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If you read my blog post entitled Down in Birdland, you may be wondering what happened with our turkey hen, Isabelle, who had been broody since mid January. We last left her setting on a clutch of 10 chicken eggs, with no idea if this arrangement would be successful. Well, strange things happened over the 3 weeks of incubation: eggs disappeared (was she eating the unborn chicks?); she finally started laying her own eggs again for the first time since January; and then, in the midst of all my playing God, she allowed Thomas to mate with her, for the first time I was aware of since last spring when she hatched her own clutch! I covered my eyes and shook my head, not to give the lewd couple privacy, but because it was sinking in that after all my fancy arranging, Izzy was now capable of setting on and hatching her own clutch!

Of all the nasty tricks.

Meanwhile, I had timed everything to the nth detail, like a finely choreographed ballet. I “gave” her the chicken egg clutch exactly 21 days before the feed store was to receive day old royal palm turkey poults (she and her mate, Thomas, are also royal palm), and day old guinea keats. If she wasn’t going to kick out of the broody phase, she was not going to lay her own eggs, and her eggs would not be fertile unless she came out of her box long enough to let Thomas mate with her! I wanted poults for Thanksgiving and sausage! And, I very much wanted guineas for squash bug control. And I also ordered 22 chicken chicks (yes, in addition to the 15 I had been hand raising for 4 weeks already) – 16 cockerels (young roosters) bound eventually for the freezer, and 6 more pullets (young hens) to further supplement our laying flock. The plan had been to stage a fantastic adoption caper, shoving 3 different species under Izzy for her to mother.

Perhaps I was overzealous. Perhaps this plan was a bit bold. (Ya think?) But, hey, I always say, why just get your toes wet when you can dive straight in? Right? (Plus I had a Plan B – to raise them by hand if Izzy should fail.)

Well, the first paragraph of oddities should have clued me in that Mother Nature does not like to be upstaged. The next sign definitely had me looking guiltily at the cloudless sky. The mail order chicks arrived 4 days before I expected them!! As I was uncomfortable putting to-be-adopted chicks under Izzy before her own clutch started hatching, this sent me for a loop! I got the call from the PO and had to do some serious scrambling of setting up the wee chick scene once more. I was out of wood shavings, I was almost out of starter feed (the teenager chicks could now graduate to grower feed), and I needed another heat lamp as the first was in the teenagers’ outdoor house. However, everything was ready for Izzy’s adoption set up (she would be the natural heat lamp and already had her own feeder and waterer), of course.  Add to this stress the fact that the PO called me at 6am on a SUNDAY, and were, of course, closing for the day as soon as the truck was unloaded. I did not get the message until 7am – MUCH too late. So the wee babes had to sit in the PO for 24 more hours – rather heartbreaking for a maternally-minded mom such as myself.  At least it gave me time to prepare…

Weds, “hatch day”, came and went. No chicks appeared. Thurs arrived and still no hatchings. The poults were getting older, waiting at the feed store for me to collect them. I did not want to offer Izzy poults that were too old for fear of the adoption backfiring. Never knew that raising poultry was much akin to rocket science, did you? The same morning I saw a Facebook posting for 2 adult guinea hens who needed a home. Hmmmm…. It was time for some decisive action. I messaged the guinea woman, got in the car, and headed to the feed store. Two hours later I returned home with 4 royal palm poults of unknown sex, peeping with confusion and fear.

I carried the wee ones inside, out of the wind, and set to filling feed trough and water bottle. This time, with the sad experience from last spring, I added small gravel to the water ring so the poults would not drown in their own waterer (chicken chicks do not need this sort of babying – they are a lot smarter). I stacked all the supplies on top of the towel draped box of babies, and headed to the barn. Fiona, our first time pregnant goat, heard the cheeping as I opened the gate, and tore to the opposite corner of the barnyard in stark terror. Goats can be so darn goofy. Hazelnut did not seem to care and escorted me to Izzy’s enclosure, presumably because she smelled the corn in the feeder. I shut the gate and opened Izzy’s hatch. Immediately she heard the peeping and stretched her neck up inquisitively. She slowly raised her massive, white body up off her chicken egg clutch and peered out of her broody box like some prehistoric dinosaur. Just the mere sound of peeping babies caused her to answer in characteristic pips and coos. I felt encouraged. I opened the peep box and removed the first poult, tucking it gracefully beneath Izzy’s raised body. She looked between her scaly legs and tucked and shifted as I added the remaining 3. Her eyes took on a misty look of pure bliss as she continued to shift and adjust. I tried to roll the 5 remaining chicken eggs out from under her but she was having none of that and rolled them right back beneath her chest. As I left her, she settled back down with the utmost care, not a poult to be seen, not a peep to be heard, her eyes happily at half mast.

I sighed with my own happy smile. The newest chicks would be moved outside in another 10 days or so, then after a month they could be joined with the teenagers. I would introduce adult guinea hens for squash bug control as soon as I could pick them up, without having to raise them from keats. And Isabelle finally had her babies. Now I could gratefully push this series of poultry stresses to the side and focus, with renewed calm, on what was next on our plate…..

Our first experience with goat kidding (GASP!! CPR! I NEED CPR!).

Three weeks and counting. 🙂

The adopted poults are dwarfed by Isabelle's prehistoric bulk.

The adopted poults are dwarfed by Isabelle’s prehistoric bulk.

And here is exhibit B, Izzy's poult disappearing act!

And here is exhibit B, Izzy’s poult disappearing act!

************************************************************************

Addendum:

Turkey poults are very fragile little beings, and very, very intellectually challenged. Within a few hours of adoption, I returned to check and found one poult already dead, squashed between the eggs, and another squashed pretty flat, but still alive. I helped revive the latter poult, helping it to it’s water and food. It drank clumsily for about 5 minutes straight – obviously dehydrated. I forcibly removed the last 5 eggs at that point – their time had come and gone in my opinion and they were now a danger to the poults. Randy and Isla cracked them open to check and found 4 to be unviable and one with a fully formed, but dead, chick. Sad. I tried reviving that one too but was unsuccessful. Perhaps I jumped the gun on removing the eggs, but it was either them or the poults it seemed. The good news is that at least we now know that turkeys CAN incubate chicken eggs.

The next morning I found a second dead poult. But as I gently lifted Izzy up to her feet (I can barely believe she lets me do this), the remaining two came running out looking chipper and healthy. If they made it through that night, I feel hopeful they will make it in the long run.

Later still:

It’s been almost a week now and I have brought home 3 more poults, and lost 2 more. We seem to be leveling out at 3 healthy babies. It’s been hard to be sure, although I try hard to be a tough chick myself. But those mama tears just keep escaping each time I remove another limp baby.

But of course, no one said being a farm girl was easy….

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Painting the new hive in preparation

Painting the new hive in preparation

Isla helping me assemble the frames with her own little hammer.

Isla helping me assemble the frames with her own little hammer.

Sure, I’ve installed packages of bees before. Not a lot, but at least 3. You wait by the phone on the predicted day of arrival for that exciting call from the USPS annex. You jump in your vehicle and speed over, ring the back door bell, and the postal person leads you in from the loading dock, as he or she is not usually comfortable bringing a cage of 10,000 bees TO you. Then you set them in your car and whisper loving endearments to this seething mass of the insect world as you drive them slowly home, to their waiting hive. And then you install them, but that is another story.

But USPS no longer ships bees.

And I had no idea what was in store for me when I headed south to meet the bee truck from Texas.

After the relaxing 1-1/2 hr drive to Santa Fe (alone, by God!) through the Rio Grande Gorge and it’s serpentine tumble through class 3 rapids, and my requisite stop at Trader Joe’s in said town, I went off in search of the pick up spot. I passed it 3 times before I finally figured out which drive it was. House numbers do no good in emails when they do not exist in reality. I pulled in and waved to a man who was separating bee cages with a pry bar. Bees were swirling in a cloud around his unveiled head. I was obviously in the right place. He asked my name and carried over 2 of the 4 cages I was transporting.

But something was very wrong.

There were bees flying everywhere and several hundred clinging to the outside of the cages! WTF? How was I going to get these cages into the back seat of my truck? And then home?

I inquired as to why the OUTSIDES of the cages where coated in several layers of bees. The man said that was the nature of a bee truck delivery – the bees were shaken into the bee package cages on top of the queen cages and a bunch more attached themselves to the outside, waiting for their new home, just like the trapped ones inside. I mumbled under my breath that USPS never delivered my cages covered in bees …. on the OUTSIDE. Of course I knew that hiveless bees have no instinct to sting as there is nothing to protect. But it was more than a little unnerving to think of driving 65 mph down the highway for the next 1-1/2 hrs with bees swirling at will about my head inside the truck!

He brought the next pair of cages over, slightly less bee coated, and I stood back waiting for the upset creatures to land once more. I had no gloves, so took a deep breath, grabbed the protruding slats, and hefted the first pair slowly and carefully into the back seat. Because it was obvious HE didn’t want to do it for me! Same procedure with the second pair of cages. Now the cloud of verklempt insects was IN the truck. I leaned in the driver’s door slowly, reached for the keys, turned on the ignition, and opened all the windows. Then I very carefully slid open the back slider window.

I stood back for about 5 minutes and watched the cloud alight, one by one, back on their cage of origin. When there were only a few dozen airborn cruisers, I slipped slowly into the drivers seat, being careful to check that I was not about to sit on a stray, closed the door, and rolled out of the drive with my knuckles already clenched white on the steering wheel.

In this pics the flying bees have settled down and are clinging quietly to the outside of the 2 farthest away cages.

In this pic the flying bees have settled down and are clinging quietly to the outside of the 2 farthest away cages.

For the nerve-wracking drive back to Taos, I made all moves in slow motion. I adjusted and readjusted the airflow from the windows to create a suction out the back slider. Fortunately, many of my unwanted passengers exited the truck in this exciting, high speed fashion. I blasted the airconditioner to chill them down a bit, hoping to encourage them to clump together for warmth. As it was barely in the 40’s outside, my fingers were beginning to grow numb. I finally broke down and blasted the heat on my sockless feet, leaving the windows opened as they were. As I waited for feeling to return to my frozen finger tips, I started thinking rather hysterical thoughts, quite obviously borne from my intense nervousness. “I bet Randy never thought he could fit 40,000 ladies into his truck at once. HA HA HA HA!!” (And yes, that estimation was about right, give or take a hundred.) I shivered to my core and switched hands – one for the wheel, the other jammed between my thighs. The bees and I settled to our travel task over time, but stopping at lights was always the hairiest. The lack of motion triggered them to fly again and without the air flow through the windows, they tended to fly into the front of the cab to check me out. I was grateful to have worn a hoody, and kept the hood pulled forward as best I could. This, at least, eased my fear of curious bees crawling down the neck of my shirt.

I wound my way up out of the Gorge to look north across the town of Taos and the intermittent snow squalls marching eastward across the mesa. What I could see of the mountains were blanketed white with their fresh burdens, so characteristic of our mountain springtime.  Heather met me at the gate to her yard with camera in hand, and I escaped my buzzing jail in record time. In the reflection of her car window, I spotted one of the wee lassies crawling on the back of my shirt. Heather brushed her off, we took some pictures through the open door, and I carefully carried her two cages into the wood shop. Then it was back to the bumpy dirt road, bound for our own farm, about a mile away.

Once parked safely in our driveway, I was greeting by my duly impressed husband (and flexed my muscles for him a bit), who had completed the readying of the apiary in preparation for my arrival. The 2 hives were leveled with a slight tilt forward for moisture drainage, the old frames (full of honey still from the hive we lost last winter) were interspersed with the newly built frames (split between the old and the new hives), the sugar water was in the 2 boardman feeders, the entrance reducers were in place. All looked good. I carried the pair of cages from the truck to the apiary (without protection, just to impress the cheering crowd… in my mind), and we retired to the house to don gear as the next wave of squalls moved across our farm.

Prying the cages apart.

Prying the cages apart.

A blast of wind and a flurry of snow whipped the house. Randy and I looked at each other in disbelief. Didn’t we install our first hive in a snow storm 3 years ago, we asked with our arched brows? I felt badly for the poor bees out in the cold wind and fumbled hurriedly with my suit and veil. Randy was wearing his Christmas bee suit for the first time and was extremely excited. As he was always on kid duty, he had NEVER seen the inside of our hive in the 3 yrs we had kept it!  We also crowned Marian (our housemate) and Isla (our 3 year old) with veils of their own. Once the squall passed (which only took a few minutes, in high desert fashion), we raced back out to the apiary and began the process.

Removing sugar water cans and queen cages.

Removing sugar water cans and queen cages.

Sugar water cans were removed from the cages, queen cages removed next and attached on a frame in each hive, and bees tumbled in a clumping ball over the top of their queens. The girls immediately crawled down inside their new homes and got down to the business of housecleaning, comb drawing, and tending their royal mistress.

Shaking the package of bees over the queen cage.

Shaking the package of bees over the queen cage.

The worker bees moving down into the frames to get to work.

The worker bees moving down into the frames to get to work.

Um, that would be approximately 10,000 bees.

Um, that would be approximately 10,000 bees.

Replacing the inner cover.

Replacing the inner cover.

We replaced inner and outer covers, adjusted the entrance reducers, and leaned the bee cages against the landing boards. There were still many hundreds of bees in the cages and it was important to give them an easy path to their new digs. Marian and Isla watched from nearby, the former madly taking pictures. Then Randy and I stepped back, took a deep breath, and exhaled with deep satisfaction. While we took turns brushing stray bees from each other’s clothes, the next wave of weather came in, peppering us with small, bouncing hail balls. The grand finale was a resounding clap of thunder! We shook our heads and giggled into the frigid wind. This was April 20th??

The 4 of us rushed inside the warm house, a hudle of 4 beaming smiles. It was done! Our babies were safe. Our apiary was doubled in size! We had gotten the new hive ready in time. We did it!! And no one had gotten stung.

Isla and Marian, our cheerleaders!

Isla and Marian, our cheerleaders!

After stripping off gear and passing around some well deserved high fives, I scurried back out into the driveway to close up the truck and bring in the boxes from Trader Joe’s. I checked the truck interior first for any lost bees, then reached for the box of 2 Buck Chuck.

“OW!” (And if you really think that was the word that came out of my mouth, you can think again. Please note I used to sail on tall ships.) I shook the squashed bee off my palm and scraped out the stinger she had left behind. Then I belted out some more colorful sailor jargon to ease the pain. Had I truly survived a harrowing drive, installed 2 new hives, and then got stung carrying in groceries? I entered the house with a wry smile on my face, which got much bigger when Randy passed me a shot glass of tequila and a wedge of lime! “Oh yeh”, I sighed with a clink of glass – he was speaking my other language (which fits in quite well with sailor talk). “Slante!”

Well at least we all got a good laugh at the absolute irony of it! And the thought of the fall honey harvest was well worth my few new gray hairs. With the existing crop sprouting from my rumpled head, I truly doubted anyone would notice.

Down in Birdland

My little Nugget with HER little nugget, "Sweetie".

My little Nugget with HER little nugget, “Sweetie”.

The kitchen door opened beside me. Randy walked in juggling 3 cloth grocery bags. “Hi Honey.” I stood to give him a peck on the cheek. Then bent automatically to kiss my daughter Isla who I assumed was in line behind him. But Dot, our house chicken, hopped up on the threshold instead, clicking across the tile floor behind Randy. And THEN came my 3 yr old.

Yes, this is farm life, and it’s spring again here, which means I am working hard on my Poultry Plan once more. And I had high hopes for Dot and her assistance this year. I thought, “Oh, our sweet, sweet Dot…. certainly with her tender personality and loving demeanor she will adopt my feedstore bought chicks?”

HA!

So there were the chicks – 16 balls of down and constant peeping. Five different breeds between 1 and 2 days old. I had just brought them home in the cat carrier. How could a potential mother resist those adorable little nuggets of fluff? Dot hopped through the door and I lowered the carrier down to her height…. expecting…. what was I expecting? A tender moment? A cosmic shift as the love and nurture began to flow? Instead, Dot jumped a few inches into the air with a loud squawk, ran in place on the tile for a second or two before her talons found purchase, then ran bucking and flapping into the playroom and around the corner into the bathroom, skidding out on the slick wood floor! I kid you not! I was disappointed, but still in hysterics! So much for THAT plan of flowers and butterflies. So now we are down to hand raising the little sweeties, which for any of you who have done this before know, is a lot of work. That is why Nature invented broody hens.

1st day with the chicks, after Dot squawked "RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!"

1st day with the chicks, after Dot squawked “RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY!”

The new chicks love their outdoors play time!

The new chicks love their outdoors play time!

Which brings me to Stage II of the Poultry Plan. Well, we DO have a broody hen. She has been broody since mid January!! But the problem is – Isabelle is a turkey hen, and we need a chicken hen. And since Izzie refuses to get out of “the zone”, she has stopped laying her own eggs. So she continues to stare at the inner walls of our broody box, tucking each chicken egg beneath her massive white chest as the chicken hens leave their deposit beside her and hop out to enjoy the rest of their day. And then afternoon comes and we lift Izzie out of the box, take the chicken eggs she has left toasty warm, sigh heavily, and go about the rest of our chores. Izzy takes enough of a break to get some food and water and then hops right back into her now empty nest. Day after day as Winter progressed and Spring began, her mate, Thomas, strutted back and forth beyond her box, hoping, hoping, for a little action. Because this time last year, this Royal Palm turkey pair had been having turkey sex every morning, Izzy had laid a large clutch, sat on 18 eggs and hatched out 5 poults.

Isabelle mothering last years turkey poults

Isabelle mothering last years turkey poults (with a chicken mama sharing the box!)

But not this year. Thomas has lately taken to relieving his sexual frustrations on the pan of scratch, and we are missing our delicious turkey eggs. And what will happen come Thanksgiving with no young poult to harvest for our table? Randy said,”Why don’t you just let her sit on the chicken eggs?” But I feared her weight would be too much – first on the eggs, with their thinner shells, and then on the hatchlings (if any hatched) whose bone structures are certainly designed for tucking beneath a chicken hen, half Izzy’s weight. But it was getting ridiculous as days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and mating season had arrived.

So I have succumbed to his suggestion. All we can do is try, right? And as Izzy is so darn broody I am sure she would mother a litter of puppies, I am going to try to take advantage. Three days from now, I are going to let her keep her daily collection of chicken eggs… and set. We will mark Wednesday’s and Thursday’s eggs with a marker, and go back to removing any daily donation from thence forth. Turkey eggs hatch in 28ish days – chicken eggs in 21. Hopefully that won’t throw her off too much. I read that chicken mothers hear the peeping of their babies through the shells. I wonder if Izzy is fluent in bukbuk-ese by now and will be able to hear their calls.

And being a thrifty, Scottish, opportunist, I am not going to stop there either. I have chosen this particular date of April 17th because on May 8th, 21 days later, a nearby feed store will receive day old Royal Palm turkey poults… and day old guinea keats. And just to test her mothering skills further, I have a box of day old chicken chicks arriving in the mail simultaneously. Yes, you guessed it. I am hoping that Izzy will adopt and raise 3 separate species of poultry, all within a day or 2 of age, only a fraction of which she sat on and hatched herself. The adoption aspect has worked a few times before with broody chickens. I have successfully tucked store bought chicks under the wings of moms who have just hatched a chick or two of their own. I pray to the patron saints of poultry parents that it will work with Izzy too.

And my business plan? Well, I tried last year but was foiled 3 times. 1st the 18 rare eggs I bought and shoved under a broody hen never hatched (actually, were never fertilized as I cracked them open when they were overdue to check). Then I ran out and returned home with 17 store bought babies who were successfully adopted by that mom, but all eaten by a gray fox 5 days later – the mom included. Then another broody hen sat on a clutch of our eggs. At the same time I ordered chicks through a woman in the midwest who promised she’d get the eggs in the incubator on the right date and airship the hatchlings to me. But she never got the eggs going, and never let me know. So we ended up with one chick last year, from our own flock’s eggs, and 4 adult layer deaths. It was a bad year for our birds.

Our one 2012 chick, Noche, who lays a wonderful olive mocha egg!

Our one 2012 chick, Noche, who now sports a gold neck ruff and lays a wonderful olive mocha egg!

My seemingly simple goal has merely been to add more layers and create a more colorful carton for selling. At least these hand raised chicks are doing well. I have 3 Cuckoo Marans who will lay chocolate brown eggs, 4 Auracanas who will lay blue-green eggs, 3 Anconas who will lay white eggs, 2 Welsummers who will lay a dark terracotta reddish-brown egg, and 2 Rhode Island Reds who will give me a dependable supply of light brown eggs. (These will be added to the 2 Americannas and 10 light brown eggs layers we currently have.) Isla has been enjoying the chicks’ company in her playroom, and it’s been great fun watching them explore and exercise in their outdoor play pen. After this next week of cold temps have passed, I plan to move them outside permanently with a house and a heat lamp attached to their pen.

And on May 8th we will find out if turkeys make good adoptive mothers. If not, I guess I’ll be quite busy mothering the second batch by hand. In addition to the poults and keats, the mail order will include 2 Partridge Rocks, 2 NH Reds, and 2 Speckled Sussex – all light brown eggs layers to offset our aging current flock. Also 6 Dark Cornish roos and 6 White Giant roos for meat.

I think you will all agree that Izzy is going to be one busy bird.

Sweet Dot

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Everyone needs a Dot to greet them when they return home, waiting patiently on the kitchen door step, 2 fences away from the barnyard where she belongs. Everyone needs a Dot to nestle down on the hearth in front of a roaring winter fire, and peck contentedly at a scattered pile of cracked corn. Everyone needs a Dot for their 3 yr old to coddle like a live, feathered baby doll, or snuggle down in their lap while they read a good book. Everyone needs a Dot to tap her beak on their neighbors’ sliding back door, asking politely for cracker crumbs.

And we are one of those fortunate ones because we DO have a Dot! THE Dot, in fact. The FAMOUS Dot!

Sweet Dot, as we call her, is our very special Ameraucana hen. She came in the mail along with 23 other day-old chicks, 3 springs ago, to grace our farm with her beauty and unusual personality. She lays lovely powder blue eggs that are rather torpedo shaped, and follows us around the farm like a family golden retriever. She is small (allowing her to jump through all the fences), very sensitive, and empathic. To date she has “midwifed” 3 of our ailing hens to their deaths, acting as a hospice worker, snuggled up beside them as each made their earthly transitions to chicken heaven. Dot even supported the body of our flock matriarch, Gertie, as she slumped over Dot’s multicolored back in the slow act of dying. Read about that story here. Once her “patients” have passed through to the other side, Dot gets up and goes on about her normal chicken-ish business.

Here is Dot using her own body to support dying Gertie.

Here is Dot using her own body to support dying Gertie.

Although, the idea of Dot acting like a chicken is rather far fetched these days. In fact, she can not make up her mind if she is a dog, a cat, a goat or a human. But in her little pea sized brain, she is most definitely NOT a chicken.

As sensitive as she is, she has always been at the bottom of the pecking order. She does not excel at fighting back or standing up for herself. Gandhi would have been proud of our wee Dot. But the results of her gentle personality was really making itself known early last fall. She was losing more and more feathers from the rough attentions of the rest of her flock – especially Little Willie, the rooster, who had chosen Dot as his personal concubine. She was not holding up well under the strain of this involuntary position. Then one afternoon, when I went out for feeding chores, I realized that Dot had been on the roost in the coop for the entire day. She had not eaten or drunk – anything. It occurred to me that she had simply given up the fight. Life was just too hard for her and she was done trying. I removed the coop window and reached in to take her gently off the roost. In my arms she laid her head in the crook of my elbow with a tired sigh. I took her inside the house and gave her a bowl of grain and one of water. In her new surroundings, she perked right up and soon realized she had no competition for dinner! She DEVOURED everything, and then set about the serious business of getting to know her humans’ house, leaving a trail of chicken land mines in her wake.

It was now my turn to sigh as I followed her about with a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaning spray.

But in the days and weeks that followed, we set Dot up on our back porch with her own little house, nesting box and perch, although she usually preferred to perch on our porch love seat and watch us through the picture window. The love seat soon became uninhabitable to her new human family, so she was moved daily to the garden (which was mostly put to bed), and then moved back to her porch box each evening. Her feathers began their natural process of fall molting, and with no flock to yank them back out, she soon had a new set for winter. She filled out and put on weight, and seemed extremely content with the new arrangement. And she became firmly attached to her humans, and absolutely beautiful once again.

Dot and Isla ready the house for our Solstice gathering.

Dot and Isla ready the house for our Solstice gathering.

When winter set in, we covered her house with an insulating blanket and installed a red bulb inside for warmth. The garden was covered thickly with snow so she remained mostly on the porch. It was a bitterly cold winter with dozens of nights in double digit sub zero temps. So after chilly morning farm chores, we would usually bring Dot in to warm up by the fire. She learned that if she was still and quiet, we would often forget about her, and she could get away with hours of fireside time, nestled against the pile of firewood on the hearth, watching our family proceedings through her warm brown eyes, half mast with contentment.

When the worst of the cold had passed, we decided to try some re-integration attempts. The porch faced north and Dot was getting no exercise and no sun as she preferred to stand by the glass porch door waiting to be let inside. The first day back in the barnyard must have been pretty re-traumatizing for her as she quickly escaped to the goat field and huddled alone under a sage brush all day. And that became the new routine as each afternoon we had to go on a Dot hunt in the field to find her chosen bush of the day. Sometimes she would hop out through the field fence and into the big, bad world, full of roaming dogs and coyotes and hawks – NOT a safe place for a sweet little hen. We worried about her a lot.

And then she went missing for 3 whole days. I was SURE she had been eaten by a predator. I was very sad, missing her warm, gentle, feathery bulk in my arms (but not necessarily missing the mandatory afternoon chicken hunts or piles of poop on the porch). And then on the 4th day, Randy came in from milking with Dot in his arms. She was starved and dehydrated but alive! “Where did you find her?” I gasped. “She got stuck in the hay storage between a bale and the wall. She couldn’t turn around to get out.” I later learned a friend had lost one of her chickens that same way with a not-so-happy ending to her story.

DSC05423Spring is once more working to get a foothold on our farm in between a string of late winter snow storms, and Dot is doing fairly well in the barn yard again. She has lost a few feathers, and refuses to use the coop, but we have made some compromises and are working out the new arrangements. She sleeps on the milking stand or in the second story of Isla’s old doll house next to the hay, gets fed separately on top of the hay bales, and rides around on Hazelnut’s back to keep Little Willie from his less than gentle attentions. When she is not on top of the goats, she is between their legs as they eat their hay. She obviously feels safe with the large mammals (I believe it’s because the other chickens steer clear of them). If I am in the barnyard and Little Willie is stalking her, she runs and huddles between my feet, communicating with agitation that she’d like to be saved by my loving arms. She rides on my forearm for chores, like a trained falcon, and huddles on the edge of the milking stand for morning milking. She has as little interaction with the other chickens as possible. And if she ends up in the yard, she goes straight to the back porch and looks continuously in through the porch door, hoping to be let in for some snuggles and attention. If no one responds to her request she will perch on the edge of Molly’s dog bed (a net type bed suspended by a frame) while Molly, our Pyrenees, snores in the net.

My little angel getting back blown by the spring storm.

My little angel getting back blown by the spring storm.

I am blessed to have several friends who I am sure have left their wings out of sight, just around the corner. You know the type: hearts as open as split watermelons, oozing unconditional love and positive energy all around them. What a sloppy, love-filled mess they make. Ahhh. And that, too, is Dot, but she gets to keep her wings on, lucky little angel.

So is a chicken still a chicken if they are convinced they are otherwise? An interesting question that I know not the answer to. But I do know that Dot is one special creature, regardless of species, and we are lucky to have her in our lives. She has been high maintenance to be sure, and caused us no end of worry, but the love and joy she brings us makes it all worthwhile in the end.

Thank you Sweet Dot for choosing us to be your family. May your winged life be long and safe and may your angelic heart touch many.

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Farm Log

March 6th, 2013

Created a new recipe for goat roast last night and it was a delicious success!

Defrost a goat roast (about 1 1/2 -2 bls) and rub with fresh ground garam masala and sea salt. Leave covered in fridge overnight.

In the morning, add to a crock pot:
1 lg chopped onion
2 chopped granny smith apples (or other tart apple)
2 peeled and chopped sweet potatoes (or butter cup squash I think)
water to cover and turn on high

Meanwhile, brown roast in frying pan on all sides. Add to the crock pot. Pour apple cider over roast and veggie/fruits to about an inch above. Cover and set to high. Once simmering, turn to low. Let simmer on low for about 6 or more hours. Add a big handful of frozen kale (the last bag from our garden!) or fresh kale, torn into small pieces and stir in, returning pot to the high setting. Remove the roast and shred, then stir back into the pot and cook until reheated from the addition of the kale. Serve over quinoa and red or green lentils cooked with bay leaf, onion, garlic, salt and crushed cinnamon stick. Garnish with a dollop of yogurt, and handful of fresh chopped cilantro, and a spoonful of mango chutney! It was delightful!

Farm Log

March 5, 2013

  • Trimmed Hazelnut’s hooves – a GREAT struggle!
  • Isabelle (turkey hen) still broody after 6ish weeks. :(
  • Confirmed that our 1 hive is dead. Appears to have been from starvation and cold. Very sad.
  • Ordered 2 new bee packages arriving April 19th

Farm Log

Isla helping me drop onion seeds into the holes I made with the chopstick.

Isla helping me drop onion seeds into the holes I made with the chopstick.

March 4, 2013 

  • Planted 156 2″sq pots, double planted (2 seeds per pot placed catty cornered) of NM Bolla Onions
  • Planted 24 2″sq pots, double planted, of Blue Solaise leeks
  • Watered heavily
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