Hollister Show, 2013

I suppose you're getting weary of my posts about cats and chickens. That's unfortunate because it's all that's happening in my life right now. I'm happy that life does not include disease, flooding, or pestilence. Chickens and cats are pleasantly boring.

It wasn't easy getting 15 birds ready for the Hollister show, but we all got on the road only an hour late. At the last minute I had to substitute a back-up white Old English pullet because the first choice had been pooped on by one of her sisters. Next time the first choice goes into solitary confinement until the show.

All loaded up...these two cockerels are the tailgunners. They're keeping an eye out the back window for hawks. When they see one they scream and soon every chicken in the car is also screaming. They do a good job. No chicken has ever been killed by a hawk while riding in my car.

I'm not comfortable being late, even when I make my own arbitrary schedule. For the first 20 miles I had to remind myself there was really no reason to hurry, the show room would be open for several hours after I checked in. I had to remind myself to keep a light foot on the gas pedal. Then I turned on the CD player. When the soothing sounds of Paul Togioka's Hawaiian slack key guitar floated through the car, the chickens and I all relaxed and just enjoyed the rest of the trip.

As we turned west into the sunset at Lodi, overhead we could see the pinkish double lines of a contrail from a jet, possibly headed for Hawaii. That enhanced the island mood. I promised the chickens that if any of them worked really hard and won Best of Show, I would send that winner on an all-expense paid trip to Kauai…chicken heaven. I'm being considered as a regional director for the Dominique Club of America. My territory would be California, Nevada and Hawaii. So if a Dom bantam won, I might be able to accomplish this task. (Note: they worked hard, but none of my birds won.)

The trip was wonderfully uneventful, the vast herd of trucks that usually migrates like bumbling buffalo up and down Interstate 5 and makes traveling a chore for us speedy car drivers must have been iced in somewhere on the other side of the California border. We arrived at the show in good time. It took me quite a while to coop all the birds in and get them fed and watered, then I cooped myself in at the hotel.

This time I stayed at the Ridgemark. It's part of a golf course complex near Bolado Park, where the show is held. The rooms are very large. Is that because golfers need more room for their golfing tools? Or do they party a lot and need room for their friends? I really don't know many people who admit to playing golf. Is this typical of rooms at a golf course?

The room was so big that the TV on the far wall was quite distant from the bed. I had to wear my driving glasses to see it, and turn the sound up louder than usual so I could hear it. It was only on for 15 minutes, though. It didn't take me very long to start gagging on the idiotic shows. I thought Animal Planet might be a good choice, but it was running a reality-type show about a group of "little people" who ran a pit bull rescue. The show was more about the people bickering than about what they did with the dogs. Most of the so-called programs that I surfed through were about people bickering: people who drove around and bickered with hoarders to buy their junk, people whose entire family seemed to have nothing to do but drag a cameraman around with them so they could bicker in front of him, a group of guys who went to South America to bicker about mining for gold. I turned of the TV and happily read my Kindle for the rest of the evening.

My room at the Ridgemark had a huge sliding glass door that opened right onto the golf course.

One afternoon I watched a golfer right outside the door.

It occurred to me that it might be fun to sneak out onto the course and steal the ball before the golfer and his cart came up over the top of the knoll looking for it. Then I could sit with my camera and watch the fun unfold.

I didn't have to do that, though. The golfers had a hard enough time finding their golf balls.

The Ridgemark is not a brand new establishment, so some of its luxuries are a little outdated. The most interesting was the shower.

It had a tub that doubled as a spa. The tub was at least 24 inches deep, which could offer a luxurious bath even without the bubbles. I could understand the need for a spa in a hotel where bullriders or bike riders stay. But I'm not sure why golfers need a spa. Do they work that hard?

Anyway, out where I live we're lucky to have a bathtub that works, so the spa intrigued me.

Since I was sick 5 or 6 years ago and experienced that scary period of time when my legs were useless and my arms were only just functional enough to reach for a tissue when I cried about my state of affairs, I have been very careful about getting into places I might not be able to get out of. I always opt for the handicapped stall in a public restroom because of the grab bars, for example.

So I carefully checked out the spa to see if it might be something I could negotiate. I couldn't find any instructions. You'd think there would be a card on the wall or something. The controls for the spa were on the opposite side of the room, obviously they had to be set before a person got into the thing.

I started filling the tub. Geez, the air nozzles were halfway up the side of the tub, that's a lot of water. Then I realized that when I got into the tub the water level would rise (significantly, in my case). So I set the controls and tried to get into the tub. I was too slow. The nozzles spit air a couple of times, then there was an "L" on the monitor and the nozzles shut off. I surmised the water level was low. I never could get the thing to work, so I finally gave up and decided to just have a nice, deep, hot bath. Really deep.

OMG. I started worrying how I was going to get out of the tub the minute I sat down in it. Yes, there were grab bars, but they were over my head, I couldn't grasp them at a good angle. Eeeek.

It took me 30 minutes to get out of that old lady trap. The bottom was slick, the grab bars were slick in addition to being too high. I finally turned sideways with my toes squished against the side of the tub and pushed myself up high enough to grab the bars. It was like trying to get out of a coffin. Please remind me not to do that again. I mean, remind me not to get into a tub like this. When I'm finally in a coffin I probably will need to stay there.

The show was fun. My birds won some ribbons, but nothing major. My nice little white Old English were in this class:

Even I could barely tell which were mine, but the judge could. This is one show where it doesn't do much good to bring white OE because it's where John C shows. He's a master breeder of white OE, and his cockerels took 1st through 5th place here. I'll keep showing the boys, though. Sooner or later we'll find a show where John C stayed home.

My Dom bantams placed well in their classes, but this time Chris T won Best and Reserve of Breed. It's about time, because his birds are closer to the correct size than mine.

That's Chris' bird on the left and two of mine on the right. They're saying to each other, "We could take that pipsqueak in a minute." True, but this wasn't a cock fight. There are people in the Dominique Club of America who are helping me with my breeding program. My goal is to breed a Dom bantam that's good enough to not only win Best of Breed, but also Best RCCL (the class they're in) and Best of Show. I think everyone who shows chickens has that goal.

Saturday evening there was an exhibitor's banquet. These photos were taken by Ryan C, a young man barely out of high school, who often beats us all. This is Katherine and Jen. They drove all the way to the show from Redding.

I'm in the middle. Being a good sport in front of me is Dan. He came all the way to the show from Eureka. I should have been nicer to him. I wasn't paying attention during the wine auction and while I had my back to the auctioneer, I was using my hands to tell Dan a story. He said, "You have the high bid so far." Oops.

Casa de Fruta (look it up on the internet) was on the way home, and I always stop there. They have all kinds of dried fruit, nuts, and a whole ROOM of chocolate. They cover everything you can imagine with 3 kinds of chocolate (white, dark, and milk). I got dried blueberries and pineapple (without sugar) and a small mound of coconut covered in dark chocolate. For Bob I got some chocolate covered gummi bears and a huge peanut butter cup that's the size of a cupcake.

Next chicken show is in a couple of weeks. It will be 4 times as big, which means a lot more work. I need to get 27 birds ready. I'm looking forward to meeting some new people from the Dominique Club, though, and also seeing my old friends again.

Chester

This is feral cat #7. I named him Chester, after Dennis Weaver's character in Gunsmoke. I only named him when I went to pick him up, though, because I wasn't sure he'd be coming home. The SPCA (wisely) euthanizes feral cats if they have a disability that will affect their well-being in the colony.

My mind was okay with that. My heart was not. When I filled out the paperwork this morning I wrote Chester's story on the back of it, that he had evidently broken a foot or a leg over a month ago and I had only now just been able to capture him. I realized his condition would need to be evaluated. I checked the little box that said I understood an evaluation might conclude in euthanization. The assistant came and took Chester away, and then I stood right there in the middle of the waiting room and sobbed.

This is not even my favorite cat. He's sneaky and he's homely. Even as a kitten he was antisocial. I guess that's what my mind had decided.

Not that it's difficult to make me cry. I'll usually need a tissue if you say, "This is a really sad story..." before you even actually get to the story part. And once the floodgates are open, they don't close until all the water is gone.

Oh well. All's well that ends well. Chester is in the car tonight sleeping off his drugs. I'll put him back in the woodshed in the morning and he can go back to lurking about and giving me hateful looks.

There's supposed one more kitten on this place that I need to catch. No one has seen it in a couple of weeks and the raccoons are starting to hang around the traps, so I'm putting them away for a while. Seven of eight is better than I ever thought I'd be able to catch.

Here is another critter that lurks around here. It's an absolute pain in the ass.

There is a pair of redtails in the tree in the horse pasture. They're like B52s. They go on a run through the chicken yard at least twice a day, screaming and scaring the chickens in their cages. The chickens are secure, though if a tubby redtail ever landed on the netting over the outdoor pens it would probably fall through.

This little guy is more like a fighter plane. It darts around, using the bushes and trees for cover.

Yesterday I was sweeping the carport and noticed small brown creatures hopping around in the camellias at the edge. Mice? I wondered how there could be so many mice with all these feral cats. I stopped and looked closer. They were sparrows. They were very carefully avoid flight. It wasn't 30 seconds later that Jet Jackson came swooping through the yard maybe two feet off the ground. He made a pass around the pigeon pen, a dash at the evergreen bushes to try to scare something out, and then circled around and left toward the horse pasture, all in a few seconds. The redtails caught sight of him and started screaming. They don't like him, either.

I hate it that the hawks are fighting over who gets to eat my birds.

Katherine, this hawk is very brown, not stripey like a Cooper's hawk. It has a long, but not barred tail, and its legs are dark and skinny. From the side, its head seems square, not rounded. I want it to go away, back to the lands of Mordor. The pigeons haven't been out of their pen for a week, they just hide away in the dark recesses and keep quiet.

#84 at the Spa

This is one of my favorite show birds. He hasn't been to a show yet, and when he goes he may not win anything, but I like him. He has a "terrier" attitude, thinks he's as big and tough as a tom turkey. This is a before picture, he still has dirty feet. I should look through my box of miniature stuff and see if there's a little crown in there. #84 would wear it well.

And, in other news, I got up early this morning to pick these guys up at the post office.

The Dominique bantam cockerel and two hens had been mailed from Missouri on Monday morning. They spent two days in this:

This shipping box is 8 inches wide by 18 inches long. The square part of the bottom is 11 inches high. You wouldn't look at it and think 3 birds could travel comfortably in it, but they do. They are bantams, which means they're small, but also chickens are great at cuddling up together. When I put my hand down inside the box to get them out, they were toasty warm and happy.

Some people who are serious about showing for points mail their birds to shows all over the U.S. I've never had a good enough bird to warrant that. It was about $75 for postage for these 3 birds. And if I did have a bird that was that good, I would happily drive across country myself to show it, because why should the bird have all the fun?

Dominique bantams are an heirloom breed, and a rare one. The breeders are spread thinly all across the country, so this is the best way to trade birds and help improve the breed.

I need to get back to washing birds now.

Chicken Spa

If you need to wash a chicken on a sunny, warm day, it’s not too difficult. After you towel dry it you can put it outside in a pen in the sunshine and the bird takes care of itself.

But chicken shows are held in the coldest times of the year because that’s when the birds’ feathers are in the best condition. Also, most people show cockerels and pullets (first year birds) and with most breeds it takes 7 or 8 months for them to be mature enough to show, and if they hatched in the spring they're not ready until fall or winter.

So we’re stuck washing birds at the time of the year when it can really be a chore. I’m glad today that I don’t live in an area where it snows and stays frozen.

Everyone has their own way to wash chickens. Some use the 3-bucket method (wash - rinse - rinse) and they do it outside, or maybe in a garage or other outbuilding. I think this method is mostly used by guys whose wives won’t let them use the sink. Some use the bathtub, some even have an outside sink they’ve set up.

That seems like a good way for everyone involved to end up sick, to me - wet, cold birds, wet cold people. A lot of people wash their dog in the house. Well, a chicken is a lot less messy than a dog, and houses can be cleaned. And I am the queen here, so that’s the way it’s going to be.

Today started out foggy and damp. I got up and took an aspirin just to unloosen the joints a little so I could work a little faster. First I grabbed the ash bucket and cleaned out the wood stoves in the dining room and the living room. I had already emptied the ash bucket yesterday evening, so I didn’t have to walk out to the back 40 to do that this morning.

I started a fire in the dining room stove first. 

I already had the space heater going, and I sat for a while and drank my coffee in front of it, getting warmed up inside and out. I had just enough wood to start the stove. To keep it going all day I needed to go out and load the wood box. It took two trips with my yellow wagon, about 40 minutes. Bob can do that job in 10 minutes but he’s never here. I’m a big girl, I can do my own work. For now.

It took an hour or so to bring the dining room up to a comfortable warmth. The goal was a really, really warm room with no drafts. How would I know when that temperature was reached? My catomatic thermostat would tell me. Yep, it’s just right...

While the temperature was raising in the house, I took a walk out to the storage barn to get a 4-hole Kiepper bantam coop. They are metal, collapsible cages, the same ones used at shows. I have a love-hate relationship with Kiepper coops. They are easy to use and easy to store. But after years of hauling the things around at shows and getting fingers pinched, arms scratched on wire ends, and buttons pulled off my clothes, I would be happy if I never had to touch one again. 

I pulled the dining room table out with an extra leaf in the middle so it was just the right length. I covered it with a sheet of plastic, then some newspaper, and put the coop on it. I put three layers of paper towels inside each cage, and ran a wooden dowel through them as a perch. As the birds poop (and birds ALWAYS poop) I can pull out the dirty paper towel on top and there will be a clean one underneath. Here is the coop, ready for occupancy.

I have a lot of chicken preparation supplies. They consist of a stack of old towels that are kept for washing chickens (and hauling feral cats), and a box with things like Vet Rx, toenail clippers, Qtips, and other things. 

This is my arsenal of cleaning products. Everything is slightly blue-tinted, it makes the white birds sparkle and doesn’t hurt the striped birds, either.

Finally ready for the first chicken.

I have really good pens (thank you, Bob) that make bird handling easy. But I don’t move nearly as fast as the birds do. The Dominique bantams are not “tame” birds. They tend to panic easily, which makes it hard to catch them without breaking feathers or causing damage. Once caught, they settle down. The white Old English Game bantams, on the other hand, are very easy to catch. They’re aggressive. The come after my hand. So I tempt them with one hand and grab their legs with the other. Once caught they are quiet, but not submissive. They like to grab a beakful of skin and hang on. The sweet little hens are the worst, they’ll grab skin and twist. You have to be vigilant or you’re gonna get bruises all over your wrists.

Washing the white hens is the hardest because I keep them caged together. They take turns sitting on the perch and pooping on the ones below them. So there are often stains to remove. Here is the first hen basking in the spa. 

They love the warm water, you don’t have to fight to keep them in it like you would a cat. I have lots of products that are supposed to deal with poop stains. Sometimes they work, but only with a lot of scrubbing. You have to be careful when you’re scrubbing feathers or you can ruin them. Usually this is a wing feather, so I stretch the wing out on the counter and use an old, soft toothbrush to scrub the feather in the same direction it grows, away from the body. I keep this toothbrush at the kitchen sink all the time, so I know where it is. It could give a strange impression to someone who doesn’t know that the battered old thing is not used for brushing teeth.

For the white birds I may need to wash, rinse, and rewash and rinse. The final rinse is plain water with just a couple of drops of bluing in it. You really have to make sure the bluing is all diluted and there’s not too much or you’ll end up with a blue bird. It has happened. It has happened here, and it put a bird out of show condition for a year. We had to wait for it to molt those feathers.

After I wash a bird, I roll it up in a towel, like a burrito. Here are my 4 little white Old English burritos. I think the 2 girls are flirting with the 2 guys, just like at the human spa. 

These birds will stay in the house overnight. Some time during the night the fire will run out and the house will get cold. By morning the birds will not only be dry, but the outside temperature won’t be such a shock to their little systems. Here are the birds in the coop.

Look how this little guy sparkles. He has tucked himself in for the night.

Tomorrow I’ll start on the Dom bantams.

Sorry about the way the type changes back and forth on this post. As a former typographer, the primitive settings offered on blogger do not impress me, and are beyond comprehension.

New Year's Irresolution

I can't even get my act together long enough to make resolutions. So I usually write a "To Do" list instead.

The first thing on my list this time of year is always:
1. Put the Christmas decorations away.

Until I do that, I can't do anything else because I'm a linear thinker and have to complete one task before I start another. Maybe if my first resolution was to stop being a linear thinker, I'd get more accomplished. Oh well. I don't know how to rearrange the rocks in my head anyway.

In this past week, I did manage to take down most of the stuff and stack it on the dining room table. I left all the poinsettia decorations up, though. I like them, I'm going to leave them up as long as my live poinsettias still have leaves. I also left the red lights on the mantle. I like those, too. And red is a Valentine's color, so I can pretend that's why they're there. I may be a linear thinker, but I have creative excuses.

I have to get the junk off the dining room table TODAY, because I need to start washing chickens tomorrow. I'm taking 15 of them to a chicken show soon, and I put them in cages on the dining room table to dry. This is an ultimatum to myself. If I say it in front of all of you, you're going to keep me on task, right?

Here are some other things on my 2013 "To Do" list, not in any particular order.

• Hire a plumber to put in a new drain for the washing machine. A hole in the ground right outside the window is no longer sufficient, wash water is bubbling up. I have been using this Third World solution for a drain for 35 years. Time to upgrade.
• Haul off the trash piles. 
• Install a new water storage tank for the pump. The old one is older than I am and is starting to rust away.
• Paint the kitchen and dining room. Best to wait on that until after chicken show season.
• Get some gravel to fill in the holes in the driveway.
• Get the danged white truck fixed!!!!
• Finish trapping the feral cats.
• Have a new roof put on the garage and car port. In doing that, it might also be possible to create an area for show birds under the car port.
• Repair the fence in the side yard.
• Repair the horse pasture fence and move the horse shed out of the way so I can see the mountains.
• Buy and stack some fire wood.

Here's the great news:

Yay!  I've caught 6 of the 8 cats. Angela was the last one, though. Since then I've just been catching the same ones over and over again. At SPCA they said once a cat is trapped it isn't likely to go back into a trap. They weren't talking about some of the kitties I have here who are short on brains and long on appetite. I've taken a vacation from trapping cats for the moment.

Yay!! I hired a wonderful fellow who showed up yesterday, loaded up all the trash piles, and hauled them away. Check this task off the list.

Yay!!! Nick Grimshaw and his dad hauled the white truck out of here at the beginning of the week. Nick drove it back here yesterday. They're working on some small things now, but it looks like the truck is operable. Now I have a new task for my "To Do" list...dealing with DMV to try to get the truck registered again.

I've called a local fellow to come look at the garage roof.

Just because I don't blog every day doesn't mean I'm doing nothing.

OK, so some days I do next to nothing because first I have to put away the Christmas stuff.