Freezing Phoebe

O.k. I just can't take it anymore.  

Little Phoebe is wasting her entire summer hiding in the nest box all puffed up and insanely broody. She has barely seen the light of day since late May. Her beady eyes are getting beadier, and every day she looks less like a respectable Speckled Sussex and more like a cupcake. 

It's time for an intervention. 

So last night I froze several gallon-zipper-bags full of water, and right now I'm heading to the coop to implement this diabolical plan.

Come out and seize the day, my little lunatic chicken! 

DORRIE'S DEADLY DIVERSION

I didn’t think about Dorrie’s wandering because the ladies do like to scratch in those leaves at the shady edge of the yard.

But a few hours later, back at the coop, I found Dorrie standing hunched in the corner.  She was barely awake, and she was drooling.    

…..Drooling?  

This was especially odd.

It didn’t take long for me to guess what was wrong.  

My wild foxgloves were in glorious bloom.   

Dorrie must have eaten some of this highly toxic plant.

I left her in the care of her flock while I went to do a bit of quick research.  Back in the kitchen I Googled madly. I found some good info.  

It was interesting that the human symptoms of foxglove poisoning matched Dorrie’s symptoms.  Perhaps the treatment would be the same as well?   

I contacted some Facebook chicken-fanatic friends for advice.

Activated Charcoal was the consensus -- the same treatment as for humans.  Of course I didn’t have any activated charcoal lying around. I didn’t even know what it was, and by that time it was way too late at night to hop into the car and go hunting for it.

In desperation I brought Dorrie into the house and fed her a watery swill of ground-up charcoal from my fireplace.   I had no problem getting it down her throat as she was virtually catatonic.   

I put her to bed in the kitchen and hoped for the best.

The next morning Dorrie was no better.  The plain charcoal had had no effect.  I needed to find activated charcoal, quick.

My dear friend Beth, who normally sleeps in on Saturdays, actually answered her phone when I called at 7am, god-bless-her.   And, yes, as a matter of fact, she did have a packet of activated charcoal. 

I fetched the precious remedy from Beth, brought it back and mixed up the potion.

I squeezed about three tablespoons of the stuff into Dorrie.  

That seemed like a good amount to me.

We took a quick little selfie together,

and then I returned her to the coop.  

The flock gathered around Dorrie where she stood hunched, drowsy and drooling.

Now all we could do was wait.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

But we didn’t wait long!

In only three hours, Dorrie was honest-to-goodness back from the dead, flitting around with the flock like nothing had ever happened!

Don’t you just love a miraculously happy ending? 

I let the girls out for some celebratory free-ranging.

This time, we stayed on the right side of the yard.  Plenty of weeds, none of them poisonous.

 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

And now I’m at the kitchen table eyeing this precious little packet of activated charcoal, this magical elixir…

Maybe I’ll sprinkle some on my toast. 

I wonder how it would taste in my coffee…..

Daisy and the Broody Toad

The young Nuggets were terrified of Daisy. Her attacks were incessant.  

So in the interest of peace and safety, I decided to split the flock.  
Thank goodness I've built so many coops.

The four youngsters and Lucy continued to abide in the big coop, 

and I moved Daisy into the jailhouse where wicked Lil'White is serving her life term.

To make Daisy's transition more comfortable, I dragged her favorite little henhouse into the jail yard. 

When I built this house a few years ago, all the ladies were amused by it.  

Lucy checked it out first, then settled on the front porch. 

But Daisy decided instantly that this would be her own personal nest box. 

She marched right in and laid an egg. 

Daisy settled comfortably into jailhouse life, and continues to lay eggs in her white henhouse.  She and Lil'White get along just fine because they're both self-absorbed and aloof.  They kind of enjoy having their very own prison. 

Recently I discovered another resident in the Chicken Jail. 

I discovered it when I opened the back door to Daisy's white house to collect her egg, and nearly grabbed this:

Definitely not an egg. 

It was a toad.  

sitting calmly beneath a Daisy-feather.  

I quickly shut the door.  

I didn't know what to do.

If I left the toad, then Daisy would soon walk in and find it.  

I've seen Daisy kill frogs and shrews.

I love toads.  

Should I rescue it?  

Or should I let nature take its course?

I walked away... 

Later in the evening, I went back out to collect Daisy's egg.  

Expecting to find carnage and toad-chunks, I opened the door ever-so-carefully....

And there it was, Broody Toad, beside an egg.   

Daisy had stepped ever-so-carefully past the toad and laid that egg, then stepped out again.

Why didn't she touch it?

It's not because she likes the toad. It's because she's smart. 

She knows that toads have a secret power. 

Marky knows the secret of the toad.

He learned the hard way. He licked one. 

His mouth fizzed up like he'd eaten a bar of Ivory soap. 

So apparently chickens know, too.  But I'm not sure how.  

Last summer, when the Nuggets were mere youngsters, they met their first toad in the garden.  

They all shrieked and stared. 

I rushed over to see what the hysteria was all about, and found this tiny creature 

standing on its tippy toes, trying to look fearsome.  

Apparently it succeeded.  The ladies didn't touch it.  

It's been more than a month now that Broody Toad has been rooming with Daisy. And Daisy is careful and respectful of it still. 

She's a smart chicken, Daisy.

So where did the phrase, "dumb cluck" come from?  

Not my flock.

Once Upon a Flock

It's true!


I'm writing a book, based on Scratch and Peck blog! 

The title:  Once Upon a Flock.
It's an illustrated memoir about life with my flock of remarkable individuals, and Marky too.  Loaded with suspense, thrills, laughter and tears.  To be published by Free Press in Spring 2013! 

And I have you, my dear readers, to thank.

Your comments and enthusiasm for the stories in this blog are my inspiration.  

Fresh new blogposts will of course continue!

Yours most truly,

Lauren and the Ladies

...and Marky!

ART LESSON

Here's some of the art that was on display at the Northeast Poultry Congress in Springfield MA USA.

 I don't recall the titles,

but the artist is Mother Nature.

Her work was elegant, 

solid, 

delicate, 

sweet.

 That sweet one really took my breath away.
   

I visited her a few times during the day and did some sketches to get to know her better.

 How did Mother Nature come up with these designs?  

And what is it like to wake up every morning in this outfit?

This fella is proudly owned by a sweet little girl.

I hope he didn't hear people calling him "Devil Boy".  

This lady scratched in the sawdust as gracefully as a ballerina.

To look at her, one can easily make the link between chicken and dinosaur.

Were dinosaurs graceful?

 And did their souls shine this brightly in their eyes?

This cochin hen was just one voluptuous butt with a head on top.  

She seemed to have a healthy self-image.  Good girl.

Now here's an example of form and pattern explosively combined.

and lovely eyes as punctuation.

I studied eyes.

Could she see me?

Yes, there is a chicken in there.

This prizewinner's eyes have "happy" and "healthy" written all over them.

 All through the day, chickens glanced upward.  I couldn't figure out what they were looking at.  Perhaps the fluorescent lights were flickering? 
  
Eventually I saw what they saw... Sparrows flitting around high up in the rafters of the arena.  All of the chickens were aware of them; most of us humans were not.

As the day drew to a close, some birds settled right down.  


But others...... 
well, turn up your sound for this little video clip.

Chicken Milking

Some well-meaning friends talked me into trying a Yoga class. They said it was just what I needed.
  
Gentle music played and incense wafted as the instructor guided our twists, our stretches, our breathing...while I wrote my grocery list in my head and tried to remember if Sarah's orthodontist appointment was tomorrow or next Tuesday.


After about a half-hour I actually began to get into the groove when, balanced on left knee and right hand, I twisted my head to look up at the clock---

Only nine minutes had passed. 

Nine Minutes?   


Aside from maybe having a molar pulled, this was the longest nine minutes I'd ever endured. 


Panicking silently, I tried to come up with an urgent excuse or a graceful exit, but could think of none.  I would have to endure the eternal yoga class.


Believe it or not, it eventually ended.  With the delightful Corpse pose which I mastered like a master.  I rolled up my yoga mat and skittered out the door never to return.


Wikipedia tells me:
"The goal of yoga, or the person practicing yoga, is the attainment of a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquility."





Heck, I don't need no yoga mat for that.


Because I've got a Chicken-milking stool.

No, I don't milk the chickens on this stool.  But if chickens could be milked, this would be the perfect stool for the job.

I got it at Ikea for $7.99.  


It lives out in the yard, and it beckons me.


This stool brings me closer to all things awesome. 

Like Lucy's face.

Late in the day when the girls free-range, Lucy shuffles over to sit by the stool, knowing I'll eventually be planting myself there.   I join the ladies every evening for free-ranging time on account of this:

which has taken up roosting here:

A Red Shouldered hawk.  Actually, we've got a whole family of them, and they'd like nothing better than a chicken dinner.

Since Lucy can't get around too well, (click here for Lucy's story), she sits down and joins me on Hawk-Patrol.  
Marky also keeps an eye out for hawks.  He's a very good little watchdog.

Of course, when he's not scanning the skies, 

he's doing his yoga.

Lucy, too... When she's not watching for hawks, she practices the Bharadvaja's Twist.

They take turns, so somebody's always on watch--


which leaves me free to seek a state of spiritual insight from the comfort of my stool.

At my feet is a telltale sign that Lil'White has begun her molt.  

 

I find the rest of her beneath the forsythia,

 where she appears to have exploded.


How does she do it?   
While all the other molting gals look miserable and disheveled,   

(poor little Pigeon, here, sports one pathetic tail feather)

Lil'White loses more than half her plumage and still remains the picture of beauty and poise.


Oh, the perspectives I'd miss

were it not for my chicken-milking stool.

And you know, I'm not the only one who seeks to attain a sense of peace and spirituality through chickens.   



Here my friend Sharon Araujo does a modified Standing Half Forward Bend while Terry Golson of Hencam.com attempts an especially complex yoga position to attain the best chicken-butt photo,

and thus, spiritual insight and tranquility.

Namaste.