After long consideration, I made a selection of baby chicks last March, placed them in a box, labeled them and brought them home.  Check.  Six Ameraucana, check.  Two Buff Orpingtons, check.  Everything began to change once the yellow fluff began to change to feathers.  I noted I had three rather white looking chicks, but did not become concerned. As I pondered which names to give them, I selected the obvious white pair to become Martha and Mavis.  It was clear they were neither Ameraucana nor Buff Orpington but what the heck.  They were very pretty and grew amazingly fast!  I could not discern whether they were Leghorn, White Cornish Rock or what.  By the end of June they had surpassed everyone else in the pullet house for sheer size. One day as I was standing in the garden nearby, I heard a strange squawking sound, as if the chick was strangling.  It was the larger of the two white ones, and after a few moments, he squawked again, attempting to crow like a ROOSTER!

I should have recognized trouble right here, which is where it began.  I named the big white fellow Cromwell, with implications right from the get go that he was likely to lose his head just like his namesake.  And then the unthinkable happened.  The other big beautiful white chick started making strangling noises and practicing to crow like a rooster too!  I should have marched back to the feed store right there and then and demanded my money back for these sexual deviants who were not going to lay any eggs!  I attempted to pawn Clarence off on neighbor Tom by slipping him next door in his hen house. I figured it would take at least a week for him to notice he had an “extra”  if he didn’t notice something waking him up at 4:00 a.m. first.  Who knew?  Tom said he loved hearing roosters crow, and maybe he would want to keep Clarence.

It didn’t take 24 hours and here came neighbor Tom in the golf cart.  A large cage was sitting up front of the cart and sure enough, inside was Clarence, the ill gotten rooster.  Ah well. Clarence returned to the pen older, wiser and meaner for the experience.  He immediately began to pick on everyone–I guess those chickens at Tom’s were pretty unwelcoming.  I tried isolating Clarence and Cromwell next door in a separate pen.  They immediately figured out how to fly over the fence and re-join the flock.  This was going to require some action on our part that I wasn’t looking forward to.  By this time, however, I was getting quite fond of Cromwell, who was behaving in a most gentlemanly fashion most of the time. Could I keep just one rooster?

The Rest Of The Story . . . .

We are working on an extension of the fence that will require Cromwell to stay home by himself.  Clarence rests up on the hill in the pet cemetery after a gentle demise, and the rest of the little flock are being moved to “the big house” tonight where they will find nesting boxes and room to roam.  Next year Cromwell is going to the fair.  A more splendid specimen can rarely be found and he is sure to win a ribbon.

Rocky is grateful for the bat house installed on a telephone pole where he is seated above.  It gives him a ledge to rest upon and think about his bad decision to venture into a “people place” with a dog. This young one probably has a mother and siblings in the area, but it seems he is on a lone journey into the unknown.  First the dog started barking, and then the kittens showed interest and gathered beneath the pole, peering up intently at this unfortunate little bundle.

What they don’t realize is just how tough this quivering, frightened little creature can be if called upon to defend himself.  He lowered himself a couple of times, trying to build up the courage to make a run for it but, much to my relief, thought better of it and scooted back up the pole to his perch.  I could imagine the vet bills if Rosie, Oscar and TuTu descended upon the little varmint enmasse.  With that thought in mind, I took off for the barn to feed Tilly, knowing the dog and kittens would follow me.  I had to call them a couple times as they were reluctant to leave this curiosity behind, but they finally joined me, leaving Rocky to climb down and make his getaway (I hoped).

When we returned, Rocky was gone.  Rosie followed the scent a short distance and gave up the pursuit.  Now let’s hope I didn’t save little Rocky only to find him making a raid in my chicken house!

A Mother’s Day gift . . . .

Tilly was born on Mother’s Day three years ago today.  It has been an interesting, challenging journey which began with choosing a sire and dam; coordinating the breeding schedule, location, documents and veterinarian assistance; and a myriad of other details I had never thought of.  It began with a sudden impulse to have a horse, but not any horse. I grew up with a splashy black and white paint mare we called “Pinto Paint” that I loved dearly.  She had two blue eyes and a tolerant, albeit mischievous personality.  My memories of riding her bareback with the wind in my hair up and down a trail along the creek bottom fills me with nostalgia to this day.

In January of 2008 I spied an article in the Denver Post featuring a black and white homozygous tobiano stallion named Pistol Packin’ Frekles. Horses were in town for the Denver Stock Show and I tore the article out of the paper and laid it on my desk.  And the wild idea was born. Thankfully, my niece Sue is a horse woman and agreed to let us lease her sorrel mare Tia for the grand experiment.  Tia is predominantly solid in color but her sire, JB Classic is a sorrel overo paint and his sire, Titans Bar, is a sorrel overo. Tia qualified as a registered paint brood mare and she has produced some lovely foals for Sue.

Shopping for the other side of the equation led us to SugsTruLuck, a black and white homozygous tobiano paint with genetic capability to assure a colt with classic patches of color.  SugsTruLuck, in addition to being a gorgeous animal, was an APHA Reserve World Champion, earning 1,200+ APHA points in ten events. His lineage from Tru Bruiser, Painted Tru Tru and Lily Quadrille, all black and white tobianos, gave us some hope he would produce a black and white foal.

Our breeding schedule was delayed right out of the starting gate with an outbreak of equine herpes virus (EHV-1) at an event in Ogden, Utah and one in Oklahoma. The trainer who managed SugsTruLuck wanted assurances that the stallion station we contracted with in Pueblo, Colorado was free of any outbreak, since show horses travel regionally and nationally.  After a brief delay, we got going but the first attempt was unsuccessful. The second try produced two embryos and the vet interrupted development of one, leaving the one remaining to ultimately become Tilly.

Brand new baby, one day old . . . .

Officially christened Tru Tahlequa Miss, this pretty baby takes after her mother’s side of the family and is registered as a bay tobiano/overo.  She has two blue eyes, which thrilled me, even though I have sunk a fortune in fly masks to protect her eyes from the sun. Having been away from horses most of my adult life, taking charge of a six-month-old weanling was a jolt into reality. After the long, eleven-month gestation period and the wait until we could bring her home, it all seemed like a dream that had not yet come true.  And then we had our hands full of a jumpy, sad little foal who wanted her mama and didn’t like anybody but the long horn/angus steer we weaned in the corral alongside her.  The bond that formed in that first week between Feed Lot and Tilly has endured.  It has been hilarious at times, frustrating at times, and scary at times.

Staying close to Mom . . . .

Mother and baby off to a great start.  Happy Birthday, Tilly!