Chicken Scratch

Since my creative mind has been numbed down to a sodden lump - my internal clock seems to have a hitch in its giddyap - I will post a gratuitous update on the furred, fleeced and feathered dependents of the Little Lucky.  (I don't have pix - they will come after the fact.  Honest.)

Chickens.  Got lotsa them.  Lacey, the oldest hen, one of my friend Rosie's original flock weighing in at approximately 7, doesn't seem to have the same sparkle in her eye.  I am guessing that this will be her last summer.  They seem to know that another winter is rumbling up and it's just too much for them.  The old girls keel over in the fall.

The Tweenagers are now coming into their own.  Since I rehomed Bleu, the two Lavender Orphington/Olive-Egger roolets have grown large and lustrous.  There are crows developing - a slow, strangled, painful process, from the sounds of it.  There has been some tentative Elvising and half-hearted attempts at jumping on top of the hens, but the girls are having none of it so far.

The Babes are dumb as stumps.  Cute, yes, but don't have the sense that god gave a turnip.  They have been allowed out of the little coop into their little fenced run for almost a week.  They have yet to figure out that they must go back into the coop at night.  Every stinking night I am out there with my headlamp, scooping them up and putting them back in the coop.  I've tried putting the light on ("Go towards the light.....") but to no avail.  I was spoiled by the Tweenies who figured it out in a day.

I like the make-up of my flock; lots of diversity and a hodgepodge of personalities.  Egg production is erratic at best - I go from 5 a day to 12-18.  There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason.  At least Bleu's poor, sex-slave hen is now out and about.  She has regrown most of her feathers and isn't as hysterical.  Two of my hens have already started to moult.  Geez.  As much as I long for fall - my favorite season - I don't long for the cold, snowy winter that the old timers are predicting.

Sheepies.  The Icelandics (Juno and Linden) resembled wool-covered dirigibles, tottering around on toothpicks.  Even Norman is chunky.  And he doesn't even like apples - crazy guy.  The llama, however, is wild about apples.  She frets and hums and stamps her feet when she knows they are coming.  I believe her eyesight is now down to a little peripheral vision and that's it.  She can see some movement - as when Miss Whirlwind (aka Lovey) whizzes by doing her loops.  She really needs a barrel cut - next year for sure, even if I have to tranquilize her.  She is very, very skittish and was even before the loss of sight.  Even putting her halter on is now a three person job - if I had three people.  Which I don't.  So I coo to her and feed her apples and make sure she has her little wading pool when it's hot.  She likes to stand in it, with her banana ears moving around like furry radar dishes.

Doglets.  Scrappy remains the sunlight in my day.  He is definitely getting creaky, but still bounces like mad when his breakfast and dinner is in sight.  He is also very deaf.  But a sweeter dog you will not find.  Lovey looks wonderful and is having a ball chasing red squirrels.  They drive her mad.  The little buggers sit outside on the front deck - in maddening view of Lovey - eating pine cones and making a mess.  The Pepperoni continues to drive me mad.  He is such a dachshund.  Cutie.

Cats.  I should rename them Stan and Ollie.  Kramer is the skinniest thing alive.  He eats (but is very picky) and apparently has the metabolism of a grasshopper.  Slimbo eats.  Everything.  He does not have a metabolism.  He is also becoming very lovey-dovey.  While he is not a lap cat (thank goodness), he will now sleep tightly next to me.  It's quite a challenge when it's hot and humid - all this furry love.

How I can drone on.  I will work on getting some pix up of the entire menagerie - may even some Good 'n Plenty sheep!