Improvisational cooking

My chickens never turn down leftovers, in this case raw carrots,
which I hate but were included in a bag of packaged salad,
which I rarely buy but was in stock when I ordered groceries last week. 

The grocery supply chain here is still way out of whack,
and the stuff I usually buy isn't available. 

So like everyone else, I'm improvising. 

I'm also pampering the girls at every opportunity because eggs are the new gold.

Mini pizza shells are a staple in my pantry,
and nothing says dinner like breakfast with a face.

I call this one "Emoji, it's what's for dinner."

Since there wasn't a carb in sight at Walmart last week,
I had no choice but to bake bread.

Remember back in the old days when we did that together?

I'm still using the same recipe. 

It may be time to print out another copy. 

I made eight sandwich rolls and two baguettes,
which are safely tucked away in the freezer for now.

The "Home Cooking" sticker is there to:
a) hide the ugly electrical outlet which detracted from the pretty bread
and, more importantly, b) remind me to tell you about the "Home Cooking" podcast. 

The co-hosts are Samin Nosrat (whose Netflix series "Salt Fat Acid Heat" is terrific)
and Hrishikesh Hirway (who co-hosted The West Wing Weekly podcast).
(Have I mentioned that I'm a Wingnut and have binged the entire series three times?) 

Anyway, the "Home Cooking" podcast is meant to help you figure out what to cook
while we're all staying safe at home. It's funny, filled with practical advice,
and Samin has the most infectious laugh.
Alex and I listened to the first episode while out walking,
and I was inspired to run all the way home and start cooking.

This picture was taken before Walmart ran out of bread.
I'm showing it to you because of the wooden stovetop cover I found on Etsy.
I hate this stove with a passion because: a) the surface is impossible to keep clean. Not anymore!
and b) the stinkin' light is so darned bright it keeps me up at night,

but that is what electrical tape is for.

Why did the chicken walk down the frosty pipe rail?

a) because chickens are weird

b) to peck poop off the pipe

c) to hang out with me

d) to visit her friend Alex

e) all of the above

Take Your Chicken for a Walk Day

 

Yes, chicken harnesses are a thing and I bought one.

And who better to help me train Patti than the chicken whisperer herself (Danni),

who also snapped these pictures and video.

I told Patti that once she learns to stop pulling, 

she can join the dogs and I on our morning walk. 

Don't hold your breath.

Intruder

Taking attendance

Patti struts her stuff...for George

 Patti is a magnificent specimen of a chicken...

 right down to her fluffy feathered butt.

 

 She's been spending an ever-increasing amount of time

on this fence rail. Every night when I go out to tuck everybody in,

I find her perched here and have to carry her to the coop.

 

 

 I should mention that this is the fence rail that separates

the chicken pen from George's pen.

 I think Patti may have a crush on George, or at least his ears.

I won't be a bit surprised if one day soon she flaps those wings and jumps right onto his back.

I just hope my camera and I are there when she does.

The E Street Band Chickens

Finally, my new hens have names, albeit confusing ones.

They're all girls, no matter how many times I call them "he" in this video.

Just like old times

Justina and Don from Morning Bray Farm were vacationing in New Mexico this week...

 

...and we got their undivided attention for 24 hours.

This was Alex's first experience with houseguests
and she was on her best behavior, much to my surprise.

We sat around and never stopped talking.

She sat around and never stopped looking cute.

Justina was missing her own donkeys

so George filled in for Bernard and pretty much didn't leave her side

during happy hour at the barn, 

except to have a meaningful conversation with Don.

There's something about Don's head that my animals find irresistable.

Flashback:

Sitting at the barn, in the dirt, in the heat, with the flies 

may not be everyone's favorite pastime, but it's ours. 

(The margaritas ease all environmental discomforts.)

Alan: Why does George get to be in all the pictures and not me?

Me: Because you're polite enough not to stick your head into every shot.

You would think I would have taken a group shot of the humans

to commemorate this very special visit, but no.

Luckily Danni took a screenshot of our facetime call:

Thanks, Danni!

The chickens joined us for morning coffee.

Turns out the new girls are very sociable.

Then just like that, Justina and Don were gone,

but the memories of their visit will be treasured forever.

Meet the nameless new girls

At long last, I have expanded my flock of chickens from one to five.

Ten has been by herself since Peach died a few months ago.

While she did not seem lonely, I didn't want her to lead a solitary life,

and besides, I love keeping chickens. So on Thursday,

I picked up four new girls who are about four months old

and should start laying soon.

I have yet to name them, but I do know they will not be called

13, 14, 15 and 16.

This Americauna will lay bluish/greenish eggs.

There are two Barred Rocks in the group, who will likely be impossible 

to distinguish from each other.

See what I mean?

And this is a Sapphire Gem, a new breed from the Czech Republic that allegedly does well 

in hot climates and will have blue and lavender colored plumage.

I introduced them to Ten en masse, and everyone seems to be getting along just fine.

They spent their first two days cooped up, then I gave them access to the front yard,

where they met the feral beast, who proved once again that he's just a big chicken.

A disturbing realization

When I told you the story of my five missing chickens,

I didn't expect to crowdsolve the case of their mysterious disappearance.

But a few of you suspected that a bobcat could be the culprit.

Then CeeCee described how bobcats operate.

Then I went looking on youtube and found this video of a bobcat

attempting to enter a chicken coop at night.
(Spoiler alert: he doesn't succeed, thank goodness).

Then I looked at my chicken coop...

...and this bobcat in my yard in January 2016.

He could have easily walked up the ladder and fit through the door.

It was disturbing enough to realize and accept that one of these creatures

would run off with my chickens.

But then I factored one more thing into the equation,

and here comes the really disturbing part.

In all the years I've lived here, this was the first time a predator 

had scaled the perimeter fence and caused harm.

Why then and not a hundred times before?

Because it knew there was prey to be had, and I'm not talking about the chickens.

This all happened during the last few days of Lucy's life.

She was sick and weak and could have been easy prey.

I believe now that a bobcat sensed her vulnerability, checked in at the barn a few nights running,

knew the time wasn't yet right, and left with a couple of chickens during each visit.

It sickened me when I made this realization,

and I shall never let my mind go there again. 

The story I've been meaning to tell you for three months

Once upon a time, as in three months ago, I was deep in the throes of taking care of two sick donkeys. I was preoccupied and more than a little sleep-deprived. Friends were checking in regularly via email, and one of the chains went like this:

Danni: Good morning. How's it going down there?

Me: George is feeling better. Lucy's about the same. And I think Johnny ate 12.

Danni: I'm happy for the good news about George, hoping so hard that Lucy is a lot better tomorrow, and wondering what Johnny ate "12" of.

Me: I can't stop laughing. Johnny ate 12, as in 10 and 11.

Danni: Omg, that wasn't the response I was expecting. I thought you were so exhausted that you just forgot to finish your sentence.

Anyway, the previous evening, I was in the infirmary pen underneath Lucy, when out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw JohnnyCashCat chasing something across the front yard. A second glance told me that "something" was actually a chicken, which made no sense at all because JCC is terrified of the chickens. By the time I was done treating Lucy it was almost dark, but I went on a search-and-rescue/recovery mission in the yard, looking for a probably-dead chicken and a seriously-in-trouble cat. 

I found the cat sitting on the porch. I did not find a chicken, a pile of feathers, or anything else that might otherwise serve as evidence of a henocide. I did find Peach, Minnie, Lady Mary, Mrs. Hughes, 10 and 11 in the chicken coop and deduced that it was 12 who went missing. Just call me Sherlock. Surely 12 must be hiding under a bush somewhere and would turn up by morning. 

She didn't. WTF? 

I didn't have the time or energy to investigate further or even be too upset. All my attention remained focused on Lucy and George.

The next morning, it seemed a little quieter than normal in the yard when I went out to deliver medicine. "The chickens must be lying low, with one of their sisters missing," I thought, right up until the time I took attendance and couldn't find Minnie or Mrs. Hughes. In my attention-diverted state, I concluded they must be hiding under the same bush as 12 and would emerge momentarily.

They didn't. WTF? 

Then the vet called with the worst news ever and I didn't give a thought to missing chickens or anything else until the next morning, when it was even quieter in the yard. Now Lady Mary and 11 were missing, too. 

It was time to confront the fact that something was picking off my chickens, two at a time at that, in the middle of the night. It had to have walked up the ladder to the coop, been small enough to fit through a 10" square opening, quiet enough so as not to cause a ruckus and wake up she-who-never-misses-anything Smooch, and clever enough to haul off five chickens without a stinkin' trace. 

I ruled out JCC as a suspect, since his m.o. is to eat the best parts of his kills and leave the remains under my office window as gifts. The incident where I thought I saw JCC chasing 12? Upon reflection, I now believe the real perpetrator was chasing them both. Plus, JCC was still afraid of the two survivors (Peach and 10) and they weren't afraid of him. All I could do was implement a new "latch the coop door every night" policy and hope that whatever was lurking in the dark didn't have opposable thumbs.

Also, I bought a motion-activated trail camera and placed it where it might spot an intruder.

The camera captured my deputies on the daytime shift.

It even captured Peach peeking out the window on the night shift.

Most of the time, it captured pictures like this, and after a few weeks, I finally turned it off.

So here we are three months later, and the mystery of the five missing chickens remains.

The coop gets latched every night. Peach and 10 have become BFFs. I have to buy eggs.

Come spring, I'll get more chickens. 

And all of us will remain forever vigilant.

Saturday encore ~ She never met a flower she didn't want to eat

This encore post is from August 2, 2016.

***

 My garden this year consists of four pots of geraniums and petunias 

and two pots of tomatoes. 

I occasionally treat the chickens to supervised visits in this area.

They seem to enjoy the change of scenery.

Look who isn't broody anymore! After nine weeks of self-imposed

imprisonment in the nesting box, Peach finally gave up on the idea of motherhood.

Geraniums are my favorite garden plants, if for no other reason than

they're relatively hard to kill. Also, I like their flamboyance
in this otherwise understated environment.

Mrs. Hughes photobombs the geraniums.

Me: Don't even think about it.

Mrs. Hughes: Think about what?

Lady Mary: You always have to spoil it for the rest of us.

Now we're going to lose our garden privileges.

Mrs. Hughes: Kiss my fluffy ass.

Lady Mary: See? I told you we'd get kicked out.