My family was in the throws of craziness about a month ago. The free soccer league that I founded last fall was beginning their spring practices, both kids had started soccer, my husband and I were coaching both of their teams, and my parents had opened their barn doors to the Unique Boutique and Antiques Tour of which I was fully involved with. Every day and evening was filled with something. It was during that busy time that I got a text from my sister-in-law who lives two hours south of us that read: “Know anyone who might be interested in a goose? She showed up [at the park my sister-in-law works at] last week like someone dumped her here…” My sister-in-law attached this picture: This is a story about rescuing our goose, Gooseberry… twice. The First Rescue Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t resist or turn down an animal. Especially an animal that needs a home. Unfortunately, my schedule didn’t allow for the time to go and pick up the goose, but my sister-in-law was determined to get the goose to us, which I loved. The day after I got my sister-in-law’s text, she drove the goose up to our house. When my brother and sister-in-law pulled into our driveway and took the goose out of the car, the goose sat quietly in the cardboard box she was in (which was far removed from what the ride up entailed). The kids and I peeked into the hole at the top of the box, and we saw one big, shiny, black eye staring right back at us. We carried the box gently back to our chicken run, and opened the flap for the goose to come out. The goose walked out of her box quietly, assessed her surroundings, and proceeded to give us short, quiet honks as her neck quivered. She seemed nervous, but not too scared of us as she would come within a few feet of where we were standing. My sister-in-law had thought of a name for the goose on her ride up, and took into account that all of our chickens were named after wildflowers. Gooseberry seemed to fit our new goose perfectly. My family was happy to adopt Gooseberry, and we were excited to give her a new home. Well, for a few days anyway. The Second Rescue Gooseberry stayed in the run for three days. She had fresh food and water, half of a hay bale to lay on, and my son invented a grass-feeding station, which Gooseberry took to immediately. We enjoyed watching her bury her head in the grass as she ripped off bits and pieces of the bright green treat. By the second day, Gooseberry started coming close enough to us that we could pet her side gently if we didn’t move too fast. Since Gooseberry seemed to settle in nicely, we decided we would let her loose in our fenced-in backyard on the third day. Gooseberry needed to be as free as possible and have unlimited access to grass, a gooses main diet. It was time to introduce her to the chickens who wander the yard. Well, that lasted but a few minutes. Gooseberry took off through the back woods moments after finding her freedom. The kids were sad, and I was worried, but I hoped that she would find a local goose family to join as our home is surrounded by lakes, ponds, and creeks, so waterfowl abound. But, as it turned out, Gooseberry wasn’t interested in the lakes, streams, or creeks, she was interested in being around people. Days later, I saw a post online that read “Anyone Lose a Goose?” The person who posted the information had a picture of Gooseberry lounging in the grass of someone’s front lawn. We immediately jumped in the car to pick her up but, she had already wandered off. There were many more sightings in the following week, but we never did cross paths with her… until the day the kids went fishing down at the lake. On a warm, sunny day, both of the kids were plopped down on the bank by the water’s edge when they heard honk, honk. But, it wasn’t the typical honk they hear from the wild Canadian geese, it was higher pitched. They recognized it! The kids followed the sound up the road a bit and down a driveway where they found Gooseberry drinking out of a puddle. They tried to carry Gooseberry home, but little arms were no match for large wings, so the kids rode their bikes home as fast as they could to come and get me. I immediately packed our large dog kennel in the car and we rushed off again. This time Gooseberry stayed put. My kids jumped out of the car and slowly approached Gooseberry while I opened the back of the car and the door to the kennel. When the moment was right, my daughter dove onto the goose, giving her a great big bear hug. That little girl wasn’t about to lose Gooseberry again, so she held Gooseberry tight until we were able to get her into the kennel. Finally Home Early the next day, my daughter and I went out to clip Gooseberry’s wings. Clipping wings is just like clipping finger nails – no pain involved. The primary feathers are the only feathers that need cutting, so when the wings fold back, you can’t tell that there has been any alteration. Clipping the primary wings halfway down the feather shaft makes it so the birds are not able to get adequate lift, thus keeping them grounded. Gooseberry did try to take off again, but only once. Since then she has been getting used to her new home, and we’ve been surprised by what we have learned about Gooseberry. The most exciting and welcome discovery was finding out how much Gooseberry loves people. She waits for us to wake up in the morning, and
Animals
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The Hat Thief
The hat thief is tenacious, insistent, and unsympathetic. She’s motivated, resilient, and determined. When she sees a hat, and it’s within reach, there is nothing that will stop her from getting it. She is the best hat thief I have ever seen (okay, the only one too), and she makes me smile every time I see her succeed. The Adoption A year ago last October we adopted a 5-6 month old black and white puppy from a nearby rescue. We named her Ayla after the heroine in my favorite book series – The Earth’s Children by Jean M. Auel (I dare you to read the first book in the series, Clan of the Cave Bear, and not get hooked).We didn’t know much about Ayla, only that she had been rescued from a high-kill shelter in Missouri, she had recovered from Parvo as a young puppy, and that she seemed to get a little excited when she went outside with her foster parents. This last admission turned out to be a huge understatement. We took Ayla out on her first walk the day after we adopted her. Five minutes into the walk, she saw a dog walking a quarter mile down the road, and immediately put her buck up, started barking, snarling, and foaming at the mouth. My favorite was when she jumped like a fish out of water – trying to shake the collar around her neck. She wasn’t excited, she was crazy! In the next few weeks, we found that Ayla had panic attacks when we would put her in her kennel at bed time, she got very territorial around food and treats, and when she was tired, and someone walked too close to her, she would snap and growl at them. But, the strangest revelation I had was that I never saw this puppy play. She never seemed happy or loving. Did she even know how to play? I was angry. My anger was not only for this little 40lb. furball of crazy, I was angry at the rescue for adopting out a dog with so many problems – especially to a family with children. I was so close to returning Ayla to the rescue, but something kept us from doing so. My family and I took Ayla to puppy training, we had an animal behaviorist come and work with Ayla at our home, and we continued to work with Ayla on a daily basis. Then, about nine months after we adopted her, something happened. Ayla stole her first hat. The Hat Thief Ayla is part border collie and part Australian cattle dog, so her nature is to round up every moving thing that invades her sight. Last summer, my family was up at the cabin enjoying a warm afternoon on the hammock when Ayla began chasing the under side of the hammock, trying to nip at the kids and round them up. The kids were giggling as they tried to dodge Ayla’s quick movements. At one point, the hammock became unbalanced as both kids tried to pile up on the left side to avoid Ayla, and the whole hammock flipped. Legs, arms, and bodies were flying everywhere before the kids landed in a heap on the ground. Before we knew it, a black blur ran by and sniped my son’s lucky fishing hat. This move was so unexpected that I immediately started laughing, and both of the kids took off after the hat thief. Ayla sprinted, dodged, and teased the kids in an intense game of keep away. Her tail was up, her ears were alert, and she seemed to have a spring in her step as she played. Ayla was playing! For the first time since we had adopted her, Ayla was playing. She finally looked like a puppy – a happy puppy. Happiness It’s been another eight months since Ayla found happiness. Her behavior isn’t perfect yet, but she has improved by leaps and bounds. I like to say that we’ve learned just as much as Ayla has. The family has had to learn a patience we have never had to utilize before, we had to learn signals that Ayla was giving us when she didn’t know how to handle certain situations, and we had to learn different ways of training this smart and determined pup. Even though we’ve all been learning a lot, I’m happy to say that Ayla has held onto her puppy playfulness. Ayla enjoys playing with her older sister, Brook, whenever our 14-yr. old dog is up for playing. Ayla has also found joy in playing with dog toys. She loves to catch her squeaky soccer balls, retrieve her tennis balls, and play tug-of-war. And, she has found that winter is her best friend. Why? Because everyone wears hats whenever they go outside! When my family watches the hat thief in action, it makes us smile and laugh. Seeing the happiness, playfulness, and joy that has emerged in a puppy once devoid of all of this brings us happiness, playfulness, and joy. What brings a smile to your face? I’d love to read about your stories of happiness? *Update – Today Ayla managed something quite impressive. She was able to get my son’s hat out from under his bike helmet. She was sure proud of herself when that hat slipped off of his head.
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More Than Just A Chicken: The Impending Death of Our Friend
Nestled in a thick layer of straw in the corner of the chicken run you’ll find a chicken with bright gold feathers lying still; unnaturally still. If you look close enough you can see her densely feathered back rise and fall as she takes her steady breaths. She opens her eyes, but only wide enough to catch a tiny glimpse of me before they close again. It’s been three days since she has had anything to eat and drink. My heart hurts, and the waiting is difficult. Goldie is her name. My family names all of our chickens after flowers, and Goldie was named after the summer to fall-blooming perennial, goldenrod or Solidago. The bright yellow flowers on the goldenrod plant provide large amounts of nectar and pollen for butterflies, bees, and other insects. It’s a happy plant, so we felt it would be the perfect name for one of our friendliest chickens. Goldie brings us happiness. As Goldie grew, we found that her name was perfect in more ways than one: never leaving my side as I worked in my perennial gardens, following me up and down the rows cleaning the worms up behind me as I tilled up a new garden area (with all the other chickens running terrified from the loud machine). I’ll never forget watching Goldie run as fast as she could – half running and half flying – as soon as I carried a shovel into her view. When I proceeded to dig, Goldie would jump on top of the mound of dirt that had not yet left the shovel and scratch at the pile for any traces of insects or worms. I’m still convinced that she thought she was doing the digging. I’m going to miss the comfort of my constant companion out in the gardens. Goldie started laying shell-less eggs this past year. Her eggs contained the inner egg contents (white and yolk), and an outer membrane – no shell. Why? We are not sure. The layer feed we provide our chickens contains 4% calcium, which is the recommended amount of calcium for strong egg shells. We also provide free-choice oyster shells, so the hens who need more calcium can add it to their diets. Unfortunately, this hasn’t helped Goldie. Two months ago, Goldie became ill after one of her shell-less eggs broke open in the oviduct. The issue was apparent from the color of her feces (the bright orange-yellow of a free-range chicken egg yolk). Goldie was quiet for two weeks, unable to fly up to her usual perch, and chose to lounge underneath the deck during the day. Little-by-little, she improved. This surprised our family, as we read that most chickens who have an egg break inside of them come down with a deadly infection within hours – not Goldie. Goldie was back in the gardens in two weeks. My family came home from vacation almost two weeks ago to find Goldie sick again with that same orange-yellow yolk leaking from her vent. Goldie returned to her coop-floor sleeping corner, she rarely left the underside of the deck during the day, and her comb seemed to droop a little lower. I knew something was really wrong about a week ago when I brought some of Goldie’s favorite kitchen scraps to feed the chickens, and she ran out to inspect them, but she wouldn’t eat them. Goldie parked herself in the corner of the chicken run where she was sheltered from predators and weather four days ago, and this is where she remains. This time, the egg that broke internally was too much for her. Goldie rarely opens her eyes now, her breathing seems more laborious, and her left foot sits just outside her warm umbrella of feathers in the same position it was last night. More than anything, I want to pick Goldie up and cuddle her to give her some comfort. Though, I know this would bring me more comfort than her. The chickens love to be around us, but like to stay on their own two feet; especially Goldie. So, I resist. Instead, my family and I continue to check on her every hour or two, talk to her in soft voices, and give her gentle pets on her back every once-in-awhile. This evening the clouds finally broke after several days of showers and thunderstorms, so I went out to weed the garden. As I walked into the backyard I saw the kids holding some twine and sticks. “What are you two up to?” I asked them. “We are making Goldie a cross to put on her grave.” they replied. I smiled and said “That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you.” But, what I wanted to do was cry. I proceeded to weed the garden without Goldie by my side for the next hour and a half. I miss her already, but the garden is ready for her. When Goldie passes, she will be buried in the garden among the fragrant monarda, purple coneflowers, spikes of Russian sage, large hibiscus blooms, and yellow roses. Hummingbirds will visit her, bees will provide a constant buzz from dawn ’til dusk, monarchs and swallowtails will flutter in and around the flowers, and I’ll continue to weed the garden with her by my side. My son walked up to me today and said “Mom, it’s hard. I don’t want Goldie to die because I love having her as a pet, but I don’t want her to suffer anymore.” The death of a pet is difficult. Goldie has been much more than just a chicken, she has been a wonderful pet, friend, and gardening companion. We miss her already.
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Treating Lily – Our Sick Chicken: Out of My Comfort Zone
“Mom, something is wrong with Lily.” I remember my daughter notifying me about Lily, one of our Easter Egger chickens, last week. Unfortunately, I had brushed it off at that moment. Last fall we lost one of our friendly chickens, Jazzy, to some sort of illness. One day she was breathing funny – the next morning she had passed. The kids said they had noticed Jazzy acting funny for the past two-to-three days, but hadn’t told my husband or me, so we asked them to let us know as soon as they notice something amiss with any of the chickens. The kids listened. Since Jazzy’s death, the kids have notified me of many problems with the chickens. This is great, except many of these problems haven’t been problems at all. I would follow the kids outside just to see the ailing chicken pecking happily at the grass, or sunning herself next to coop. These moments led to a The Boy Who Cried Wolf frame-of-mind for me. This is why my daughter’s warning about Lily went in one ear and out the other last week. I was watching the chickens peck at the ground under the sugar maple tree the day after my daughter had notified me of Lily’s condition, and I noticed one of the chickens standing very upright – it was Lily. Three other hens were foraging for grass, bugs, or anything else that looked appetizing while Lily stood upright and looked down at her lower abdomen as if she was trying to figure out what was going on. She looked exactly like a penguin looking down at an egg between her legs. Her abdomen was huge and swollen. That evening I prepared a warm epsom salt bath to soak Lily in, as this is what helps egg-bound chickens, and I was very sure that Lily must be egg-bound as she has been laying the largest chicken eggs I have ever seen. Lily’s eggs have been the size of goose eggs – poor chicken! After the bath had been drawn, my husband brought Lily in and gently set her in the water. My children came in and wanted to feel Lily’s abdomen, so I moved out of the way. Both of the kids announced that her belly felt like a water balloon. I proceeded to massage her belly for 20-30 minutes before my husband put her in a towel and dried her off. Lily spent the night in our dog’s crate lying on heat packs to hopefully relax her and help the egg through, but as morning dawned, nothing had changed. My husband and I frantically researched what our next steps should be, and we both determined that an internal check should be completed. If Lily was egg-bound, she would have 24-48 hours to live if the egg wasn’t removed. By gently inserting a gloved finger just an inch or two into the vent, we would be able to feel the egg if Lily was egg-bound. I was moving outside of my comfort zone. As the kids slept, my husband picked up Lily and held her like a football, and my heart started to race. I was nervous I would hurt Lily, but she didn’t move – Lily was an excellent patient. As I performed the check, I could feel no egg – Lily wasn’t egg-bound. I was relieved that she didn’t have a massive egg stuck inside of her, but now we had to find what else could be causing her condition. My daughter had sleepily climbed out of bed to come check on Lily, and wanted to help bring her back outside. When my daughter set Lily down next to the flock, I noticed that her comb was a deep blue-purple color – cyanosis – a sign of circulatory problems. We didn’t have much time. I ran inside and continued researching. From the list of possible causes of a swollen abdomen, there was only one more treatment we could try at home – drain the abdomen using an 18-gauge needle and 60cc syringe. Ascites (ah-side-eez) or water belly is a condition where fluid can fill the abdominal cavity as a result of heart disease or tumors, and is usually followed by cyanosis of the combs and wattles – a perfect description of what Lily had going on. Thinking of sticking my little hen with the huge needle made me feel faint, but my husband, not-so-gently, reminded me that if I want to own these animals, that I was going to have to step up and treat them when they are sick – he was right. Thankfully, there are many YouTube videos that demonstrate how to drain a water belly. Going even further out of my comfort zone. I called multiple stores until I found a local equine veterinarian who said I could come and pick up the the needle and syringe we needed to drain Lily’s abdomen. Within an hour, I was sitting with Lily on my lap as I sanitized a spot on her lower right abdomen – just behind where her leg attaches to her body. This time I had Lily in a football hold while my husband gently inserted the gigantic needle. I tried not to squirm as my heart raced – I swear I could feel the needle going in. As Lily reacted to the puncture of the needle, I tried to soothe her by petting her gently and talking to her in a calm voice. Lily closed her eyes – I’m guessing it was more from being in shock than anything. Either way, she was coping better than I was. After my initial anxiety, I calmed down and honed in on what was going on. I was able to instruct my husband on where to insert the needle, the depth of insertion, and what he should expect as he extracted the liquid. The substance should have been a clear yellowish liquid that is easily extracted. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Instead of an
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“There’s An Opossum In The Chicken Coop!”
“Mom, Ayla was going after what looked like a chicken in our driveway.” my daughter explained as I was cleaning up the kitchen. It was 12:35am (yes, we are a late-night family), and my husband had just let the dogs out before bedtime. “Did the chicken coop get closed up tonight?” I asked. Just then my son entered the room and said “Yep. I closed and locked the door.” “Did you count the chickens before you closed up the coop?” He replied “No, it was too dark.” Just then I heard my husband yell, “Ayla, leave it!” followed by a bunch of clucking. The kids and I ran to the front door and my son exclaimed “Rosie, what are you doing up here?” As I looked out the door, I saw the dogs running up the sidewalk with our Rosie on their heels. Both dogs ran into the house – the youngest looking very proud of herself for letting the chicken keep all of her feathers (ears held high, tail wagging, tongue out, with a big smile on her face). Rosie, on the other hand, was a little distraught standing on the porch, clucking without pause. I’m not sure if it was because of Ayla’s playful advances, or because she had been locked out of the coop for a few hours. But, for whatever reason, Rosie was here and needed help. I slowly bent down to pick up sweet Rosie. She stood still – seemingly aware of her situation and wanting nothing more to do with it. Rosie gave out two more clucks before she settled into my arms and quieted herself. I slipped on my big snow boots and headed around the back of the house toward the chicken coop. As I neared the chicken coop, I saw that the kids had gone through the house, grabbed a flashlight and their boots, and were heading to the coop too. I also heard several hens out in the attached chicken run chatting as they heard our arrival. “Why are the hens out in the run tonight? They’re never out in the run at night during the winter months.” I said to the kids. Just then, I heard my son say “Johnny, why are you off of the perch tonight?” Our rooster loves his perch – once he settles on it – he doesn’t leave until the sun comes up. “What is going on?” I asked. “We have to thoroughly check the coop and run to see what has the chickens so worked up.” My son had the flashlight, and within seconds I heard him yell “OH MY GOSH! THERE’S AN OPOSSUM IN THE CHICKEN COOP!” I saw a small opossum curled up behind the five-gallon chicken waterer as I peeked into the coop. Johnny had the young opossum cornered in the coop, and he or she looked terrified. Half of the hens were perching high up on their roost in the coop, and the other half had decided that the coop wasn’t safe enough to sleep in, so they were perching in the run – smart birds. I walked back to the chicken run to set Rosie inside while my daughter went to get my husband to help get the opossum out of the coop. As I returned to the coop, I saw Rosie dashing out of the chicken coop. She wasn’t about to be locked in with the opossum. I picked her up again and set her on the high perch in the coop – this time she decided to stay and watch us. My son gave my husband a three-foot stick to try to urge the opossum out of the coop. The opossum showed his or her teeth at first sight of the stick, but then put up with the gentle nudging. Luckily he or she was younger so there was no awful hissing or snarling that older opossums are known for. Meanwhile, our trusty rooster did not leave my husband’s side. If my husband was inside the coop nudging the opossum toward the door, Johnny was right there. When my husband moved outside to keep the little predator moving away from the coop, Johnny was not more than a few inches away from my husband’s legs. It wouldn’t surprise me if our rooster thought that he was the one getting that opossum to move. The opossum wobbled around the coop after exiting and tried to hide beneath a wooden pallet – not too private. My family checked the coop and run one last time before helping the chickens get settled in for the rest of the night. Our opossum experience had the kids on a late-night adrenaline rush, so we talked about our opossum encounter before climbing into bed. We all agreed that: Johnny was a great rooster for protecting his hens a flashlight should be carried out each time the coop is closed for the night in order to count the chickens (and check for opossums) we were very lucky that the opossum was young When my son awoke the next morning, he showed me a short paragraph in the book The Chicken Whisperer’s Guide to Keeping Chickens. Authors Schneider and Dr. McCrea write: Opossums occasionally raid a chicken house, often taking a single bird at a time and clumsily mauling it. Opossums tend to feed on the bird starting at the vent or consume young poultry whole, leaving behind a few wet feathers. They’ll also eat eggs left in the nest. You’ll find eggs smashed and strewn about, often with just small pieces of shell remaining. Opossums may also come in just to eat the grain or feed in the feeder. We were lucky. I can’t help thinking back to when Rosie came to our front porch. She had made the decision to stay out of the coop when it got dark (which is not easy for chickens to do), she braved the dogs in the driveway, and proceeded to follow them to the
It’s a Small World: Another Horse Connection
Last week I wrote about the special connection between horses and humans. That particular piece was one of the most difficult to start. How do I put a lifetime of passion and memories in one post? But, after I gathered pictures, picked out memories that meant the most to me, and chose a few of my great-grandfather’s horse stories to share, there was no stopping the words from spilling out onto the page. The connections that were found between the generations of my family and the love we have had for horses for over a hundred years was heartwarming and eye-opening at the same time. However, these connections were not the only ones discovered – another connection was uncovered this past week thanks to the following photo: In this picture a four-year old version of myself can be seen riding a pony at a friend’s birthday party. Do you see the man with the sweet cowboy hat on? He ended up coming into our lives some 30 years later. I didn’t make this connection until I dug up this picture to use in my horse story last week. Our Home My family and I moved into our current home almost five years ago now. We were thrilled to find a place that was just 20 minutes from downtown St. Paul and Minneapolis, but made us feel like we were living in the country. The lot we live on is large enough to have nice-sized perennial gardens, hold our 12 raised-bed vegetable gardens, and keep our free-range chickens happy and chatty. Four doors down from our house is a horse boarding stable, so we walk to visit our friends almost every day. And, much to our delight, we quickly found out that our next-door neighbors have ponies come to stay with them every summer. Why? It’s quite simple – our neighbors have a large lot so they have a friend’s ponies come over to keep the grass in the pasture under control throughout the summer. This friend, I’ll call Joel for privacy’s sake, lives just down the road from us, so he stops by every day to spray the ponies with fly repellent and give them treats. Naturally, my family and I flock to the ponies every summer. We feed them long grass by hand, and when the apples on our apple trees ripen in the fall, the ponies delight in the crisp, sweet treat. Two summers ago I came up with a great idea – yes, it does happen once in awhile, believe it or not. Joel One day, as Joel was over taking care of his ponies, I asked him if he would be willing to bring a pony over to our house for my daughter’s fourth birthday. My daughter has always been completely crazy about horses. She decorates her bed with stuffed horses, plasters her walls with horse pictures, and visits the horses in the neighborhood on a daily basis. Going to see the horses is like brushing teeth for her – a habit. A surprise pony ride would be a dream for her. Joel was more than willing to come and surprise my daughter, and he actually seemed just as excited as I was at this prospective event. I had a sneaking suspicion that Joel had done this before. More on this later. On my daughter’s birthday, it’s easy to say that she was in utter disbelief when a pony started walking up the driveway. I remember her screaming “IT’S BUTTONS!” She knew Buttons well since this pony spent most of the summers in our neighbor’s backyard. The smile that washed over my daughter’s face was beautiful. Quick note – Do you see those cowgirl boots with the pink trim? That girl wore those boots each and every day for two years. She only stopped wearing them because she could no longer scrunch her feet into those beloved boots. Needless to say, we have the boots in her memory box because neither mom nor daughter could part with them. Anyway, my daughter rode the pony for a good hour the day of her birthday before… …bringing her brother on a ride that was just as long. Everyone, including Joel, had smiles on their faces throughout the evening. Success all around! Last week, as I was rummaging through old photos for my horse post, I noticed a similarity between the man in the sweet cowboy hat in my old picture, and Joel. The man sure looked like Joel, but could he be? The hats they wore seemed similar. Maybe the nose too. Had we crossed paths 30-some years ago? The Connection Yesterday I was out mowing the grass in the backyard when I saw Joel pull up in the neighbor’s driveway. I jumped off the lawn tractor, ran up to the house to grab my old picture, and sprinted back down to the horse pasture. “Hi, Joel!” I yelled. He responded with “Well, hello there!” When I reached him, I said, “Joel, this may seem crazy, but is this you in this picture?” He looked and exclaimed “Well, would you look at that! That’s my hat, and my mustache.” He looked at me, pointed at the picture and asked “Is that you?” “Yes,” I replied, “I was at my friend’s birthday part, and four-years old at the time.” He smiled and said “It’s a small world! That’s Sugar you are sitting on. She was a great pony. Oh goodness, thank you so much for sharing this picture with me.” Joel and I ended up sharing horse stories for at least a half an hour. I told him about my favorite horse memories, my parent’s farm, and my great-grandfather’s stories about Rowdy, his horse. Joel told me about growing up on a farm that was located very close to where we currently live, and how his grandfather bought him his first horse when he was 15 years old. Joel named his horse Charity because he liked to share the horse with
The Horse: Why Do They Continue To Capture Our Hearts?
What is it about horses that capture the hearts of young children and adults alike?
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Heartache in the Chicken Run
Last night the kids went outside with their flashlight after dark to look for night crawlers since it had rained earlier in the day. They collect night crawlers throughout the summer so they can use them for fishing. While the kids were out, they went back to check on the chickens and the chicks (we keep our 2 1/2 month old chicks in the run right now to keep them separated from the older chickens in the coop until the chicks grow to be about the same size as the older ones) to make sure all the chickens were accounted for. When my son and daughter went past the run, they counted only five chicks, not the six that were supposed to be in there. They searched throughout the run, but couldn’t find Dahlia, the missing chick. Both of the kids came running into the house yelling that Dahlia was missing. How can that be? Our run is very predator proof. We used 1/2″ hardware cloth on every opening from roof to below ground throughout the run. Yes, we even installed hardware cloth a few inches under the top soil to prevent predators from digging up into the run. My husband and I asked the kids if they had accidentally let Dahlia out of the run when they were going in and out of the run. They insisted that they had not. My husband grabbed the large flashlight and we all hurried out to the run. The kids and I waited outside of the run while my husband went in to inspect. He checked all the places that the kids had checked before he noticed that the screw-on lid to the five-gallon waterer was sitting cockeyed on the bucket. My husband lifted the lid and I heard him mutter “Oh geez.” He reached into the bucket, and slowly pulled out little Dahlia, wet, limp, and lifeless. My husband gently set Dahlia on the ground while he securely screwed the top back onto the waterer before returning to pick her up. I felt sick to my stomach, my daughter immediately cried out in terror as big crocodile tears fell down her cheeks, and my son walked away in a sort of skip, not knowing exactly what to do as he put his hands up on his head. The whole scene was heartbreaking. Quite a few people have given me that smile with a short shake of the head after I tell them that all of our layers have names. I can’t help it. I love animals, and if they live with us, they are a part of our family. You see, each chicken has his or her own personality. Goldy (Golden Rod) is my gardening pal. She stays right by my side as I pull weeds, dig holes, or till up the soil in hopes that a big, juicy worm or bug will surface. Rose is the boss of all of the hens, well, and sometimes the rooster too. She is also one of the first chickens to run to me at full speed when I call the flock. Thistle was given her name by my husband when she started to peck at our hands and run away from us when she was just a few days old. These days, she seems to be an old soul who likes to sit by us on the deck when we relax at the end of the day. Dahlia, sweet Dahlia, calm, quiet, and easy to hold. As my husband held Dahlia, I ran into the house to get a towel and was back out in less than a minute. My husband notified me that Dahlia was still alive, but barely. I wrapped her in the towel and held her close to me as I carried her inside. She would move her head every once in awhile, but the breaths she was taking were short, shallow, and occurring every ten seconds or so. Close to death. One thing that struck me was how cold she was. Usually the chickens are like large heat packs when you hold them. As I felt her cold body in my arms, I was reminded of a story my mom had told me a couple of years ago. Bud, the owner of the family farm prior to when my parents had bought it, had woken up early one morning to start on the farm chores when he noticed that a lamb had been born during the night. That particular night was one of those frigid Minnesota winter nights where the temperatures had dropped well below zero. The lamb was frozen solid by the time Bud had reached the little one. He wrapped the lamb up and gently held her under a heat lamp. Miraculously, the lamb had thawed, awoken, and went on to live a full life. Can you imagine? If this lamb survived, maybe Dahlia could survive. By the time I walked inside with Dahlia, both of the kids had asked me a dozen times if she would be okay. As I looked down at her with her head drooping down, eyes closed, and barely breathing, I replied “You probably should start praying because we need a miracle.” Within this short time, my husband had gathered a large storage bin, put a few inches of pine shavings in it, and attached a heat lamp to the side. I gently laid Dahlia down in the bucket under the lamp and went to get a blow dryer. With the setting on low and cool (which is a lukewarm temperature), I began drying Dahlia’s feathers. We used the blow dryer for about a half an hour, making sure to dry around her neck, chest, under her wings, and back. Soon after, we noticed that Dahlia was trying to move her head a little more often, and she started to open her eyes sporadically. I warmed up a heat pack, wrapped it in a towel, and gently slipped it underneath Dahlia for additional warmth. After an hour of continuous
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Chicken Coop With Run: Free Plans
On April 25, 2015 my husband and I packed up our kids and our dog, Brook (she travels with us wherever we go), and drove to pick up our very first one-day-old chicks. Our family had moved into our current house in the winter of 2012, and one of our goals before we even found our current house was to build our own chicken coop and raise some feathery friends in hopes that they would provide us with years of eggs in exchange for letting them happily roam our property. The previous winter had been consumed with researching everything chickens. We researched chicken breeds, chicken care, chicken books, chicken coops, and coop construction. After looking through many books and poring over many DIY chicken coop pages, we finally decided on our final coop and run design. I spent a week or so drawing up our coop plans before getting our supply list ready. Please click on picture to enlarge it. After gathering the materials we needed (well, most of them anyways as we ended up taking many trips to home improvement stores throughout the coop and run construction), we began constructing the frame of the coop. My parents had some extra 2×4’s in their barn (some of the 2×4’s were the boards my great-great-great-grandparents used to build their first house on the farm in 1884) so we were able to construct most of the frame using these boards. *See plans for board lengths. After leveling the ground, we placed four 18″ cement squares (one at each corner) on the soil and put the frame of the floor squarely on these stones. We decided to insulate the floor, so we used ground-rated, 3/4″ plywood on the bottom of the frame, stuffed some left-over insulation between the joists, used 3/4″ plywood on the top and finished it with a laminate remnant (for easy cleaning) before putting up the walls. I’m picturing a milkshake parlor right now, but I don’t think that would be too sanitary in our chicken coop. The framing for the coop and run went up next. The walls were raised on the coop, we attached the roofing boards, and we began to attach the framing of the run to the coop. We wanted the run to be attached to the coop so we could have one long run of roofing which provided continuous shelter for the chickens inside the coop and outside in their run. After leveling the ground where the run was going to sit, we partially buried ground-rated 6″x6″ boards on all three sides of the run. These boards were attached to the coop using 5″ screws at the base. We toe-nailed four screws on each 6″x6″ board at the point it attaches to the coop. We bought even longer screws (8″) to screw the 6″x6″ boards into each other on the two outside corners of the run. Finally, the joists were erected and a roof was added over the run. We screwed down 1/2″ plywood to the roof joists, stapled some tar paper down, and attached corrugated steel panels to the roof. We bought eight 3’X8′ corrugated steel panels and ran them from the east end of the coop all the way down to the west end of the run. We also decided to insulate the walls and ceiling of the coop since our chickens would have to endure our MN winters, so we added plywood to the inside of the coop first. The bottom 12″ of plywood is treated plywood so it won’t rot if it gets wet when we wash the floors. We used 1/2″ plywood on the walls and 1/4″ plywood on the ceiling. We stuffed insulation in-between the joists on the outside of the coop. Then, tongue-and-groove car siding was hung using a nail gun. The nail gun made the installation of the car siding very quick and easy. The most difficult part was fitting the car siding between the exposed roof joists, but with a little elbow grease (and our trusty jig saw), everything came together very nicely! I loved the look of the natural car siding, but we had our hearts set on a red coop with white trim.For our windows, we decided to install simple barn-sash windows. We wanted windows that could swing all the way open to allow for the maximum amount of air circulation. These windows were also much more inexpensive than the traditional windows we looked at. We paid $18 per window. Four windows were installed, two in the front of the coop and two in the back. After the windows went in, we painted the coop a brilliant autumn red. The kids really enjoyed helping me paint the trim on the windows white! We re-purposed a door that was originally in my great-great grandparent’s farm house (built in 1884). The nest box door is insulated so the hens (and eggs) can stay as comfortable as possible in all seasons. Finally, we put a large door on the west side of the run and added support boards between all of the run joists. We decided to make a 4′ door so we could get a wheelbarrow in and out of the run if needed. Also, we put a spring hinge on the door so the door would shut right behind us. Half-inch hardware cloth was stapled to all sides of the run. We also removed a couple of inches of soil from the bottom of the run and attached 1/4″ hardware cloth to all of the 6″x6″ boards and to the base of the coop to keep predators from digging up into the run. We put the soil back on top of the hardware cloth once the cloth was secured. Quarter-inch hardware cloth was also used on the inside of the windows and vents to keep predators out of the coop. A chicken door was attached to the coop using hinges at the bottom of the door, and we added 1″x1″x12″ pieces of wood every 2″ down