids, so Gene led the hunting party out into the woods. They brought their dog Honey, whom they train to hunt raccoons but has yet to actually tree one. I’m ecstatic to say all that changed on New Year’s, and Abigail even called me on her cell phone so I could listen to the kill shots. Sadly, I couldn’t hear the thud of the raccoon hitting the ground, but that’s probably just because the kids had the XBox turned up too loud. I heard it in my mind. The raccoon was about 18 pounds, 14 of which I’m fairly certain were comprised of boy ducks. Needless to say the Game Cam hasn’t picked up any more predator pictures, so as soon as Gene is finished building secure nighttime quarters, I’m going to get more ducks! He hasn’t finished the Quail Sanctuary yet, but in his defense it’s been raining nonstop.  

In other farm news, King Julian seems to be completely recovered from his romp with the eagles, with the exception of a limp. I think it gives him street cred, though. Sean Paul and Marley, the Polish crested roosters, are similarly doing well. Sean Paul has the obnoxious habit of crowing as loudly as he can any time I enter the coop; the space is small enough that his screeching actually makes my ears ring. Gene needs to install another roosting bar in the coop, since the six Golden Sex-Link chickens are just about ready to leave the brooding box. I feel bad for them; they must get pretty bored in there. I don’t want to put them outside until they’re ready for big chicken feed, which is in another month or so. Once they’re out, and the brooding box is empty again, I have my heart set on a particularly rare breed of chickens, the Black Marans. They lay chocolate brown eggs that are just beautiful. I really think chocolate brown eggs will bring my egg selling business to the next level, so obviously that breed is a necessity. How can Gene say no if it’s good for business?