William's pumpkin

Anna working on her pumpkin

Lauren's pumpkin

Science Friday - Slugs

Chicken Notes

Lester is PU: Pending Pick Up. I had one claimant on Freecycle that said she'd take him. I didn't mention his full name (Lester the Molester). He's quite aggressively, ah, making sure his gene pool gets passed on. The hens are getting edgy and have a crazy, glazed look in their eyes. The two older ones sometimes stay in the coop all day, hiding and have said they are too old for that uh, carrying-on.

If Lester leaves, that means I can move the three large young chickens into the coop with two old ones, quit climbing under the deck to retrieve eggs (as they will lay in the coop box), and the bantams with chicks can go in the triangular chicken tractor. Of course, I'll have to give up my reputation in the neighborhood as the crazy woman who has chickens in her house. Well, the bantams come in at night, having no coop of their own, and I put them in dog crates, which aren't 'coon proof.

Raven, the one that has been sitting FOREVER, even trying to steal her sister's eggs, finally hatched a very tiny yellow chick. Mother and chick are doing fine. Raven is now potty trained. Still sitting on two remaining eggs, she is carried outside once a day where she stands tall, gives the Rebel yell, flaps around the yard squawking, and then poops like a Clydsdale. She follows me about the yard, expecting me to protect her from the big hens that try to attack her. She dutifully returns to her eggs and cage after her walk and catching a few bugs. I suppose I'm the only person I know with a potty trained hen.

Clay, the rooster (photo right) hides under the deck all day if Lester escapes his fencing, like he did today. Somehow, Clay has injured one wing, which hangs down low. I've examined the bones and nothing is broken. Perhaps it is a ruse to keep Lester at bay. He will be happy to see Lester go. And when he does, I'll have everyone in a coop without having to build a new one before winter.

That's Embarrassing!

Don't get me wrong: cell phones are wonderful inventions. Sometimes, I wonder what we did without them. But just because you can talk from anyplace, doesn't mean you should.

Comments on your worst cell phone encounters?

At the Kentucky Railway Museum

My Town Monday - Flavor

Once upon a Main Street, there was a hardware store. Not just any hardware store, mind you, but a magic time machine hardware store. The door stood propped open in the summer months, as they had no air conditioning. Many feet over the years had worn an indentation in the wooden aisle way. As you walked past the gum ball machine to the back, you passed rows of disorganized gadgets of all sorts. Mid-store, a counter divided the shop in two, and behind the counter stood people who knew where every nail and screw was hoarded in shelving behind the counter.

Instead of buying 1000 nails in a box, you could stand at the counter and describe your task, and that you needed only 10 nails to complete it. Knowing exactly what you needed, the sales clerk would disappear and return with 10 nails which were dumped into a paper sack. People stood around chatting. A bulletin board was littered with the business cards of local tradesmen.It was small town USA.

During my tenure here in this town, the owners, aged and ready to retire, sold the shop reluctantly, and promised to try to sell to new owners that would keep the shop open like it was. The new owners tried, combining the hardware business with their real love, computer services. With competition from StuffMart and large you-do-it stores that opened within a fifteen minute drive, the hardware store couldn't survive. They expanded the computer and laser services business, closed the hardware business, and a little bit of history died.

I know I'm not the only one who mourns this bit of history that has passed. Recently, dh and I went to dinner with new neighbors who asked why we settled in "My Town". Dh began, "Well, there used to be this hardware store on Main Street..."

You Really Know You're a Hayseed When....

Friday, my girls and I ventured to the city to listen to a presentation specifically geared to homeschoolers by a university . Except for the lack of coffee which I thought would show better hospitality, we were well treated and enjoyed the informative presentation in a very nice auditorium. As I sat listening, the air conditioning kicked on and the air circulated a bit. Sniff, sniff. Someone had a problem. I did the little look around to see if anyone was squirming in their seat or looking embarrassed. No, no reaction. Maybe it was nothing.

A little while later, I was again greeted with a less than pleasant aroma. Man! I took a breath mint from my purse. Maybe it would mask the odor. Then, I noticed that the aroma occurred when I uncrossed one leg and crossed the other. I switched again. Yes, it was me! OH, NO, I had horse manure on my shoes! Here I was all in my new clothes thinking I was so spiffy and non-homeschooling-mom looking and I smelled like a just laid green horse turd. (For those of you who are not cognoscenti, green horse manure is much smellier than the blacker apples.)

I knew how this happened to my good Lands' End shoes. I'd gotten ready to go play "welcome wagon" to our new neighbors, putting on my good shoes, when we noticed that the miniature horses had ventured in with the big horses. Though they sometimes get along, we decided to put them in a stall before leaving in the event they might start running or messing with the neighbor's horses. In doing so, I stepped in it, literally. That day, I quickly changed shoes, and the event went out of my mind until that afternoon in the auditorium.

I quietly slinked out to the women's bathroom, took off my shoe and sniffed. And, about fainted. I began cleaning the shoe in the sink, praying that another homeschool mom didn't hear nature's call and come in and see me smelling the bottom of my shoe. I got it cleaned but then noticed that my shoes were suede and now had clear water marks on one shoe, not the other. So, I quickly put water on the other shoe. Thankfully, it was raining that day. No one would notice.

I slipped back into my seat, crossed my legs, and breathed a sign of relief. No one knew I was a yahoo. Then - the air kicked on and I smelled it again. And again. It wasn't my shoe. I don't know what it was, but at the very least, I knew my shoes were now clean.

A New Diet

It only occurred to me for a second. But, you know the saying, "He eats like he has a tapeworm"? That must mean that people with tapeworms can't keep on the weight, right? So, earlier this week, the cat rubbed all over me, leaving a tiny tape worm segment on my arm. At first, I thought it just a cat booger, but cat boogers can't expand and contract independently now, can they? And so, just for a second, only a second mind you, I wondered if I had tapeworms, would I lose weight? Could I start a new diet fad where you could eat all you want? I'd only have to swallow...Then, I threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it. I did not try to save the worm like Robin, rushing it to the vet's office. I did, however, send Lauren to the vet's to retrieve worm killer. And banished the cat to the outside for a couple of days.

Read Pitawoman's blog for another new diet fad.

Backyard Science Friday: I have photos...

...but I won't share them. Last night, Lauren came in just at nightfall. She had been "freaked out" down at the creek. There was a dead, hairless, green alien thing in the creek. Drawn there by our dog Daisy's barking, she spotted it in the dark with her flashlight. The smell was overpowering. Then, Daisy rolled it it. What is it with dogs and terrible smells and wanting to wear them like eau de cologne? It was reported that it resembled a pig in the fading light. I wondered which neighbor had taken up a new hobby? Daisy got a late night bath.

This morning, William and Lauren put on dust masks to go do a little forensic anthropology with me. It was an opposum that had apparently lost it's hair in the um, process. I took photos, but since many of you read this blog in the morning or over lunch (I am told), I'll spare you.

Do you have something to share in your backyard? Leave me a comment and I'll link to you.

Turtle Man

My dh said, "Please tell me he's not from Kentucky." He is, and we're probably related.



Thanks to my friend, Becky (who won the county husband calling contest at the county fair) for the link.

If William Was an Interior Designer

When It Hits the Fan

I'm all for edgy art. I don't want to look at it, but I think it has it's place, just not anywhere that I can see it. I can't imagine how museum curators pitched paying for an "art" exhibit that was meant to represent "a giant pile of dog faeces". And since when are inflatables "art"?

I can just imagine it. "Come on kids, we're going to the art museum!"
"What's there, Mom?"
"A really neat inflatable of a giant pile of dog sh#t!"
"Oh, boy, can we jump on it?"

God chimed in with his opinion of this piece of crappy artwork when a sudden windstorm blew the sh#t away. It landed in the yard of a children's home. They'll be in therapy now for years.

Click here (at your own risk) for photos.

Good Enough for Me

In a moment of weakness, I bought a pumpkin pie the size of a small flying saucer at Costco. I have been trying to watch what I eat lately, as the pounds seem a little harder to lose these days. After dinner, I offered the pie to the family, stating I'd have a small sliver. Dh took a big slice with a shrug, "It's a vegetable!"

After eating most of his pie, he declared it okay, but not as good as my recipe from a can. From scratch, I clarified? Well, if you call making it from a can, "scratch". I do - you have to add eggs and evaporated milk - more than two steps which qualifies it as homemade.

I remembered him to the time that I really made it from scratch, spending much time cooking a cooking pumpkin (not the same as those you carve) until it was the consistency of canned pumpkin. But - it was not. It was very grainy; Dh said the consistency of spaghetti squash, though I remember it to be not as good, not quite that bad. After slaving over the hot crock pot for what seemed years, I decided that canned pumpkin was good enough. And, Costco's gianormous pie is good enough, too. They're eating it, after all.

News and Notes
The Tractor Supply has opened in town. Yee haw! I don't have to travel 40 minutes to look at horse supplies.

The woman who bought Maggie and Easy, miniature horses and parents to mine own Roxie and Chiron, called the other day. Maggie is again expecting, and her "husband" has taken to polygamy. Seems she bought two miniature donkeys, female both. I asked her how she felt about miniature mules. Glad she lives more than an hour away.

Our farrier was by this week to trim horse hooves, and relayed a story about coyotes and wild dogs. Seems in the next town over, an owner of a cow witnessed wild dogs pulling at the ears of a cow, while the coyotes bit at the back legs. They got the cow down. I don't know the fate of the cow, but I hear coyotes go off at night, and it is an eerie sound.

My Blessings

He liked it when I told him that he looked like a President.

At this point in the election, I'm inclined to vote for him.

Kentucky State Lizard

I was amused by Brita Coleman's blog so much that I had to write ANOTHER whole blog today, when I should be painting or mopping floors or writing bad checks or something. I mean, how cool to have a lizard that eats biting ants and then shoots blood out it's eye when annoyed. I want to be that lizard. I can see it now, "William, don't make me shoot my eye at you!" Splat, all over his forehead. No, I'd not be able to control it. I'd be shooting blood at people at StuffMart, people blocking the grocery aisle. I don't have a temper, but I do have a low annoyance threshold.

So, she asks do we have a state lizard, as Texas does? (We actually don't even have a state, as Kentucky is a Commonwealth, but I digress.) We do not. I nominate the salamander. Not long after we moved to this house, dh and I, in a very rare moment, had the girls in bed and we settled in to easy chairs in the basement to watch TV. Next thing I knew, he was flying into the air with a loud exclamation that something had been under his sock! It was a very large black with yellow salamander that evidently thought his foot made a cozy hiding place. How it got in the house I'll never know, as we've not seen one in the house since. (Well, excepting the mummified one we found and put in our "Natural History Museum" in Lauren's bedroom.) So, I nominate the black with yellow salamander, whatever he's called. You look it up, I need to get painting.

For those of you wanting to check out your state symbols, go here.

My Town Monday - Identity Crisis

This flashing light is symbolic of the identity crisis my town is having. It has a vision of itself as historic, yet progressive, small town yet growing. It can't seem to make up it's mind.

This light hangs over a major intersection in town and directs hundreds of cars a day, maybe more. People start and stop, unsure who is next as eight lanes come to face each other. If a train comes at rush hour, cars wait in long lines for a chance at this dance. In an age of computers and sensors, you'd think they'd find a way to use a modern traffic light to allow traffic to clear. But, the town has had this flashing light hanging there since I've lived here and probably will long after I'm gone.

Once passing the historic district, where PITA will tell you that you must get a permit to fart, all bets are off. The main drag could be any small town USA and though large signs are not permitted, we have all the requisite fast food joints that have caused the expanding US waistline, gas stations, StuffMart and strip malls.

Grow? Stay the same? Grow seems to be the word over the past decade, where it has been said that a new school would need to be built every two years to keep up with incoming. And guess who gets to pay for it? This homeschooler that doesn't use the schools.

Drawings by God

William and friends made large chalk drawings on our driveway, and that night it rained. Where oak leaves lay on the ground, the chalk was protected. The next day, the wind blew the now dry leaves away, leaving a chalk image behind. At first, I wondered who had so perfectly drawn the oak leaf shape. Then, I knew.

U-Phonics

William and I were working on reading similar words. For example, if he could sound out and/or recognize at, he could then add a consonant in front to create similar words that rhyme: cat, bat, rat, and so on. The next day, I pointed out one of our reading words: duck. See the uck, I said. And we again began trying to find all the words we could make up with uck. Halfway through, I began worrying, and hoping that he'd forget one of the consonants. Ironically, we came up with over a dozen uck words without the dreaded word being mentioned.

Robin's and Camflock's comments reminded me of a story from my sister-in-law. She said when her son was little, they'd drive around town with the windows open. The son loved construction equipment. He could not, however, pronounce "tr" as in truck and all tr sounds came out as "f" sounds. Ending sounds also were sometimes dropped, as the "p" in dump. Construction workers sent daggers with their eyes as the little boy yelled out the window pointing to their general vicinity, "Dum(p) Truck!"

Backyard Science Friday - Hatching Eggs

Each day, William and I take the bantam hen from her crate and make her eat and drink. She seems content to hunker down on the eggs in a hunger strike, willing them to turn to chicks by pure determination. Two of the eggs are green, and we knew already they were "duds", as she has been sitting on them about six weeks, though it only takes three to hatch. Two, both brown, we tucked under her around three weeks ago, so are nearly at due date.

Yesterday, we noticed that when she got out to eat and stretch her legs, it took only ten minutes for the green dud eggs to turn cold, as there is no chick inside. By contrast, the brown eggs were still warm, as the chicks inside radiated heat to the shell. By softly laying your fingers on the egg, you can feel small movements of the chicks inside. Sometimes, when very close to hatching, you can hear them peep from inside the egg.

The hen, were you to reach underneath her, has by now lost all her feathers on her belly, providing skin to egg contact for better warming of the eggs. If you approach her, she swells and lifts her wings, giving a warning sound and lowering her head. As I approach, she now knows I'm likely bringing berries or a treat to eat, and she tries to peck at my gold wedding band.

Because she is a bantam, she is more like a pet and accepting of being held and touched more than a full-sized hen, most of whom have had all sense bred out of them. I should have photos of at least one chick by the next week.

Did you learn any backyard science this week? Email me and I'll link to your blog below.

Backyard Friday Participants
Show me something you are learning in your backyard.

This week's participants:
In the Good Shepherd's Care

Crash

You may wonder where I've been, all four of you (see my fan base to the right). Or, maybe not. Anyway, you're going to hear about it. About the time the stock market started to crash, so did my hard drive on my aging desktop. I found through much trial and error, and a week's worth of work, a way to get it to reboot, but I worried - it was an old computer and on it were precious photos and documents. I needed to back up.

Investing in a Maxtor external hard drive, I was encouraged that it said plug it in and "get ready to save your life". I was ready. My computer was not. Another week of here and there trying everything, searching the internet, checking things I didn't know existed, until one day, I came to a reference which suggested it was my USB. It seems that my external hard drive came prepared to work with a USB 2.0, not a 1.1. Which did I have? One geek forum said that if you had to ask, you had a 1.1. At this point, you should box up your computer and ship it to the archives of the Smithsonian Institute.

Being a glutton for punishment, I decided to confirm that it was a 1.1, not 2.0. To do this, you must look on the Device Manager. If you don't know where this is, I've lost you already. If you are still reading, a USB that says "enhanced" anywhere under the USB section means that it is 2.0. I am not enhanced. (Like I needed the computer to tell me that.)

Luckily, I have my handy-dandy-notebook (see Blue's Clues for reference) and I am copying the files onto CD and using the laptop to connect to the external hard drive. I should be finishing this project just in time to find that the technology has changed so drastically to render all the saved data irretrievable and useless.

Notes:
The cats have tapeworms. Ick factor.

Inventions

I've read that it isn't too far into the future that we'll have the ability to have wireless communication implanted into our brains. Finally, my dh will be able to read my mind like he's supposed to. There was no timetable for release of this invention, and I can only think it is well into the future.

In the meantime, I was discussing with some friends that I'd like to invent a wireless device that cuts into headphones and earbuds like a PA system. "Attention all teenagers in this house. This is your mother speaking. She would like to converse with you. Please remove all listening devices and come out of your rooms."

Obviously, one of the friends has raised teens and has had experience. She suggested just getting dog shock collars and requiring my teens to wear them. If I want them to listen or emerge from their room, I need only hit the "shock" button and they would be sure to respond immediately. It's an idea, just an idea.

I would also an improvement to my cell phone. I would like it to ring if called from my home phone even if it is turned off or the battery is dead . You can guess why.

Science Friday - Snakes

What boy doesn't like to climb on a rock formation? We were today at a state park, looking for a landscape for Anna to paint. William and I began climbing on the overlook, built after World War II. Anna took photos of the view. A possible painting?

My observant eldest, Lauren, found two surprises for us in crevices.


Here you see one. A juvenile rat snake warming himself in the sun.
It is not our first experience with rat snakes, but thankfully,
this one was not in our house.

Lauren bravely touched him, but you can see that William
preferred a hands off science lesson.
We decided not to rock climb after all.
We headed to the lake, which so far, is the leading
location for painting a landscape.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons is a strange book, to say the least, but for some kids, it is a great way to teach reading. William seems to be progressing. Each lesson has a small story accompanied by a silly drawing. Several weeks ago, we came across this story: A man sat on a ram. That ram can not see. Here is the drawing that accompanied that story. What's wrong with this picture, and why does the ram have on a hat? Is it just me, or is this a bit weird?

Wordless Wednesday - Our Latest Addition

"This is fun!"

William (with supervision) cutting up scrap lumber to discard.

My Town Monday - Spring Water

You could say that my town came to exist because of water. Imagine putting everything you own on a flatboat or a keelboat. Everything. The settlers then floated down the Ohio River to locations where there were very few people and no StuffMarts. Most were headed to small settlements.

About five miles north of my town, a few would get off the boats on the banks of the Ohio to rest, and hear about a spring where they could water their horses or livestock if they were lucky enough to have any. They would have come to this spot, where the spring still exists near the center of town. Perhaps some liked the rolling hills and beautiful location, and decided to settle here, for my town existed and had real streets and property lines as early as 1824.

This spring is located on private property now, so I couldn't get a closer view. It is located in the section of town that in years past was known for being where black people live. Descendants of those black people still live there, but the black Methodist church has now merged with the white Methodists, and the building now houses a dance studio and the thrift shop where I volunteer.

It seems like such a peaceful spot just off the main road, where cars whiz by with people on their way to buy their groceries and supplies at superstores, unaware that they are passing a location where once, people quietly watered their animals and looked over the land for its possibilities.

For more My Town Monday posts, go visit Travis.

What Scares Me About Sarah Palin...

....is not the woman herself, but what I've been reading lately about some reactions to anyone that opposes her. This blog is not about what I think of Sarah Palin, for that is why we have secret ballots and why, if I want to, I can keep my opinion to myself. If I I did not support her candidacy and I wanted to, I should have a right to speak my mind freely without worrying about my safety or the safety of my family. I should not be threatened or be treated as if I did not have that right. Somebody wrote that down somewhere.

I understand excitement and hope for a candidate that appears to support one's own values. Palin has definitely caused a shake up, showing Washington that America is looking for someone different, someone new. What scares me is devotion that approaches idolatry, devotion without careful research and study. If after carefully considering, after studying what she has done and what she plans to do, you support Palin, that is all well and good. You can volunteer, you can campaign, perhaps distribute flyers, fund raise. Novel idea: vote for her!

But Palin has seemed to have attracted some people to her corner that think it is okay to email death threats, curse writers, and throw obscenities. Why the vehemence? Why would someone, claiming to support a pro-life candidate tell conservative Kathleen Parker to "off herself"? Why a viral email that has resulted in hateful emails to a housewife in Alaska?

I don't understand the hatred. If I read something with which I don't agree, I put it aside. I continue to read and think. I don't feel personally attacked nor the need to personally attack. I can only think that anyone who is so very full of anger and hate must not truly believe in Palin, but think that she is in such a weak position, that all opposition must be silenced. I am afraid for our country that so many people think it is okay to disagree with violent words. To be honest, I'm even a little afraid to post this blog - even without talking about Palin herself. What has happened to our First Amendment? Does this scare me? You betcha'!

What I Aspire To Be

Spread love everywhere you go: first of all in your own house…let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your warm greeting.

Mother Teresa

Science Friday - Frogs....

...and learning life lessons.

We thought petsitting for PITA woman would be a short science lesson, a one week exploration into the life of frogs. She has a habit of adopting creatures and observing them. She asked if we could mind the wee beasties while she was away. We were delivered an aquarium with three tiny frogs, and instructions to feed them ants a couple of times a day. How hard could it be? Little did we know.

The first day went fine, and the second, though the frogs are so tiny, they are difficult to find in the aquarium. I often used a flashlight to locate them. We'd placed the aquarium atop William's dresser, out of direct light and in his room to avoid them being in the traffic of everyday life. While I left the room to find my flashlight (which has legs of its own), I heard a tremendous crash and a frantic, "Oh, no! I didn't mean it!"

The aquarium lay broken in a million pieces on the floor and seeing no blood on William and noting he wasn't screaming, I knew he was okay, but the frogs? What had he done? It seems that in an effort to view the frogs, William climbed his dresser drawers, tilting the dresser enough to dump the aquarium. Thanks to God, he wasn't hurt. After being the mom from hell and yelling at him, I asked him to leave as Lauren and I sifted through gravel and glass looking for the frogs.

Quickly, I found two, but the third lay unresponsive. I saw only one back leg, and declared him dead at 9-0-4 a.m. William despaired not that the aquarium was broken, but that he'd caused the death of the tiny frog. We put the two in a jar, and I set about cleaning up the mess. About to pick up the main piece, I noticed that the dead frog was indeed not dead, but very much alive. His leg must have been under him, unnoticed, and though still in a little shock, he was okay.

We spent the morning going to thrift shops and StuffMart to get supplies to replace what was broken. It came out of William's allowance. But I didn't mean it. While it was hard to be the bad guy, I explained that if Mommy wrecked the car into someone else's car, and didn't mean it, I still had to fix it, make them whole if I could. $16 later, he'll likely never climb his dresser drawers again.

The next day went fine, but we learned yet another lesson later in the week. Having caught a good number of ants in a plastic container, I just put the whole container in the aquarium, avoiding dumping the dirt in there and escaping ants. The next morning, I noticed that one of the smaller frogs had gotten into the container and was being attacked by ants! I don't know why he didn't just leave, but I had to swim him in the water to get the ants off and remove the remaining ants. Alone, they are eaten, but in an army, ants attack! The frog hid for awhile, and we weren't sure if he would make it. Surprisingly, he did.

We were relieved when PITA picked up the frogs, so worried we were that another disaster might befall them and we'd be responsible! The frogs are now safely home, and hopefully, safe.

Ever Wonder How Wars Start?

My friend, mother of three boys, had warned me, and I knew, but yet again have to be reminded of the power of group think, particularly males. Now, before you think I'm sexist, I will say that as a young girl, I might or might not have chipped away with a hammer at our fireplace mantel because it made shiny little rocks. I did not mean to be destructive. I was just focusing on the shiny rocks. So, I do have some insider information about how the mind of a child thinks, having remembered the brew-ha-ha my little destruction caused a the time, and how it didn't occur to me at all that what I was doing was wrong.

Still, boys have an even more powerful group think about destroying things than girls. Perhaps I am thinking of the time when certain boys used my hand-painted birdhouse gourd as a piñata? Nah. But they do have a tendency to do certain things they might not have alone.

I should have known right away, but I stood perplexed looking at the fence I use to contain the larger chickens. It is four foot high rabbit wire, which I had momentarily moved and wasn't using, but had every intention of using again. Perhaps a buck got stuck in it, and in his thrashing about, he bent all the poles and crushed the fence. Did someone drive the truck through the grass and smash it all to hell? What had happened? (See photo.) Really, I should have known.

I later learned that in my two hour absence, Lauren had come upon William and best-friend, "A" beating the fence to death with sticks. Why? I don't know. One of them hit it, and it was all out war from then on. Neither paused to ask why they were doing it, or if they might, just might ought not to be doing it. It just felt good to be beating the crap out of a fence.

And of course, upon questioning my son, it was not at all his idea or fault. Right. So, two little boys will help me straighten the fence one day. It would be today, but William had the foresight to develop a terrible cough and cold, keeping him indoors for the day and away from friends.

A day later, William and I passed a major construction site where they are removing a rock wall. The equipment is quite impressive. William said, "See, mom, that's why I want to be a 'struction worker. You get to destroy things." I guess I could look at the fence destruction as preliminary job training.

Chicken Notes:

Les and Bo, my two bantam sisters co-sitting on eggs, have to be made daily to eat and drink, or they won't. They'd die sitting on those eggs. Only one seems viable but it should've hatched by now.
I've been trying to integrate the three young chickens with Lester the Molester, pictured left, and his two old ladies. To do so, I've been free-ranging them to give them room to run. I'd love to catch Lester on video and will try to get it on the blog. Each morning when released, he runs as fast as his short little legs will carry him and he chases the young girls until with much squawking and carrying on, he "has his way" with her. It is a morning ritual. I feel sorry for the young girls, but it's just a fact of life for chickens and they might as well accept it: there'll be no roses and chocolates.

Now, the young rooster, for we have now heard him crow a feeble ur-ur-ur?, stands by and watches. We are hoping that he either has a stong sense of self-preservation (doesn't want to fight the experienced mean rooster over a bunch of girls) or he's still young, or both. He doesn't have spurs and well, you can see how he runs from the photo. We decided to call him "Clay".