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.