Paralysis

I think about you, my readers, every day. I'm doing things, I'm taking pix for you. But I'm not getting any writing done. Why? There are so many distasteful and annoying tasks stacked up ahead of that. I'm a linear thinker. With the fun stuff way back behind the other stuff I find myself not wanting to do anything. It's like a paralysis.

I could handle situations like this when I worked, I'd just make a list of priorities and start working from the top, slide in a few quick and easy things between the big tasks, and pretty soon everything was accomplished.

Retired life at home is not so easy to organize. Everything comes with its own can of worms, and I'm tired of dealing with worms. Especially bureaucratic, idiotic worms. Actually, those are more like parasites.

I'm suffering from bureaucratic parasitic paralysis.

But I'm still here and will be back.

Halloween Story

Is my house haunted? Well, probably. It's been in the family for generations and the likelihood that spirits of relatives past are hanging around is fairly high. Several had very strong feelings for this place, as I do, and worked hard to keep it in the family. I plan to haunt it, myself, when I've died.

Having ancestors hanging around, though, has never been a scary thing. There have been no poltergeists, no cupboard doors swinging open or dishes falling from them. Their presence is more like a comfort. Whenever I leave on a trip, as I'm headed out the driveway, I always ask, "Mom, keep an eye on things while I'm gone?" And she always has.

This past week, though, has been strange.

Jonathan (Bob's buddy who is proud to be called a geek) was here one evening. Bob was still at work, Jon and I were talking. I was sitting at my computer and Jon was making himself a sandwich in the kitchen, I think. His back was toward the door to the service porch. Velcro had stretched herself across the step down into the kitchen, waiting for Jon to pet her. Or maybe give her part of his sandwich.

I was wearing my reading glasses. I could see the doorway to the service porch, but it was a little fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly it looked like a small, black, fuzzy ball of something had started to zip from the service porch into the kitchen, saw Jonathan, and zipped back out of sight. It was bigger than a mouse, fuzzier than a rat. My brain was just starting to reason that it was just my imagination, when Velcro (old and decrepit as she is), leaped up and actually ran over to door. She had evidently seen something, too, or heard or smelled it. She sniffed around the doorway and checked behind the nearby refrigerator and garbage can.

That gave me the creeps. "Jon, did you just see something come through the door back there? Did you hear anything?" He hadn't. But he wondered what'd gotten into Velcro, and marveled that she moved so fast. We went out on the service porch to investigate. We found nothing. That makes sense because, since we've remodeled that room, it's fairly tight.

There used to be a large gap below the door that leads outside. Rats and mice could get under it. The ceiling was open to the roof, birds occasionally came in under the eaves and into the room when they were looking for nesting sites. But no more. Bob put up drywall and repaired the door jamb. He turned the room from shack status to "real room" status. The only thing that might still be able to get in there is ants.

I went to bed that night still feeling creepy. "Mom," I said, "you're in charge of keeping the spooks away."

Two days passed. Yesterday I was wearing my reading glasses again when I went out to feed the chickens. As I passed the Ancona pen (my large egg layers) there was something small, black, and fuzzy lying in the middle of it. "Oh darn," I thought. "The baby Silkie (from the adjacent mutt pen) has gotten in there and the hens have killed it." The Anconas do things like that. They hunt and eat mice, they kill sparrows that wander in. They are warrior chickens.

But when I squinted, I could see the baby black Silkie still running behind its mama in the mutt pen. I dreaded looking back into the Ancona pen.

When I did, I saw a small, black, fuzzy kitten sitting there. It was quite alive and unharmed. The hens were ignoring it. When I went toward the gate, it ran through the cyclone fence (it was that small). When I left the pen, it came back in and walked up to one of the hens like a kitten greets its mama: tail up and mewing, asking for food. I honestly don't know why the hens didn't chase it.

I went back to the house and fixed a small paper plate of cat food. I called and called. The kitten would not come, but I could see it peeking through the fence. I set the plate down, then had to battle with the hens to keep them away from it. The kitten finally came back through the fence and nommed onto the food.

This was not one of the feral kittens that was born here. They are teenagers now and the only black one has a white spot on its chest. I walked to the corn stand to see if anyone had seen other kittens. Aleene said yes, the guys had seen black kittens around the gourd bins. They thought it was my batch of ferals. Some a--hole has been dumping kittens here.

This morning I noticed that the tiny, black, fuzzy spot that has been on the highway for a couple of days is not part of a flattened raccoon. I've asked the guys at the corn stand to catch any small kittens they find. I'll see if Bob can catch the one that's in the yard when he's off work this weekend. Those kittens are too young to be trying to hunt for their own food. We'll cage them and feed them. Rick says he has only one old cat left at the corn stand's tractor shop up the road a mile away, and would be happy to relocate them there.

My ferals are all we need here. Having been born here, they're very savvy about the best places to hide and the best places to hunt, and when they're not working they're still hanging out in the safety of the wood shed. Trapping and neutering them has finally moved to the top of my "to do" list.

When I found the kitten in the hen pen, my brain said, "that has to be what you saw in the house the other night." But there's no way that could have happened.

Do you suppose I saw the ghost of the kitten killed on the highway?

I'm Fine, Thanks

It's just been a very busy couple of weeks and I haven't had time to sit down and write. Thank you Mitzi and Bev for checking on me.

Here's the very short version of what I've been up to: had lunch with Neva and we ran into Anne and Mike; went to the Harvest Festival; spent a couple of hours discussing Waldorf education and the state of the world with cousin Kreg and Patty; met Nick's new wife and baby; had lunch with Linda, Harold and Chloe and got to show Chloe the chickens; Alice stopped by; John and I signed divorce papers then sat around and talked about the peace movement and the Rotary Club with the lawyer (a very interesting lady) before we had lunch with Ken; I cleaned the show equipment and put it away after Paso Robles; sat at Les Schwab tires for 3 hours one morning having new tires put on Bob's truck because he ran over a metal stake out in the field (and doesn't have time to take the truck in himself); sat at the Toyota place for 2 hours for my car's 85,000 mile maintenance; went to a Sloughhouse 4-H club meeting; attended 2 chair pilates classes and 4 water aerobics classes; and today.....ta da.....I caught every chicken on the place and Bob and I decided which ones to take to the sale tomorrow. Then I trimmed beaks and toenails and wormed all the birds and cleaned ALL the pens before I put the keepers back in them, and loaded the sale birds in crates in my car for 6 a.m. tomorrow.

I'm handfeeding another baby pigeon.

It's going to start raining Monday so I'm trying to get things tucked away. Oh, and I read 3 books: Primal Body, Primal Mind by Nora Gedgaudas, The Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling, and The Primal Blueprint by Mark Sisson. I'm about halfway through Sick Puppy by Carl Hiaasen. Having to sit around waiting for the cars gave me some much-appreciated reading time. And yes, I'm a speed reader.

Once it starts raining, I'm going to build a fire in the stove and just sit here until we're caught up. See you then!


 

It's Show Time!

The first show of the year in California is in Paso Robles. It's a long drive to get there. This year I was happy that Carlotta went with me. The weekend was 1/3 chicken show, 1/3 visiting with friends, and 1/3 exploring new territory.

If you're not familiar with showing chickens, this is the schedule:

A couple of weeks before the show, send in entries for birds and make hotel reservation for people.

A week before the show, wash the birds. I do this in the kitchen sink. This time it was sunny and warm so I got to put the birds outside to dry. Most shows are in the middle of the winter and I set up cages in the house near the wood stove for this purpose. Each bird has its beak and nails trimmed and its comb, wattles, and legs are lightly oiled. Sometimes you run across a problem, like one of the hens that I washed had just started to molt and half her feathers ended up in the sink. She went back to her pen after she dried and I found a substitute.

Friday morning I inspected each bird carefully for new dirt (not much, thanks to the show pens Bob made), and put them in the carriers. My carriers are very light, about 12 inches wide, 12 inches high, and 24 inches long. There are 4 compartments in each. I took 2 big carriers and put the 9th chicken in a cardboard cat carrier. (This is so much easier than hauling horses.)

Carlotta and I left about 10 a.m. Our first stop on I-5 was at Santa Nella, for lunch at Andersen's Pea Soup restaurant. We had our picture taken there.

We also stopped there to pee, so I was very Hap-pee.

We got to the fairgrounds in Paso Robles about 6 p.m., unloaded the birds, got them settled in their show cages, and went to our hotel. Here are some of the birds I took:

White Old English Bantam pullet, #42

Dominique Bantam cockerel #42

Dominique Bantam cockerel #18

Dominique Bantam Pullet #16

There were over 1,000 birds at the show. The entries are up possibly because, thanks to Martha Stewart and the local foods movement, more people have started keeping a few chickens. At this show I saw breeds and varieties I'd never seen before. Some were indescribable. This one, for instance. I think it's a Barred Frizzle Silkie.

Just chillin'

Some people check in Friday night, like we did, and stay in a hotel. Some people make that loooong drive on Saturday morning. There were people who pulled in before 8 a.m. on Saturday who had even further to travel than we did. By 9 all the chickens were settled in their pens and the 3 judges went to work.

As an exhibitor, your job is to just stay out of the way and let the judges do their job. The birds of each type are penned in adjacent cages so the judge can compare them. He or she takes each bird out of its cage and examines it, then stands back and looks at the whole category, makes a determination and writes the placing on the card. For my Dom Bantams, for example, there are 4 categories: cockerels, cocks, pullets and hens. The first place birds in each category are compared and the judge decides which is Best of Variety (BV) and which is Reserve of Variety (RV). In many breeds there are several varieties. The best of each variety are then compared to award Best of Breed (BB) and Reserve of Breed (RB). Then those compete for Best of Class. The Class champions get to compete on champion row for Best of Show.

My pullet #16 was BB and BV, my cockerel #42 was RB and RV. This is not a big deal, there were only 2 of us who entered Dom Bantams. I had also taken 2 white OEGB pullets. Neither placed. Old English Game Bantams are always the largest class. At this show there were 250. A pullet that was caged next to mine ended up winning Best of Show.

It takes all day to judge the birds. While that's going on, people are sitting and talking. You get to know people over the years and it's fun to see them. Everyone wears their best chicken attire. This one was one of the best.

In one corner of the room the 4-H kids do showmanship. If you've ever been a 4-H parent, this photo might tickle you as much as it did me. The girl on the left has been in 4-H 3 years, you can tell by the stripes on her hat. The other two are younger and beginners. They haven't mastered the technique of paying attention even when the judge is facing the other way. Their parents were probably sitting in the audience, trying to send hand signals.

4-H Showmanship

Sometimes as a parent you want to crawl under your chair and disappear. Sometimes you have to work really hard not to laugh. My favorite beginning showmanship class will always be the one almost 20 years ago when one of my group, little Erin who could barely see over the table, stood waiting for her turn. Instead of holding her bird in the proper position, she had it on the table. She was hanging onto its legs, making it dance. The kids are my favorite part of a show, even though my days as a 4-H parent and leader are long past. You see kids running around all day carrying their favorite bird under their arm.

How do kids sit like this?

By the end of the day the competition was all over. Some shows judge Best of Show on Sunday morning. At this one the winners were announced at the banquet on Saturday evening. Most exhibitors stayed in a hotel that night. The birds were picked up on Sunday morning. At this show most of the birds were gone by 8:30 a.m. and people were on their way home.

Carlotta was the navigator. She chose a route home that was off the busy freeways for half the trip. We went up Hwy 25 past the Pinnacles.

The first part of the trip took us through a lush farming area a lot like the one where I live. The major crops this time of the year in the cool coastal valleys are cabbage and lettuce.

California Cabbage Patch

We soon left the fertile valleys, the road took us up into the coast range hills which are steep and dry, then wound north right on top of the San Andreas Fault. There are a few cattle ranches along the road. We saw a roadrunner and a bobcat and lots of ravens. If you ever want to take that route, these are the best lodgings we saw.

This was second best.

The north end of Hwy 25 goes right past the small fairgrounds outside of Hollister where a chicken show is held in early January. We got gas in Hollister. That was a shock.

While we were at the chicken show, California was subjected to another one of those nebulous events where the gas companies suddenly raise prices. They always do this during a presidential election. I have no idea why, I don't care, it just makes me mad and I hope those CEOs end up with an incurable infestation of warts on their butts.

After Hollister we stopped at one of my favorite places, Casa de Fruta. We bought dried fruit and nuts and a piece or two of chocolate. After that it was over the pass and back down into the Central Valley and I-5. San Luis reservoir, by the way, is lower than I've ever seen it.

By the time I got home at 3:30 and discovered the problem with the goat, Carlotta and I had talked nonstop for 2-1/2 days. Some of you fellas probably think women just gossip all the time. Nope. We discussed ancient aliens, religion, nutrition theories, reincarnation, politics, social theory, and several other topics we both read about a lot. And, of course, there are lots of things along the road to wonder about. Like that lone truck and camper out in the cow pasture. We also talked about why it's harder to travel with guys because they never have anything to talk about.

Carlotta was great help at the show. She had studied the Standard of Perfection on the way down and knew a bit about the different breeds and varieties. She saw lots of birds that she wanted, beginning with Silkies and ending with a Toulouse goose. But she didn't buy anything. We just talked about it.

R.I.P. That Goat

That Goat

Our ancient goat passed on this weekend. He had finally slowed down a little, but he was fine Friday morning when I fed him and the horses. I left soon thereafter for a chicken show at Paso Robles and he evidently died soon thereafter in the horse shed.

Bob didn't find him until Sunday afternoon. He was a little distressed when I got home from the show. Not sad, he wasn't fond of the goat. In fact they were mortal enemies. He just didn't know what to do with an entire, dead goat.

We decided it would be a good thing to take the body down by the creek where the coyotes and buzzards could benefit from it. Bob knew just what to do. He called Alex and asked him to help move "something." While he was waiting for Alex, Jonathan also showed up. Poor guys.

Alex probably thought he was going to help move a refrigerator.

They got gloves and a tarp and went to work. I could hear them gagging from the house. Bob was the worst. Finally they got loaded and headed for the back of the property.

This is them returning after the job was done. Alex was still sick.

As Bob well knows, it's wonderful to have life-long friends who help you in a pinch. And now Jon and Alex are inspired for revenge.

Our goat had a long, long, loooooong life out in our horse pasture. He'd gotten senile in the past couple of years and while he loved to have his head scratched through the fence, he didn't want anyone in the pasture with HIS horses. I'm not ashamed to admit I was afraid of him, nor to admit that his passing is a relief.

10-4

Broderick Crawford

Happy Broderick Crawford Day

                                      10-4!

Feral Kittens

The feral kittens are doing very well. It's about time to try to trap them and their mother and see if I can get them neutered. I don't have a clue how I'm going to do that.

They've been staying in the wood shed all day. I feed them in the morning. By evening the food is gone, so it doesn't attract pesky raccoons. Also, that gives them an incentive to chase mousies. We have lots of mousies around here.

This evening they were gathered 'round and on top of the chicken pen that's attached to the woodshed. I took their pictures through the screen on my bedroom window, which is why the quality isn't the best. They're so spooky this is the best I can do.

Here's the orange boy.

Here is his calico sister. She's the tamest, she'll come to the feed bowl when I'm standing fairly close to it.

These are the two grays. I think the one on the left is a female and the other one is a male.

There's one other kitten, it's black as night and spooky as a wraith. As soon as it heard the shutter snap, it was outta there.

I'm happy I've been able to keep these babies in pretty good shape. Their momma is not very big. The orange kitten is already bigger than she is. She's lean, but in good shape, too.

Anyone have a magic wand I could use to put a spell on these babies and catch them?