Guard Chicken

Puffer has become my new guard chicken at the front door. She liked hanging out in the sun for a few hours this afternoon, but was not moving far from the door, even though her lameness is no longer evident. Puffer walked around the porch, picking up bits of lettuce, apple, and cookies that I scattered for her. She's looking pretty healthy. Puffer and I have grown accustomed to being roommates; we chat daily when I leave for work in the morning and come home at night. Puffer likes complaining about the cold; her water was frozen every morning and every evening. She doesn't like being alone all day either.

One day this week, Ginna, our neighbor and my step mother, brought the newspaper over to leave on the porch so I could get educated when I got home. Ginna was not expecting Puffer's warm greeting. Ginna gave a startled little chirp and Puffer chirpped back. Puffer thought this was grand entertainment, but Ginna left without so much as saying goodbye. Puffer is still a little miffed about the incident.

Fluffy lays an egg

Fluffy is one of the five black chicks that hatched from either Olive and the late Black Pepper or from Puffer and the late Black Pepper in the Spring of '08.

This winter, she started laying, as did the other three black hens. Fluffy is the only black chick with feathers on her feet. She lays blue/green eggs. Today, she was not too happy that I interrupted her to take this picture. Today, the girls laid five egg...three blue/green and two light brown.

Joseph continues to be the dominant rooster; he has started crowing. Instead of roosting by the North window, he now roosts on the highest branch in the coop. Black Knight, the black rooster, has a constant companion; it is one of the black chicks without foot feathers. I haven't found a way to distinguish those two black hens yet, but they will soon be differentiated and named.

Puffer still abides on the porch and she is quite pleased with herself. She is walking perfectly, now. I am wondering when would be a good time to return her to the flock.

Nailing it down

I learned a good lesson from my Grandson Logan this weekend: the importance of nailing it down.


Logan was learning how to pound in nails with a small hammer at my kitchen table yesterday. He was introduced to this activity at home with his "kid friendly" wood and plastic tools. But at my house, he wanted the real thing. We took out the hammer, some nails and tape measure. He placed his tools right beside his work area, all lined up and ready to go. For about an hour, he practiced pounding in nails with "real tools" into a round of wood from my favorite box elder tree in Dad's backyard. The branch had fallen down over the summer and Damon cut it up for me so I could use the pieces for various art projects.


Logan pounded in a nail that was longer than the round of wood, and it could not be pounded any further once it got to the bottom of the round. Logan was very insistent on pounding the nail all the way into the block of wood and was not happy that the long nail did not do what it was supposed to do. I explained to him why the nail could not be pounded in any further and showed him the point of the nail on the bottom of the block. Logan understood the explanation, but did not like the fact that the nail could not be nailed down into the wood. I could see that Logan was frustrated, but also saw that the next nail he chose was a smaller one...a nail that could be nailed down into the wood. After he pounded that nail into the wood, Logan was satisfied once again.


So, how does this relate to me in my living? I need to start nailing things down. I have been getting frustrated with all the half-finished projects around my house: collage pictures collected and waiting, art materials gathered but not put away, a half-moved office partly in the living room and partly in the spare bedroom, two porches filling up with stuff. All these projects (nails) are sitting around waiting to be hammered into the wood (house.)


For some time now, I have just been avoiding these projects and letting the frustrations build within myself. Rationalization has taken over my thoughts; I find myself thinking, "I can't do this project until that one is done and that one cannot be started because I have to make room on the porch and it is too cold to work out there...and on and on." But, when I try to find something, I am instantly frustrated.


Now, today, I will listen to the little Logan lesson: nail it down. I will choose the little nails (projects.) The bigger projects that can't be contained in my house, can be avoided for now. All the little projects can be nailed down all the way and finished.

This "Change Mandala" was one created in an expressive art group that I lead at work. The process involved thinking about change that you would like to focus on during this new year, thinking of an image to represent that change, drawing the image on the plywood circle and gluing pebbles, shells, glass, mirrors and beads on the image.

My image began with water (I did not draw out my image) and during the creative process of gluing on the pieces it became a mushroom. This process was completed over a few days. My intention for the year was to drink and immerse in water.

The mushroom could refer to picking wild mushrooms, which I would love to learn to do; it could refer to magic and magical times; it could refer to a vegetarian diet; it could refer to psychadellic experiences. Whatever the creative process produced, I own it, even if I don't understand it.

Porch Puffer

When I woke this morning to the definitely pungent scent of chicken poop, I surmised that it might be wise to find a new ward in the chicken hospital. It seemed like Puffer was well enough to spend time in the sun on the East porch.

Yesterday, I cleaned Puffer's box, but still, she seems to be pooping more, the more she is hand-fed scraps of apple, bread, fruit and veggie peelings. So her warm clean paper floor was littered with lots of poop this morning.

After I clean the main chicken coop in the East end of my garage, I cleaned Puffer's box and set her out on the porch. She seems much better and is eating and drinking very well. She still is limping on her right leg. I don't want to return her to the flock while she is handicapped. I will watch her on the porch today, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. holiday from work, and perhaps determine if she can tolerate being on the porch through the night. Meanwhile, I am going to a thrift store to look for a playpen to keep her in so she has room to exercise her leg and scratch a bit on the floor.

Dad

Dad and Ginna, Jean and Amy and I went to the Owl's Nest for supper for Dad's birthday and then came over to my house for cake and tea.

Dad seemed quiet and sober most of the evening, saying little and not smiling much. I wonder if the weight of years was on his mind. Or maybe it was the topics of conversation: male genital organs and their sizes, aged people being allowed to die, and mom smoking and starting fires in the house from hiding burning cigarettes so that she wouldn't be found out. And maybe he was tired...they worked for an elderly lady (83) in Madison this morning...

Live well, Dad! May your bones be strong and your heart be steady. May the biting flies and mosquitoes loose their attraction for your blood this summer. And may you know that your children love you dearly.

Puffer on the road to recovery

After having a sponge bath in the sink, Puffer is feeling and looking much better. She has been eating bits of lettuce and apple peel from my hand. She entered into the birthday spirit when we had cake for Dad's 85th birthday. I gave her a little bites from my piece and she seemed pleased to have been included.

A cold morning in January

I certainly hope that this weather is

freezing all the insects and mosquitoes that are buried deep in the bowels of the earth this time of year. Hopefully, they are not toasty warm. I hope they are freezing and exploding into little biteless pieces.

Puffer

Puffer is enjoying some respite in a cardboard box in the kitchen. She started a pecking match with the new rooster Joseph. Puffer lost.

Her comb and face area were pecked until bloody and she acts as though her leg is hurt. I brought her inside this evening and will leave her in the kitchen for a few days to facilitate healing in a warmer place without competition from the others.

Joseph is settling in and now well respected by the other chickens. One of the black hens roosts next to him.

Joseph longs for Spring

Joseph roosts by himself about four feet off the floor by the north facing window. He wonders if Spring will ever come to this white and frozen landscape. He longs to peck at the bugs in the soil. He yearns for the fresh garden scraps. When can he strut in the warm sunshine out in the yard?

I can identify with Joseph's sentiments; it has been a long winter already. It seems every other day, it snows, sleets, blizzards or drops some form of cold frozen water from the clouds. However, the nights have been bright with reflections from the white ground. The night landscape was enchantingly beautiful in the full moon light over the weekend.

Joseph

Yesterday, my brother brought me a new rooster; he is very colorful with blues, reds and whites. He has a strawberry comb, which won't freeze in the winter.

This morning, upon awakening, I thought about this rooster. Since he has a many-colored coat, I thought that "Joseph" would be a fitting name for him. As you may remember, Joseph was one of the twelve sons of Jacob; he was favored by his father, who gave him the "coat of many colors." In Hebrew, Joseph means "adding."

With the addition of Joseph, I hope to have some many colored chicks this spring.

Rooster tails

This day was the first opportunity I had to save black feathers from my deceased rooster, Black Pepper. He was found Tuesday morning flailing vigorously in the corner of the coop. I witnessed his last moments. At first I thought he had been shot because it was such a quick death, however, on the next day after work, I examined his body quite carefully and could see no sign of violence to his flesh. After consulting with the family chicken experts, I believe he had a heart attack.

I laid Pepper on my black plastic covered kitchen table and harvested several bags of feathers...shiny black with a blue/green sheen...long tail feathers and pointy feathers from the neck area to use in future expressive art projects. Grandson Logan asked me if Pepper was giving me the feathers and I explained that he was dead. Logan said he will miss him and that Pepper will be in heaven...the faith of a three-year-old.