ChixToLay Arrive For Easter

Posted on March 30, 2013 by bygeorge

Jeepers – look at all the peepers! . . . .

New baby chicks are a sure sign of spring, and I could not resist buying a short dozen of these little beauties. None of our animal menagerie “produce” anything, but the plan for these chicks is to have some farm fresh eggs a few months from now. Our experiment raising guinea fowl has been riotous fun and an educational experience, however we do not attempt to eat them or their eggs, when we can find them. Any serious country person needs to raise a few animals for eh, er . . . Consumption. My grandmother would get 100 baby chicks each spring and kept our chicken hotel full of laying hens which produced such a volume of eggs that she sold them by the crate full. I’m not sure I am going to follow in her footsteps, but I couldn’t see any harm in putting my toe in the water for the sake of a few fresh eggs. Besides, 20 guinea fowl hardly make a dent in the newly refurbished chicken hotel.

“Hey, it’s a little crowded in this corner – make way!” . . . .

I did not do any research, but simply picked the chicks by their color and characteristics. I ended up with a real mixed bag: Black Australorp (English); Barred Rock; Blue Laced Red Wyandotte (American); Silver Laced Wyandotte (American); Red Star Sex Link; and White Crested Black Polish (Continental). The clerk at the local ranch supply where I bought the chicks steered me to the cage of “pullets” which are supposed to be female and steered me away from “straight run” which means both sexes??? Much as I would love having a rooster around, my idea of fresh eggs for the kitchen does not include fertilized eggs. If I end up with a rooster in my little clutch of chickies, that will pose a problem. Once bonded with a pet, it is impossible to eat it. (Just ask Feed Lot, our yearling steer!)

We prepared a couple dozen pickled beet eggs for Easter dinner tomorrow, and next year with any luck we will be pickling eggs from our little chickens. Can’t wait.

A Winter’s Tale

Posted on March 26, 2013 by bygeorge

“Got lunch?” . . . .

These scruffy little fawns look as though they are on their last leg of survival. Our deer herd of a dozen or so appeared to be wintering fairly well, but March is telling the tale. We were shocked to see how they had declined in recent weeks, and are praying that spring brings some relief for them, and soon! March has been cold and windy, and what little snow we received has little moisture in it. After the severe drought of last year, we are keeping our fingers crossed that we will have a wet spring and a decent amount of moisture throughout the summer. Without it, all the wildlife will suffer.

It is unlawful to feed the deer, however Wyoming ranchers have been feeding them de facto on their hay meadows for the last century, along with antelope and elk. It has contributed to the rise in populations of these ungulates, who have benefited greatly from the wintertime hay for feed. Deer are browsers and they keep our lilacs, willows and chokecherries free of small branches and twigs at the lower reaches. When that food supply is gone, they appear to browse for dry grasses, leaves and whatever they can find on the ground.

We have had only one fatality this winter and it appeared to be a perfectly healthy young doe we found down in the creek bottom. There were no marks on her and she obviously died of natural causes. I hope she is the last.

A Rose of Another Color

Posted on March 19, 2013 by bygeorge

“Did you see what Bleu just did to me?” . . . .

Rosie is one of my best friends and a constant companion wherever I go, whether in the house or outdoors. On a recent visit inside she had to endure the attentions of Bleu, the in-house cat (not to be confused with Mouse, the outhouse cat). Bleu is always the extrovert in these situations, and rubs up against Rosie, sniffing every inch of her, and generally making a nuisance of himself in her eyes. She stifles her instincts to nip, herd, chase and generally whomp on this cat who has the effrontery to approach her in such a familiar way. None of my photographic attempts to capture Bleu in the act survived the “delete” button, but this shot of Rosie seems to express a mixture of patience, latent scorn and beseeching appeal to remove “that cat” from her presence, “puleeeeze!”

“I’m just keeping your lawn chair warm for you!” . . . .

A better mood prevails here as Rosie sunbathes in my ancient patio chair. From the look of her nose she could use some sunscreen! On one of our trips to the vet I asked what I could put on her nose that would: a) protect her from sunburn; b) wouldn’t lick off; c) wouldn’t make her sick; d) would’t have to be applied 20 times a day. The vet shrugged and suggested the only thing he could think of was a tattoo. I never have figured out if he was being serious or not.

March Madness

Posted on March 13, 2013 by bygeorge

the week before spring begins . . . .

The promise of a garden is hard to see under a frosting of snow. Somewhere down in the ground things must be stirring, and spring will become a reality once again. In the interim, I dream of flowers and remember last summer’s bounty.

luscious lilies . . . .

colorful coleus . . . .

joyful johnny jump-ups . . . .

white on white . . . .

a patriotic mix . . . .

day lillies . . . .

irresistible iris . . . .

pink peonies . . . .

cheerful columbines . . . .

Ah, but the garden must wait . . . . until the snow melts.

Fred the Philanderer

Posted on February 24, 2013 by bygeorge

“What’d I do wrong?” . . . .

Fred, generalissimo of the goose gaggle, is looking downright sorry these days. He has had most of his feathers plucked away and we are still in the grip of winter! Loud honks and squawks from the goose yard led to a recent inspection and it appears the two young males, Ricky and McGill are picking on their father. Poor Fred has a limp from an altercation with a fox (or possibly a bobcat) last autumn that left him nearly crippled, and while he has healed and gets around quite well, he’s not the man he used to be. And he is certainly in no condition to endure continued attacks from Ricky and McGill! What could cause this close-knit little goose family to split apart in savage attacks on each other? And why isn’t Ethel, his partner for life, defending him?

“These geese are ganging up on me!” . . . .

It soon became clear what was going on, and right in the front yard of all places! Fred was mating with Lucy, one of his offspring and my favorite little female that we raised in the house last winter. It appears there has been a divorce and Ethel has sided with the youngsters and has been seen taking a peck at old Fred along with the rest of the gang. There must be a high-priced lawyer under the woodpile! So much for goose fidelity. If this keeps up, old Fred will wear himself out trying to chase Lucy and Esmay and defend himself from Ricky, McGill and Ethel. Not to mention the foxes, bobcats, raccoons, wild dogs, guineas, eagles, owls and other assorted dangerous critters a poor goose has to contend with. He is after all the defender of his little flock and he takes the responsibility quite seriously. He has on several occasions bitten me for no apparent reason, but I now find myself feeling quite sorry for the old reprobate.

Ricky rules! . . . .

This dandy young fellow is the heir apparent to Fred’s “rule of the roost” so to speak. He is not nearly as ornery as his father and has never exhibited aggressive behavior toward us, possibly because we raised him from a hatchling. To keep the peace we should arrange for a goose swap and introduce some new genetics into the mix. Ricky will need a mate and we don’t wish to encourage any more incest, infidelity and ruckus in the barnyard!

Owl Seeking Mate

Posted on February 2, 2013 by bygeorge

Hans Solo sits alone in a hollowed-out tree . . . .

Our lonely owl woke us at 5:30 a.m. recently, singing his annual mating call. We listened intently, hoping to hear a response but to no avail. Last year he failed to nest and raise a family, although he spent the month of January in the company of what we presumed to be a lady friend and we were able to photograph them on several occasions. We sighted him in the treetops from time to time during late summer and autumn, and once winter set in he perched on a regular basis in a cottonwood tree directly above our office window. We have high hopes he will find a mate and build a nest where we can watch from a distance as he raises his young. Perhaps we need to go online and search for a lonely owl dating site where we can solicit a partner for poor old Hans Solo.

Blue-Eyed Filly named Tilly

Posted on February 1, 2013 by bygeorge

“If you’ll open the gate, I’ll go play!” . . . .

Tilly is eight months old and expresses her personality more each day–sometimes to our delight and sometimes to our dismay. She can be willful, playful, stubborn and capricious. She has also demonstrated intelligence and seems to understand when she really needs to behave and do what we ask of her. Right before Christmas she turned up lame as we brought her into the corral for the night. We kept her confined to the loafing shed/corral for several days to see if she would improve. We also had her hooves trimmed for the first time and she behaved like a champ–but still limped and favored her left foreleg.

“want to horse around?” . . . .

We had tried a dressing on her hoof to treat a possible puncture wound, which is commonly what causes lameness. No definitive results. Next we loaded her in the horse trailer for a drive to town for x-rays. It was our first attempt to trailer-haul her, and she performed like a pro. She was relatively calm at the vet clinic and didn’t spook at the strange sights and sounds. The photos of the joint above her hoof revealed nothing unusual. Her injury is apparently in the soft tissues and is similar to a bad sprain in humans. We don’t know how long it will take to heal, and Tilly has been confined to the corral until we see more improvement. That is hard for her to accept, as she misses her best buddy, Feedlot (Abe) the longhorn steer.

“I’ll just sneak a few licks off Tilly’s salt block” . . . .

When Tilly goes out to run for a couple hours each day, Abe likes to clean up her left over hay and have a lick on her mineral salt block. Then he joins her to roam the pasture and graze for dry winter grasses. Unfortunately, Tilly is now confined until her lameness improves, as she goes wild when she is turned out to run. Poor girl, she hates staying on the inside looking out at Feedlot, and he hangs around waiting on his best buddy to come out to play.

This Hampshire is a Ham

Posted on January 5, 2013 by bygeorge

“You woke me up for this?” . . . .

Priscilla is becoming quite photogenic but isn’t terribly cooperative when it comes to striking the right pose. She keeps rushing the camera as if she thinks that’s where she’s going to find her next meal. She is either sleeping or ravenously hungry and it’s difficult to catch her in between as she darts round her new home searching for food.

“I think I’ll just settle down for my nap” . . . .

We moved her from the laundry basket to a rabbit cage that housed guinea fowl hatchlings and four goslings last winter. She seems to enjoy having more room to roam and spends her few waking moments–when she isn’t eating–pushing a stuffed neck cushion around the floor of her cage. We heat it in the microwave and it warms her and puts her right to sleep. Apparently this firm, warm body is a replacement for her mother and siblings that she can snuggle up to.

“I’m not sure I like sitting in a coffee cup!” . . . .

To illustrate how tiny she is, we put her in a coffee mug for a photo opportunity. She squealed and tried to wriggle loose but finally settled down long enough to snap a few shots. She looks like she is somewhat resigned to suffering this indignity. She is very intelligent and last evening when I emptied the remains of her bottle into a little tray we hung from the wall of her cage, she wasted no time approaching it and drinking every last drop of it. Throw away the bottle! She’s on her way–next she’ll be wanting to dine at the table with us.

Boys Will Be Boys

Posted on January 5, 2013 by bygeorge

A friendly antler exchange . . .

These young buck deer are part of a group of seven who have been grazing in the creek bottom during the cold weather. They seem to enjoy challenging each other in games of locking horns, although it won’t get serious until late autumn when they compete for the attention of the does during mating season. They seem to be wintering well, in spite of the recent drought and lack of grazing this past summer. There are lots of leaves and twigs for them to browse on.

“Aw, that’s kid stuff. They know I’m No. 1!” . . . .

This big guy seems quite regal and aloof and doesn’t join in the games with the others. He seems to be watching with some interest to see who wins.

New Year’s Babe is a Porker

Posted on January 3, 2013 by bygeorge

half-baked baby too soon for the world . . . .

This tiny baby would fit easily in a large coffee cup. She was delivered Cesarean on New Year’s Eve, along with two surviving siblings that are more than twice as large and much more vigorous. This little “runt of the litter” hung on tenaciously to life for 48 hours before being rescued from a cage where she was housed with her siblings, who were tossing her around like a bean bag, gnawing on her, laying on her and submitting her to all manner of cruelties that the strong will perpetrate upon the weak.

“I just need a little rest, and some warm milk” . . . .

On the second morning of our “critter sitting” assignment, we found her near death. She was not our pig, but we wrapped her tightly in a towel and buttoned her into my coat and carried her home in the bitter cold. We are caring for the little bum pigs, along with a menagerie that includes an aquarium of large fish, a cockatoo, four ducks, six chickens, a horse, two goats, a cow, a miniature pot-belly pig, three cats and a barn full of ten mature pigs, including one sow with four more babies, while our neighbors are away for a week. Thank goodness they put their two larger dogs in a kennel and took their tiny little dogs with them! We’re not certain we could keep track of any more feeding schedules. There is the added complication of our own barnyard of creatures to care for!

All God’s children need a name, and I decided on “Percy” for the little pig, who I mistakenly believed was a male. Upon closer inspection, “Percy” became “Priscilla” and she is currently housed under a heat lamp in a laundry basket. I borrowed a little plastic bottle with a pig-like nipple and some milk replacement powder to feed her, but she did not know how to suckle. I found that I could squeeze on the plastic bottle and force milk down her throat, which she had to swallow, or choke, bless her little heart. After a few messy attempts, she finally grasped onto the nipple and began to suckle by herself. A seemingly small victory, but one that looms large in the life of a frail little piglet trying to survive with a substitute mother and substitute food. We’re keeping our fingers crossed.

Wild Wyoming Woman

the news from Dry Creek . . .

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