king of the road . . . .

A recent winter-time jeep trip through the foothills of the Big Horn Mountains was filled with eagles and other surprises.  This cock pheasant was sunning himself along the edge of the road and was fairly patient to allow me time to grab a fast photograph.

“Too close for comfort!” . . . .

Our trip took us on a circular drive 10 miles west of where we live and ending up north about 30 miles.  The early hours were foggy and somewhat cloudy but the sky cleared to give us good visibility.  Recent snow left a mantle of white on the mountains and prairie, and frost sparkled on the grass and sagebrush.

“Don’t be hunting on my turf!” . . . .

Wily Coyote is out searching for his breakfast and watched us from a safe distance.  His curiosity at the sight of the jeep on the landscape didn’t seem to faze him.

Elk, elk and more elk! . . . .

The startling sight of a dark mass along the ridgeline came to life in my camera lens.  A herd of elk, probably numbering in the hundreds, split and traveled east and west of the road in front of us.

“What fence?” . . . .

“Meanwhile back a the ranch” . . . .

Shortly after arriving home, we noticed deer gathering in the creek bottom below the house.  Piles of leaves that we had intended to burn have become winter forage for them and they come each day to nibble and browse.  Next year we will rake up piles of the leaves again and leave them for the deer.

“I’d rather have sunflower seeds!” . . . .

This young doe makes her way to the old skillets that catch a few seeds from the bird feeders.  If she is lucky, she might have a nice snack, which beats eating cold, stale leaves any day!

Circle of Animals . . . .

The National Museum of Wildlife Art just ended an exhibit (May 9 – October 11)  billed as “an exhibition of imperial proportions in an unparalleled mountain setting.”  These sculptures arrived in Jackson, Wyoming after being exhibited in Mexico City, London, New York and Chicago.  The zodiac heads is the first major public art sculpture by celebrated contemporary Chinese artist Ai Weiwei.  The bronze works were inspired by an 18th-century zodiak fountain in an imperial garden near Beijing, which was looted by French and British troops in 1860 during the Second Opium War.  Seven of the original heads have been recovered; five are still missing.

Ai Weiwei’s Zodiak Heads are designed to recreate the figures from the original fountain and to draw attention to the pillage of art by foreign governments.  He is an artist, architectural designer, curator and social activist, and the son of Ai Qing, one of  China’s finest modernist poets. His work has been exhibited in museums and galleries around the world.  This exhibit at the National Museum of Wildlife Art was exceptional in all respects and we were glad of the opportunity to see it.

A pioneering spirit . . . .

Now this looks like something I can relate to–my Chinese zodiak symbol the rooster!  According to the literature, the rooster “seeks wisdom and truth, has a pioneering spirit.” These sculptures are massive and rise to approximately 12 feet from the ground.  They have incredible design detail and animal spirits.

Feel the dragon’s breath? . . . .

This one is spectacular and while the dragon is “robust, passionate, complex,” I would suggest that it is fierce and all-powerful!

King of the roost . . . .

And then there is Cromwell, a little closer to home.  Hmmm, is the reason I cannot seem to part with this rooster is my affection for my zodiac animal symbol?

“Whatever!” . . . .

Meet Pearl, the hen who runs things around here.  How is it that one chick out of a box of 12 can be so different?  It is spring 2013 and after a couple months I had to separate two chicks from the rest due to “the pecking order.” The feathers in their beautiful crowns were being picked clean. Immediately after moving them next door into a hastily converted dog house, Pearl flew over the fence and joined the two chicks who were being picked on.  She refused to move back, even though the dog house was barely large enough for her and the two little white crested black Polish hens.

“We have to stick together!” . . . .

Pearl’s roommates seemed delighted to have her in their play yard and little house.  But then, Pearl only stayed overnight.  During the day she flew out of the pen and traveled far and wide, scratching in the flower beds and raking up wood chip mulch into mountains, leaving craters in the dirt where she dug for worms, bugs or whatever it is chickens dig in the dirt to find. I soon gave up trying to rake the mulch back into the beds she left in disarray and was constantly amazed at the sight of her wandering all over the place while all the rest of the chicks were content to stay home.

Renovation nearly complete . . . .

We were about 90% complete with renovation of the historic old chicken house and the weather was telling us it was time to make the move from the brooder house into “The Big House!”  Pearl and her two little roommates joined the other 9 hens in a fairly traumatic move. Things did not go well.  Little Marilyn and Phyllis, the white crested black Polish hens were being picked on again and had to be moved back into their former quarters in the converted dog house.  Before long, Pearl made her escape from “the big house,” traveling north up the road, around the garden fence and over the chicken yard fence to join the Polish hens where she was content to spend the winter.

“Now what?” . . . .

The following spring 2014 a new batch of chicks arrived and we made plans to incorporate them with the Polish princesses.  Pearl, however, would have to move back into the big house to make room.  The brooder house and converted dog house were becoming pretty congested.  After much squawking and flurry of feathers, I captured her and carted her away.  After a week, I noticed she looked sickly.  Her comb was pale and floppy and she was lethargic, avoiding the other chickens and refusing to eat.  She looked to be at death’s door.  So, I gathered her up and took her back to the brooder house.  She sat by the water bowl drinking sips of water for over an hour.  Then she began to perk up.  By the next day she was eating again.  After a couple more days, Pearl was back to normal, leaping over the fence and commencing her travels.

A surprise awaits in the chicken yard . . . .

This latest batch of pullets (2015) was maturing rapidly and beginning to lay. The one in the upper right corner of this photo was in a class all by himself, however.  It didn’t take too much longer to realize we had a rooster in our midst.  In fact, we had two roosters! The larger, more elegant of the two we named Cromwell, and the smaller one, Clarence who had no personality and picked on everyone.  He had to go.  When it came time for the pullets to move to the big house Cromwell had to stay behind.  Phyllis, one of the little Polish hens had died over the spring from who knows what, so only Miss Marilyn remained.  I was worried how she and Pearl would fit into the larger group, but it was ridiculous to maintain separate winter quarters with heating lamps, heated water bowls etc.for two hens, a rooster and then all the others. I felt confident Pearl would be happy to leave Cromwell behind, as he was becoming aggressive and she made it clear she did not like him.  Or so I thought.

Chicken idyll . . . .

The latest move was somewhat of a success.  Miss Marilyn is doing nicely in the big house with all the others and has not been picked on.  She chooses not to hop up onto the roost to sleep with the others, but perches on an ancient wooden box below the roost that was originally designed to hold oyster shell.  And Pearl?  Pearl went home once more into the clutches of Cromwell.  Two weeks have passed and I am still waiting for her to scratch the joint and head back to the big house.  Only Pearl knows what comes next.

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!