I have worked days all week and I'm exhausted. I get up every morning at 4:20 am so I have time to shower, get ready, feed puppies and take care of the farm animals. Each morning I drag myself and a bucket of water out to the barn and frantically feed the pigs, goats, bunnies and chickens before I run off to work.
I find myself entering the barn and flicking on the lights with the franticness that comes from thoughts of being late, but as soon as I hear their waking noises (grunts, snorts, clucks and sniffs) I feel my heart warm. I grab the plastic containers and head to the feed room.
There is a distinct smell to the feed room. Grain, dog food and dust. It's comforting... at least to me.
There is a rhythm in preparing their food. Half a cup of dog food and a full cup of pig ration. Each mixed for the individual. Don't forget to drop two cups into the dish by the door for the cats. Grab a little extra bunny pellets for Softy who is now living in the doll house.
Time to run the gauntlet. Over to Ginger's bowl and dump quickly and then move back towards Charlotte's dish before she gets upset. The goats are climbing up my legs to get to the containers containing their pellets and I push them off hoping to save my polyester work pants. Phew.
Okay. One into Nelly's bowl and one into Willow's dish and the panic ends. The bunnies run from dish to dish trying to sample, ignoring the steady supply of food in their hutch. The chicken is sharing with Ginger and I pause a moment to gather my thoughts and remember that life isn't always a race. Watching them share their food helps me remember to get along with everyone.
I stare too long at the chicken and pig eating and I am going to be late, but at least I'll be in great spirits when I finally get to work. It's a calming sedative to watch them share their breakfast. It's stress relieving and a nice balm to to soul to know that different species can share.
Dump the water, throw a flake of hay and race towards the house to change coats, boots and grab my coffee for the quick drive to work.
As I shift into reverse I can smell a little goat on my pants and see a few hairs.... a nice reminder of my joys.
My twelve hour work day ends and I'm exhausted. It's been busy and I'm stretched beyond my usual. I drive home with the radio off and think of the things I must do before I can relax and grab a glass of wine. I try not to dwell the work stuff, but sometimes it follows me home. It sneaks up on me when I'm not looking and I feel it grab me by the guts and squeeze. Seeing so much human suffering affects me in the end. There is a point where logic leaves and you desperately want understanding, but don't find it.
Puppies need to be fed, barnyard animals need nightly hay and cuddles, dinner needs to be made and finally my beloved glass of wine. I often wonder if I dream too hard of that glass of wine.
I feel beat up tonight. Used up and put away without a shower. I feel dirty, exhausted and hollow. I like to think I can handle the job, but lately I'm starting to wonder. I find I can either handle the job or the personal life, but not both at the same time. I've never craved a break. I've never truly felt the need for a vacation, but these days I want to escape. I want a vacation from working all the time, even if it's work on the things that I love.
I crave bedtime, and when it finally comes I welcome the pillows and mattress with love. Good night world.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Digging for Bunnies
I have three bunny rabbits and although they've grown up together, as adults and due to gender, they no longer get along. After a good fight I've moved Softy (black male) to the doll house beside the dog pen. Poor Softy has some fur missing from his right hind leg and is a little off balance when he hops.
Since being moved to the doll house Softy has become very comfortable with a big supply of food, fresh water and a soft clean bed of straw. He likes to nap outside under a pile of brances and eats all the dandelion heads that have the misfortune to grow in the doll house pen. The only draw back Softy has is that the fence line is shared with the big pond dog pen.
This dog pen is not open to the dogs all the time. It's only open when it's dry and sunny outside. I only allow the dogs to play in the pond pen when I'm home as well. I don't feel comfortable leaving the dogs with a large open pond if I'm not checking on them like an obsessive mother every fifteen minutes.
This afternoon it is beautiful outside, so I opened the gate and Taz bolts to check the outbuildings and then to check on Softy. She was outside for a long time and when I went to find her I was shocked.
My little Princess was trying to dig her way through the clay under the doll house to get at Softy. Her hair was matted with clay. Between the pads of her paws, on her head, right shoulder and right side was matted with heavy beads of thick brown clay. It was four o'clock and I needed to get ready for work, but as Taz walked across the kitchen floor chunks of mud fell off big enough to entice Gizmo to try a few pieces as snacks.
I had to soak her for ten minutes just to get he clay to start to melt. I used enough shampoo to wash all the farm animals before she turned from light brown clay back to her lovely blond locks.
I started blow drying and she planted her front paws on my chest and gave my nose a sweet and gentle lick. I laughed, finished drying and ran for the shower.
Since being moved to the doll house Softy has become very comfortable with a big supply of food, fresh water and a soft clean bed of straw. He likes to nap outside under a pile of brances and eats all the dandelion heads that have the misfortune to grow in the doll house pen. The only draw back Softy has is that the fence line is shared with the big pond dog pen.
This dog pen is not open to the dogs all the time. It's only open when it's dry and sunny outside. I only allow the dogs to play in the pond pen when I'm home as well. I don't feel comfortable leaving the dogs with a large open pond if I'm not checking on them like an obsessive mother every fifteen minutes.
This afternoon it is beautiful outside, so I opened the gate and Taz bolts to check the outbuildings and then to check on Softy. She was outside for a long time and when I went to find her I was shocked.
My little Princess was trying to dig her way through the clay under the doll house to get at Softy. Her hair was matted with clay. Between the pads of her paws, on her head, right shoulder and right side was matted with heavy beads of thick brown clay. It was four o'clock and I needed to get ready for work, but as Taz walked across the kitchen floor chunks of mud fell off big enough to entice Gizmo to try a few pieces as snacks.
I had to soak her for ten minutes just to get he clay to start to melt. I used enough shampoo to wash all the farm animals before she turned from light brown clay back to her lovely blond locks.
I started blow drying and she planted her front paws on my chest and gave my nose a sweet and gentle lick. I laughed, finished drying and ran for the shower.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
The Gizmo Saga Continues
I was hoping by today Gizmo would be healed and truly bright eyed for the first time in his life. Unfortunately, he's an imp and has caused his own problems with evasive eye rubbing.
He managed to escape his cone and rub his right eye raw. By Tuesday the eye look angry and infected with green pus oozing and sticking to his fur. I called the eye care clinic and they told me to take Gizmo to my vet and get his eye flourescent stained to see if he'd scratched the cornea or was developing an ulcer.
Frustrated and slightly panicked I drove Gizmo to Niagara Falls on Tuesday and our wonderful vet Rachel stained the eye, calmed the Gizmo and advised me the problem with my dog was that he was pathetic.
He hates wearing the cone and looks like someone just stole his truck, ran over his best friend and then took all the kibble when they left. Rachel hugged and gently kissed the head of my chocolate mess and handed him back to me with orders for extra cuddles and loving.
On Tuesday nights we attended Puppy School with Taz and tonight a tag along Gizmo. Taz was fantastic and learned to lay down quickly and with ease. She was mocking us by laying down before we asked and then stared at us like we were incredibly slow witted.
The instructor usually gives a talk and a demonstration before we begin training. Taz lays on the floor and intently listens before performing the acts with little help from us. Judith, our animal behavourist, stopped and praised us for being wonderful dog trainers, but we could only laugh and thank her. Taz would have driven herself to the class, listened, learned and then came home to teach us.
Gizmo was initially fearful, but then got into the spirit of things when the training cookies were brought out. The cone no longer caused paralysis when faced with prospects of a liver treat. Although, he was not the smartest puppy in the world, he did manage to run and find the cookie. It worked well because we were learning to come when called.
I was off to to work at ten and left Brent in charge of Gizmo. He managed to get most of the eye drops in the eyes, but Gizmo would not go out to pee. In the cone he sits on the floor and cries. The sound starts off soft like the sad coo of a mourning dove, but escalates to the loud frightened sounds that come from stepping on a duck or giving a gentle kick to a large pig.
After fifteen minutes on the phone I finally had Brent remove the cone, so Gizmo could pee, drink and eat before bed. The pair were exhausted, but full of food and water and finally able to pass out in a pile of human and puppy parts.
I came home from work and Gizmo's face is covered in misplaced eye drops, but he's wearing the cone and is fast asleep.
After my post-night shift morning nap I was laying in bed petting the little guy when he laid on his side and used the cone to rub his right eye. Somedays, there's just no winning.
In a moment of weakness and a serious lack of concern for fashion I shaved off Gizmo's lovely long ears. The hair kept going in his eyes and the constant weeping was getting all over his face, chin, neck and ears. I shaved it all. All.
He looks adorable and he's happy. Jump up and down, feed me more cookies, I promise not to rub my eye happy. He's out in the backyard eating dirt as we speak.
He managed to escape his cone and rub his right eye raw. By Tuesday the eye look angry and infected with green pus oozing and sticking to his fur. I called the eye care clinic and they told me to take Gizmo to my vet and get his eye flourescent stained to see if he'd scratched the cornea or was developing an ulcer.
Frustrated and slightly panicked I drove Gizmo to Niagara Falls on Tuesday and our wonderful vet Rachel stained the eye, calmed the Gizmo and advised me the problem with my dog was that he was pathetic.
He hates wearing the cone and looks like someone just stole his truck, ran over his best friend and then took all the kibble when they left. Rachel hugged and gently kissed the head of my chocolate mess and handed him back to me with orders for extra cuddles and loving.
On Tuesday nights we attended Puppy School with Taz and tonight a tag along Gizmo. Taz was fantastic and learned to lay down quickly and with ease. She was mocking us by laying down before we asked and then stared at us like we were incredibly slow witted.
The instructor usually gives a talk and a demonstration before we begin training. Taz lays on the floor and intently listens before performing the acts with little help from us. Judith, our animal behavourist, stopped and praised us for being wonderful dog trainers, but we could only laugh and thank her. Taz would have driven herself to the class, listened, learned and then came home to teach us.
Gizmo was initially fearful, but then got into the spirit of things when the training cookies were brought out. The cone no longer caused paralysis when faced with prospects of a liver treat. Although, he was not the smartest puppy in the world, he did manage to run and find the cookie. It worked well because we were learning to come when called.
I was off to to work at ten and left Brent in charge of Gizmo. He managed to get most of the eye drops in the eyes, but Gizmo would not go out to pee. In the cone he sits on the floor and cries. The sound starts off soft like the sad coo of a mourning dove, but escalates to the loud frightened sounds that come from stepping on a duck or giving a gentle kick to a large pig.
After fifteen minutes on the phone I finally had Brent remove the cone, so Gizmo could pee, drink and eat before bed. The pair were exhausted, but full of food and water and finally able to pass out in a pile of human and puppy parts.
I came home from work and Gizmo's face is covered in misplaced eye drops, but he's wearing the cone and is fast asleep.
After my post-night shift morning nap I was laying in bed petting the little guy when he laid on his side and used the cone to rub his right eye. Somedays, there's just no winning.
In a moment of weakness and a serious lack of concern for fashion I shaved off Gizmo's lovely long ears. The hair kept going in his eyes and the constant weeping was getting all over his face, chin, neck and ears. I shaved it all. All.
He looks adorable and he's happy. Jump up and down, feed me more cookies, I promise not to rub my eye happy. He's out in the backyard eating dirt as we speak.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Pond, Cat and Missing Chicken
The morning is brisk, but the sun is warm as I walk the puppies around the pond. Since we started aerating the water has become so clear that I can see plant life growing along the sides . There are many frog in the pond and I know there's fish, but I don't see any.
Taz is our official frog hunter and I have pictures of her belly deep in the pond waiting to pounce on a frog. The delicate princess is waist deep in pond water as she wades in to stalk her prey. I don't know that she's ever caught one and I don't know what she'd do with it if she did, but she managed to lick one once and I don't think she liked the taste (the frog did not turn into a puppy prince either).
Our pond isn't an ornamental pond with a fancy liner, lights and a waterfall. It's dirt. Actually, it's clay. We dug it last year with my dad's backhoe and made a complete mess that took us weeks to clean up, but this year it's starting to look good. We threw grass seed on the still dirt, but it might have been too soon and too cold because we don't see any warm fuzzy green growth.
We put fresh mulch around the house gardens this year and I always giggle quietly to myself as I start up my small diesel tractor with front end loader and do some light gardening. I love that I live someplace where a case tractor is considered a basic gardening tool. We use the backhoe for the heavy work.
We've put about thirty fish in the pond since we dug it and I rarely see any, unless I go out at the break of dawn. There are a few three to four inch fish in the pond, but they always manage to hide from me during bright daylight hours. We don't feed the pond fish, so they don't readily come to the surface when people approach like the usual pond fish. Probably a good thing otherwise they might become fodder for the local blue heron.
Speaking of our local heron, she was standing in the back field last year and Taz went nuts. She tore after the bird at top speed and got to within ten feet when the heron spread her wings and took flight. I've never seen a dog turn tail and run back to her mama like the little blond bombshell. She ran out barking at the top of her lungs and came back a little faster crying. It's nice to know even the bravest soul has it's weakness.
There are two outbuilding near the pond that the dogs rush to investigate every morning hoping to find a wild bunny to chase or perhaps a squirrel. This morning they managed to locate and frighten my old barn cat Wheezy. She's from the Cat Rescue Society based out of Toronto. This group volunteers their time to live trapped feral cats, alter them, provide basic medical care and shots (especially rabies). The Society then seeks farm homes where the cats can live out their days. Wheezy came with two other cats: a large and wild rag doll (who has taken care of my raccoon problem) and another little female. Wheezy sounds like her name. The people from the Cat Society said they've had her in care for months and have treated her with antibiotics, but this is just how she sounds. Most feral cats have a short lifespan of only a few years and they figured Wheezy was close to six, so she was an old girl for her lifestyle choices.
Wheezy is also deaf, so being a scared so early in the morning must have strained her old heart. She ran out of the building and jumped up to sit on the fence post and look disgustedly at the dogs. She gave a hearty sneeze before sneaking off to find a safer place to nap.
After the dogs had their walk I strolled out to the barn to feed the crew. Charlotte, Willow and Nelly-Kelly were all outside enjoying the sunshine. Ginger and Nugget were still napping in the barn. As I prepared their grain I could hear them talking. Grunts, snorts, beys, clucks and the occasional squeal. It is like a symphony tuning up, but not the philharmonic symphony, more like a high school band.
Ginger and Nugget have really become buddies. I watch them eat together, sleep together and I wonder what kind of fetish a chicken has to have such a sweet relationship with a pig and vice versa.
There's an order to feeding the animals otherwise they tend to get very upset with each other and with me. Ginger gets fed first and will only share with Nugget, then Charlotte, the goats and finally the bunnies.
I went back into the house to get water and when I returned everyone was done eating and was having their morning wandering. I looked all over, but couldn't find Nugget anywhere. Weird. That's not like Nugget to go missing. Once a chicken is imprinted to a farm they stay around and that's why you see chickens roaming around loose. Goats are the same way. I could let Willow and Nelly-Kelly wander and eat my flower beds, but I worry about the road.
I checked the field, barn and little outbuildings and no Nugget. I noticed the bunny dish in the hutch was empty to I walked to the feed room wondering what had happened to my little Nugget. Returning with a healthy scoop of bunny pellets I dumped it into the ceramic dish and made that tinkling sound which caused the chicken to cluck. Where did that come from?
I started looking around the bunny hutch and there was my chicken nesting and laying her morning egg. I felt like I'd violated her quiet time, but she gave me the sideways stare and I politely moved away. I do love Nuggets eggs.
Gizmo Update:
Yesterday at four o'clock our Gizmo came alive. His lids are still swollen, but his eyes are very open and very bright with joy. I'm glad he's on the upswing of mending.
This morning he didn't want to get out of bed which is a welcoming sign for Gizmo. I dragged him downstairs and made him go out for a pee. We then started a morning routine: two sets of eye drops, ear medicine (because he's also fighting an ear infection), allergy medicine, anti-inflammatories and a little herbal something to help calm and keep him settled. He gets it all with a little canned food, so he really didn't mind getting out of bed for food.
After our walk he's settled back down into his heated dog bed and is resting. It feels like things are going back to normal.
Taz is our official frog hunter and I have pictures of her belly deep in the pond waiting to pounce on a frog. The delicate princess is waist deep in pond water as she wades in to stalk her prey. I don't know that she's ever caught one and I don't know what she'd do with it if she did, but she managed to lick one once and I don't think she liked the taste (the frog did not turn into a puppy prince either).
Our pond isn't an ornamental pond with a fancy liner, lights and a waterfall. It's dirt. Actually, it's clay. We dug it last year with my dad's backhoe and made a complete mess that took us weeks to clean up, but this year it's starting to look good. We threw grass seed on the still dirt, but it might have been too soon and too cold because we don't see any warm fuzzy green growth.
We put fresh mulch around the house gardens this year and I always giggle quietly to myself as I start up my small diesel tractor with front end loader and do some light gardening. I love that I live someplace where a case tractor is considered a basic gardening tool. We use the backhoe for the heavy work.
We've put about thirty fish in the pond since we dug it and I rarely see any, unless I go out at the break of dawn. There are a few three to four inch fish in the pond, but they always manage to hide from me during bright daylight hours. We don't feed the pond fish, so they don't readily come to the surface when people approach like the usual pond fish. Probably a good thing otherwise they might become fodder for the local blue heron.
Speaking of our local heron, she was standing in the back field last year and Taz went nuts. She tore after the bird at top speed and got to within ten feet when the heron spread her wings and took flight. I've never seen a dog turn tail and run back to her mama like the little blond bombshell. She ran out barking at the top of her lungs and came back a little faster crying. It's nice to know even the bravest soul has it's weakness.
There are two outbuilding near the pond that the dogs rush to investigate every morning hoping to find a wild bunny to chase or perhaps a squirrel. This morning they managed to locate and frighten my old barn cat Wheezy. She's from the Cat Rescue Society based out of Toronto. This group volunteers their time to live trapped feral cats, alter them, provide basic medical care and shots (especially rabies). The Society then seeks farm homes where the cats can live out their days. Wheezy came with two other cats: a large and wild rag doll (who has taken care of my raccoon problem) and another little female. Wheezy sounds like her name. The people from the Cat Society said they've had her in care for months and have treated her with antibiotics, but this is just how she sounds. Most feral cats have a short lifespan of only a few years and they figured Wheezy was close to six, so she was an old girl for her lifestyle choices.
Wheezy is also deaf, so being a scared so early in the morning must have strained her old heart. She ran out of the building and jumped up to sit on the fence post and look disgustedly at the dogs. She gave a hearty sneeze before sneaking off to find a safer place to nap.
After the dogs had their walk I strolled out to the barn to feed the crew. Charlotte, Willow and Nelly-Kelly were all outside enjoying the sunshine. Ginger and Nugget were still napping in the barn. As I prepared their grain I could hear them talking. Grunts, snorts, beys, clucks and the occasional squeal. It is like a symphony tuning up, but not the philharmonic symphony, more like a high school band.
Ginger and Nugget have really become buddies. I watch them eat together, sleep together and I wonder what kind of fetish a chicken has to have such a sweet relationship with a pig and vice versa.
There's an order to feeding the animals otherwise they tend to get very upset with each other and with me. Ginger gets fed first and will only share with Nugget, then Charlotte, the goats and finally the bunnies.
I went back into the house to get water and when I returned everyone was done eating and was having their morning wandering. I looked all over, but couldn't find Nugget anywhere. Weird. That's not like Nugget to go missing. Once a chicken is imprinted to a farm they stay around and that's why you see chickens roaming around loose. Goats are the same way. I could let Willow and Nelly-Kelly wander and eat my flower beds, but I worry about the road.
I checked the field, barn and little outbuildings and no Nugget. I noticed the bunny dish in the hutch was empty to I walked to the feed room wondering what had happened to my little Nugget. Returning with a healthy scoop of bunny pellets I dumped it into the ceramic dish and made that tinkling sound which caused the chicken to cluck. Where did that come from?
I started looking around the bunny hutch and there was my chicken nesting and laying her morning egg. I felt like I'd violated her quiet time, but she gave me the sideways stare and I politely moved away. I do love Nuggets eggs.
Gizmo Update:
Yesterday at four o'clock our Gizmo came alive. His lids are still swollen, but his eyes are very open and very bright with joy. I'm glad he's on the upswing of mending.
This morning he didn't want to get out of bed which is a welcoming sign for Gizmo. I dragged him downstairs and made him go out for a pee. We then started a morning routine: two sets of eye drops, ear medicine (because he's also fighting an ear infection), allergy medicine, anti-inflammatories and a little herbal something to help calm and keep him settled. He gets it all with a little canned food, so he really didn't mind getting out of bed for food.
After our walk he's settled back down into his heated dog bed and is resting. It feels like things are going back to normal.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Farm Fresh Poached Eggs
After watching the movie Julie & Julia (not reading Mastering the Art of French Cooking) one fact sticks in my head: the key to poached eggs is freshness. A pot of simmering water is needed and gentle stirring, but the true key to making the perfect poached egg is freshness.
A hen typically lays one egg at the same time everyday and at 10 am every morning my lovely Chicken Nugget is kind enough to lay me one large brown egg. Today I collected that egg, brought it into the house and made the most perfect poached egg I've ever seen or tasted. Perfectly held together with thick whites and when cut open the bright orange yolk is still gooey and full of flavor. It is necessary to boil a fresh egg longer because it is denser and takes a minute longer to cook, but you easily get that perfect, still liquid yolk with a hint of firmness on the outside edge.
Fresh eggs have bright orange yolks, thick clear whites and when boiled the whole thing sticks together. BFL (Before Farm Life) I can remember struggling to make a good poached egg, not the perfect poached egg, but a good one and never quite succeeded. My poached eggs would be stringy and the whites would leave a thick film on the water and the pot. The yolk was a pale yellow turning quickly to stone in the boiling water while the whites were thin with no adhesion. I always blamed myself for the poor poached eggs and even went so far as to buy a poacher; which is a tray that sits on top of the boiling water and forces the eggs to stay together. It's all a farce! You don't need a poacher, there's no special swirling method, no preferred boiling point, no unique water, it doesn't matter how you crack it or if you crack it into a bowl first: it's all in the egg.
After I ate my egg and returned to the kitchen to clean up I found the water in the pot perfectly clear. You wouldn't know that I'd just poached an egg. I still washed the pot, but it wasn't a struggle to scrub and rinse and scourer the dried bits of egg white. Also, with the fresh egg it doesn't fall apart the instant it leaves the shell. The egg wants to stay together as the orange yolk sits high and proud on top of its throne of tenacious whites.
Some people worry that farm eggs aren't commercially produced and therefore not safe to eat. I have never gotten sick from eating a single egg from Nugget. I have a super sensitive tummy that does not take well to drinking the tap water from Port Colborne, so if there was a hint of something unseemly in these eggs my body would have given me the message loud and clear.
Farm eggs are fresh. That's all. If the chicken is kept in a clean area the eggs will be clean too. The only time there is poop on the eggs is when it happens after the egg is laid. Nugget lays her eggs in the clean fresh straw in the bottom of the bunny hutch and each egg is clean and fresh. I've never pulled an egg out dirty, because Nugget is free range and doesn't spend all her time sitting in the same place eating and laying. She's a social butterfly who enjoys all day outdoor adventures, long walks with her friends and breakfast served everyday on the patio.
Today I reached a lifelong goal. Today is the day I made the perfect poached egg and I couldn't have done it without my friendly, faithful and devoted Chicken Nugget. Of all the things Nugget has taught me her eggs have taught me a little more.
A hen typically lays one egg at the same time everyday and at 10 am every morning my lovely Chicken Nugget is kind enough to lay me one large brown egg. Today I collected that egg, brought it into the house and made the most perfect poached egg I've ever seen or tasted. Perfectly held together with thick whites and when cut open the bright orange yolk is still gooey and full of flavor. It is necessary to boil a fresh egg longer because it is denser and takes a minute longer to cook, but you easily get that perfect, still liquid yolk with a hint of firmness on the outside edge.
Fresh eggs have bright orange yolks, thick clear whites and when boiled the whole thing sticks together. BFL (Before Farm Life) I can remember struggling to make a good poached egg, not the perfect poached egg, but a good one and never quite succeeded. My poached eggs would be stringy and the whites would leave a thick film on the water and the pot. The yolk was a pale yellow turning quickly to stone in the boiling water while the whites were thin with no adhesion. I always blamed myself for the poor poached eggs and even went so far as to buy a poacher; which is a tray that sits on top of the boiling water and forces the eggs to stay together. It's all a farce! You don't need a poacher, there's no special swirling method, no preferred boiling point, no unique water, it doesn't matter how you crack it or if you crack it into a bowl first: it's all in the egg.
After I ate my egg and returned to the kitchen to clean up I found the water in the pot perfectly clear. You wouldn't know that I'd just poached an egg. I still washed the pot, but it wasn't a struggle to scrub and rinse and scourer the dried bits of egg white. Also, with the fresh egg it doesn't fall apart the instant it leaves the shell. The egg wants to stay together as the orange yolk sits high and proud on top of its throne of tenacious whites.
Some people worry that farm eggs aren't commercially produced and therefore not safe to eat. I have never gotten sick from eating a single egg from Nugget. I have a super sensitive tummy that does not take well to drinking the tap water from Port Colborne, so if there was a hint of something unseemly in these eggs my body would have given me the message loud and clear.
Farm eggs are fresh. That's all. If the chicken is kept in a clean area the eggs will be clean too. The only time there is poop on the eggs is when it happens after the egg is laid. Nugget lays her eggs in the clean fresh straw in the bottom of the bunny hutch and each egg is clean and fresh. I've never pulled an egg out dirty, because Nugget is free range and doesn't spend all her time sitting in the same place eating and laying. She's a social butterfly who enjoys all day outdoor adventures, long walks with her friends and breakfast served everyday on the patio.
Today I reached a lifelong goal. Today is the day I made the perfect poached egg and I couldn't have done it without my friendly, faithful and devoted Chicken Nugget. Of all the things Nugget has taught me her eggs have taught me a little more.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Day After & Daily Life
It's been just over twenty-four hours since Gizmo's surgery and he's finally starting to rest. The night was filled with comforting an unhappy puppy. Between his sore and swollen eyes and several bouts of diarrhea little dude was up most of the night.
Gizmo usually likes to spend about twenty hours a day sleeping, so it's a shock to see him up and moving so much. I'm having a hard time with the cone too. He won't move once you put it on. He stands like a statue and won't move. I left it on him while we ate dinner and he didn't move an inch the entire time. How can I leave him like that? He can't eat or drink with it on either and then he started to cry. A pitiful baby-like whine.
I'm hoping tomorrow he'll be feeling a little better.
The good news: when I walked into the barn this morning I was greeted by two pigs, two goats, a chicken and two bunnies all cuddled together in the stall. This may have been the first night the two pigs have been together in the stall. Ginger had been sleeping in an ex-large dog crate that was her home in the 'burbs. She still naps in the crate as I think she finds comfort, but I'm thinking she'll cuddle in the barn with the rest of the crew for warmth.
The rain has kept everyone inside. Especially Nelly-Kelly. For a goat that lived in an open field for seven years, she certainly wants nothing to do with rain anymore. The one surprise is Nugget. That chicken loves to be outdoors. As long as the sun is up she'll be outside wandering around, scratching and pecking. Once the sun sets the chicken will not come out again until sunrise. Must be a chicken thing.
Checked on the crew and I was surprised to find Ginger in her crate and everyone else in the stall. I must admit the crate is pretty cozy full of fresh straw and wrapped in a tarp.
Gizmo usually likes to spend about twenty hours a day sleeping, so it's a shock to see him up and moving so much. I'm having a hard time with the cone too. He won't move once you put it on. He stands like a statue and won't move. I left it on him while we ate dinner and he didn't move an inch the entire time. How can I leave him like that? He can't eat or drink with it on either and then he started to cry. A pitiful baby-like whine.
I'm hoping tomorrow he'll be feeling a little better.
The good news: when I walked into the barn this morning I was greeted by two pigs, two goats, a chicken and two bunnies all cuddled together in the stall. This may have been the first night the two pigs have been together in the stall. Ginger had been sleeping in an ex-large dog crate that was her home in the 'burbs. She still naps in the crate as I think she finds comfort, but I'm thinking she'll cuddle in the barn with the rest of the crew for warmth.
The rain has kept everyone inside. Especially Nelly-Kelly. For a goat that lived in an open field for seven years, she certainly wants nothing to do with rain anymore. The one surprise is Nugget. That chicken loves to be outdoors. As long as the sun is up she'll be outside wandering around, scratching and pecking. Once the sun sets the chicken will not come out again until sunrise. Must be a chicken thing.
Checked on the crew and I was surprised to find Ginger in her crate and everyone else in the stall. I must admit the crate is pretty cozy full of fresh straw and wrapped in a tarp.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Gizmo's Eye Surgery Day!
The day finally arrived. The day Gizmo would have eye surgery to fix a common problem among dog breeds with bulging eyes like shih tzus, cocker spaniels, dachshunds, bulldogs, pekingese, poodles, flat-coated retrievers and shetland sheepdogs.
There are three general causes why dogs grow eye lashes on the inside of the eye lids: infection, genetics or neglect. The process is called distichiasis and causes scratches on the coronea, eye ulcers and eventually blindness. Gizmo is not quite three and already showing signs of blindness.
If you haven't read Gizmo's story you can find it on a separate page posted on this blog. Gizmo is a puppy mill rescue and the product of pure human neglect. Sadly, our "little dude" has had many medical problems, but is doing well after a year and a half of good food, clean living and excellent medical care.
We waited to have the surgery until Gizmo was healthy and then we waited for a surgery date. We took G-dude in at 0915 this morning and finally got home around 1600 this afternoon. They froze the unwanted eye lashes off! They used some machine that Austin Power's would love and treated both upper and lower lids to freeze and burn off the lashes - including dormant lashes! The vet said that nine times out of ten the procedure is a one time complete cure. The surgery is called: cryoepilation or cryotherapy where they apply liquid nitrogen to the lashes while trying not to damage the meilbomiam glands (sweat glands) that secrets oils to prevent the evaporation of the natural tears that lubricate the eyes.
I was nervous all day as we wandered around trying to shop (yeah) and be productive. I was quite proud that I only called the vet twice to check on his progress. I kept imagining the little guy in a steel cage terrified that this was going to be his life again. I told him over and over on the drive down that it was only for today, but he only looked at me his with sore eyes and wagged his tail. He wandered off with vet tech with a bounce in his step and barely a backwards glance.
When they brought him out after surgery it looked like he'd been punched in the eyes during a terrible Dain City bar fight. Both lids swollen so badly you could see the pink fleshy meat protruding beyond his now pale outer lid. Graphic. I saw him and couldn't stop the tears. His eyes nearly swollen shut, wearing a cone, heavily sedated and still that tail started wagging.
I took him outside and put him on the ground to pee, but he just fell over. We brought him home and tried to put him in the heated dog bed on the floor, but he tried to get up and move around. Falling again.
Well.... there's nothing I can do tonight, but sit and watch TV with a snoring Gizmo passed out on my chest. His little body limp with exhaustion and the level of relaxation that only comes from narcotics.
Me? I'm enjoying a well earned glass of wine. Cheers Gizmo and many good wishes for a healthy and quick recovery.
There are three general causes why dogs grow eye lashes on the inside of the eye lids: infection, genetics or neglect. The process is called distichiasis and causes scratches on the coronea, eye ulcers and eventually blindness. Gizmo is not quite three and already showing signs of blindness.
If you haven't read Gizmo's story you can find it on a separate page posted on this blog. Gizmo is a puppy mill rescue and the product of pure human neglect. Sadly, our "little dude" has had many medical problems, but is doing well after a year and a half of good food, clean living and excellent medical care.
We waited to have the surgery until Gizmo was healthy and then we waited for a surgery date. We took G-dude in at 0915 this morning and finally got home around 1600 this afternoon. They froze the unwanted eye lashes off! They used some machine that Austin Power's would love and treated both upper and lower lids to freeze and burn off the lashes - including dormant lashes! The vet said that nine times out of ten the procedure is a one time complete cure. The surgery is called: cryoepilation or cryotherapy where they apply liquid nitrogen to the lashes while trying not to damage the meilbomiam glands (sweat glands) that secrets oils to prevent the evaporation of the natural tears that lubricate the eyes.
I was nervous all day as we wandered around trying to shop (yeah) and be productive. I was quite proud that I only called the vet twice to check on his progress. I kept imagining the little guy in a steel cage terrified that this was going to be his life again. I told him over and over on the drive down that it was only for today, but he only looked at me his with sore eyes and wagged his tail. He wandered off with vet tech with a bounce in his step and barely a backwards glance.
When they brought him out after surgery it looked like he'd been punched in the eyes during a terrible Dain City bar fight. Both lids swollen so badly you could see the pink fleshy meat protruding beyond his now pale outer lid. Graphic. I saw him and couldn't stop the tears. His eyes nearly swollen shut, wearing a cone, heavily sedated and still that tail started wagging.
I took him outside and put him on the ground to pee, but he just fell over. We brought him home and tried to put him in the heated dog bed on the floor, but he tried to get up and move around. Falling again.
Well.... there's nothing I can do tonight, but sit and watch TV with a snoring Gizmo passed out on my chest. His little body limp with exhaustion and the level of relaxation that only comes from narcotics.
Me? I'm enjoying a well earned glass of wine. Cheers Gizmo and many good wishes for a healthy and quick recovery.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Welcoming Ginger
About a week ago we took in a sweet mini pot bellied pig named Ginger who needed to be re-homed after living in a house in the 'burbs. Farm animals are not good indoor pets once they mature at three years old. They tend to become aggressive with children and other family members as they learn their place in the herd.
Ginger was obviously cranky and slightly under-muscled for a three year old pig weighing 50 lbs. She and my resident full size pot belly pig Charlotte did not see snout to snout. I looked for advice and was told from many resources to let them work out their differences. Pigs are not like dogs or people. Once they establish the pecking order they become friends. The other advise was to build a separate pen, so the pigs could live side by side without being able to physically fight for months or years. With some anxiety we decided to give it a few days and see if the girls could find some common ground.
Pigs fight. They are territorial and vicious with each other. There was no problem introducing Ginger to the goats, chicken and bunnies, but Charlotte was another story. They fought. They had small cuts and non-obvious bruises from scuffles. I was worried the 150 lb Charlotte would hurt Ginger, but was I wrong.
After two days of fighting, three days of ignoring each other like teen girls they have finally reach an agreement. I believe this agreement was reach because Charlotte came into heat and Ginger found her attractive. Charlotte found my rubber boot attractive at this point, so a change in gender wasn't important. Her new love was the same species and was not an inanimate object.
Little Ginger did her best to mount Charlotte, but her little legs could not reach the back end of the giant Charlotte. The good news is after some frustrating attempts as become lovers the pair have settled on being friends. Ginger is clearly the boss, but Charlotte doesn't seem to mind being pushed around by a pig less than half her size. I think she might even like it a little.
It's nice to have peace reign on the farm. Except I did watch a bunny chase a full sized cat off the property today. No worse than seeing the same cat curled up with a chicken in the dead of winter. Warmth comes in all shapes and sizes.
Ginger was obviously cranky and slightly under-muscled for a three year old pig weighing 50 lbs. She and my resident full size pot belly pig Charlotte did not see snout to snout. I looked for advice and was told from many resources to let them work out their differences. Pigs are not like dogs or people. Once they establish the pecking order they become friends. The other advise was to build a separate pen, so the pigs could live side by side without being able to physically fight for months or years. With some anxiety we decided to give it a few days and see if the girls could find some common ground.
Pigs fight. They are territorial and vicious with each other. There was no problem introducing Ginger to the goats, chicken and bunnies, but Charlotte was another story. They fought. They had small cuts and non-obvious bruises from scuffles. I was worried the 150 lb Charlotte would hurt Ginger, but was I wrong.
After two days of fighting, three days of ignoring each other like teen girls they have finally reach an agreement. I believe this agreement was reach because Charlotte came into heat and Ginger found her attractive. Charlotte found my rubber boot attractive at this point, so a change in gender wasn't important. Her new love was the same species and was not an inanimate object.
Little Ginger did her best to mount Charlotte, but her little legs could not reach the back end of the giant Charlotte. The good news is after some frustrating attempts as become lovers the pair have settled on being friends. Ginger is clearly the boss, but Charlotte doesn't seem to mind being pushed around by a pig less than half her size. I think she might even like it a little.
It's nice to have peace reign on the farm. Except I did watch a bunny chase a full sized cat off the property today. No worse than seeing the same cat curled up with a chicken in the dead of winter. Warmth comes in all shapes and sizes.
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