Empty Nest Syndrome

Bob is preparing to move out. I am so happy for him that he finally has a job with a future and a girlfriend everyone adores. I know his future will be full of good things. He works hard, he plays well with others, he's really a nice person. I bought a large box of Kleenex and I know I'll need it. I won't be sad when he leaves, that's just the way I am.

But Bob is really not the subject of this blog post.

I'm talking about parting with these guys:

These are only three of the dozen cockerels I've been showing this year. They have been my traveling buddies. There are only a few shows left. The breeding season will start soon, and I don't need to keep more than three of these guys for that. The good news is other breeders want them. I sold some at PPBA. One went to a junior who has been working with Dom bantams for a couple of years and needed a better cockerel. Another, Carlotta's favorite Chunky Monkey, went to a nice lady who only has one hen and wanted a cockerel that was gentle. Chunky is a sweetie, he's cuddly and loves to be held. The lady walked away kissing him and talking baby-talk to him. That was a great fit. The third cockerel went to Chris, a local breeder who is my best competitor at the shows.

It doesn't matter if I sell birds at the auction, where I have no idea of their fate, or if they go to good homes. It's hard to part with good-natured animals that have shared fun times with you.

The nest won't be totally empty. I will need to sell another 10 birds. Some of them may get mailed to other parts of the country. Good Dom bantams are hard to find.

And soon the nest will start filling with new batches of chicks. I like this in some ways and dread it in others.

It's fun having chicks. It's not fun having chicks with problems. I have such a good incubator, it will hatch even marginal eggs. This means a few more with crooked legs or other problems that require euthanization.

The chicks are fun to brood in the house where I can watch them, but they're also a mess. The shavings in the brooder are dusty. Chick feed is dusty. The fluffy feathers that chicks hatch with float everywhere when their new feathers start coming in. Last year I bought a small shop vac especially to keep in the brooding room. It helped, but there are still corners of the house where I find chick dust from last year. It would be nice to have a brooding shed outside. That isn't going to happen, unless I decide to gut the game room and turn it back into a chicken room. Possibility.

I have some plans. I'd like to raise fewer chicks this year, and have all of them be good ones. I'd like to shorten the hatching season to a month, instead of the 4 months it took me last year. Neither of these things is likely to happen, there's no controlling when hens are likely to lay, and there's certainly no guarantee that even the best parents will produce good chicks.

Imagine painting spots on a couple of eggs, then rolling them like dice. Dice are more predictable because they have flat sides. Eggs keep rolling around; one minute they give you hope, the next minute despair. You really can't judge a chick's show quality until it's about 5 months old, so it's a crapshoot long after the egg stage.

That's mostly what's on my mind these days. Trying to get the 2013 birds settled in new homes, trying not to think too much about the kid leaving. Trying not to overthink.

Re-energizing

My camera batteries ran out about halfway through the PPBA show. So did my own batteries.

I find most poultry shows very invigorating. On the way home my mind is brimming with ideas and plans. PPBA, however, really sucks me dry. I don't even remember driving home from Stockton. Luckily it's only a 45 minute drive. I put the birds away, then slept for a day.

Today, after a great breakfast at Denny's (meat lover's omelette, no potatoes, no bread, cooked spinach on the side) my brain is finally back in the real world. The first thing I did was stop by Staples and pick up a weekly planner. I've been writing major events on my calendar, and then I never look at it. It's at least 5 feet away from my computer, and that was evidently too far.

I have forgotten to do a couple of important things. No more. Now I can list the things I need to do every day of the week, and ...most important... put little boxes in front of the items so I can check them off.

I find as I get older I have three major shortcomings: my memory is selectively lapsing, I'm getting stronger but clumsier, and... oh fooey! I can't remember the third thing. Maybe it will come to me by the end of this post.

Show report: My birds did okay but didn't win anything spectacular. There were 30 Dominique bantams entered!!! And only 12 of them were mine. Other people are starting to do good things with this breed. I can't begin to tell you how happy that makes me. Of the 30 birds there, only a couple were subpar, the others were very good quality.

Unfortunately, the two that weren't so good ended up Best and Reserve of Breed.

Oh yeah, now I remember what that third thing was... as I get older, I'm too quick to express my opinion. I did blow some steam about the judging, but pretty much only to friends who I trust to tell me when to shut up.

The judge was an older fellow who is known for his graciousness. We will let him retain his good reputation and just wonder to ourselves why he placed the birds the way he did.

The Best of Breed bird is owned by this delightful little girl:

She's one of those smart cookies who gives old people like me faith that the next generations will be just fine. 4-H kids tend to do that.

One of my pullets was Reserve, and this is where I had to really question the judging. I took two pullets, #33 that has done so well this year, and #82. #82's nickname is "Cull." The only reason I take her is so #33 will have a neighbor at the show that she likes. #82 was placed first of the 9 pullets at the show, and Reserve of Breed. #33 placed third. Did the judge just get confused when he marked the coop cards? We'll never know.

One thing that is so tiring about PPBA is that it takes place in not one, but 4 buildings. There is a lot of walking back and forth. One thing that that is rejuvenating about the show is that, because it's the biggest show west of the Mississippi, people who you don't see at the smaller shows attend it. There are a lot of hugs and happy faces when old friends are reunited for the day.

Here's one old face, and a new one, I was happy to see:

Tim was on my first national 4-H judging team. Now he has his own family. There were 3 other "kids" there with their new families. I saw them after the camera batteries died.

I also saw older friends who had been ill and had stopped showing. They're doing better, but aren't sure if they'll be back. I hope so.

I sent three of my roosters on to new homes. I was especially happy to find Carlotta's favorite, Chunky Monkey, a really good owner. He's not a great show bird, but loves to be cuddled.

There are a few more shows I plan to attend this spring. Then the hatching season will start and I'll be dealing with chicks again. I'm not ready for that yet, I'm still enjoying last year's chicks. My show troupe is experienced after 8 shows. The birds aren't much work, they seem to love to travel and to be at the shows. I won't need all of them for my breeding program, but I'm not willing to part with the extras yet.

When I got home and finally checked my email, I discovered that I've been chosen as the Dominique Club of America's Member of the Year.

I'm totally reinvigorated.

A Day at SPCA

Yesterday was a busy one. Cousin-in-law Beverly and I got up early to take the kittens she'd trapped to SPCA. I'm still very proud of her for catching all three in only two traps – and she got them the first time she tried.

SPCA opens at 7:15. We were there, and there were already several people in line ahead of us. Most were women. Some were women with their complaining husbands. "This was HER idea!" they'd claim. But you could tell that wasn't so. The truly buttheaded husbands stayed home in bed.

When we got to the front of the line, we were asked if we had a reservation. Well, I HAD emailed and called at 9:30 the night before. What? They didn't get those messages? This is where being old-ish and having gray hair can pull you out of a jam. We didn't tell them Bev and her cousins have had gray hair since they were 30, it runs in their family.

The people at SPCA are so kind. They admonished us, but not very soundly, to make an appointment "next time." It's so hard to do that when you don't know until late the night before that the cats would even be caught. And you can't trap them ahead of time, say Thursday, and then keep them in those small traps until Sunday morning. Sigh, sometimes it's so hard to do the right thing.

Anyway, our sincere, but fleeting, guilty consciences lasted until we got back to the car. Then we had other things to think about, like where to eat breakfast. We ended up at Bert's Diner. Always a good choice.

I dropped Bev off at her house, expecting to go back in the late afternoon to pick up the kittens. They were ready at noon, though, just an hour after I got home. So back we went. We found out all three of the kittens are girls, so it's even better that Bev got them neutered soon enough.

Beverly, heading back to the car with the kittens:

When I finally got home yesterday afternoon, I discovered that my own little precious had missed me.

This was a full roll when Wesley started. There were shredded towels all over the house, and of course under the stove and the refrigerator, on my bed, and even one stuck in the toilet. 

I doubt that all three of Bev's ferals will be as much trouble as my brat.

By the way, thanks to Katherine from NZ for suggesting I read Paul Gallico's Jennie. It finally came. I read it Saturday night before the trip to SPCA, then passed it on to Beverly. It made me feel even better about our rescue work.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

I started cleaning cages and washing birds a couple of days ago for the upcoming PPBA (Pacific Poultry Breeders Association) show. This is the biggest show west of the Mississippi. I'm not expecting to win anything, but you always want to be prepared. I can't make my birds better, but I can make sure they look their best.

I'm taking 17 birds to the show. It would be nice to come home with fewer than that. There are at least 23 Dominique bantams entered.

I've had to be very careful having birds in the house when I wash them. Wesley, like our dear cat Charley who died a couple of years ago, really loves feathers. He isn't as interested in the chickens themselves, but a cockerel with no tail feathers is useless as a show bird.

Last night when I made a trip to the bathroom, I was shocked to find a large dark feather floating in the toilet. I didn't have my glasses on, my first impression was that it must be a snake. A story when I was 16, about someone finding a snake in their toilet, has scarred me for life. I have been casually checking toilets for snakes ever since.

There were only white birds in the house, so Wesley must have found one of Charley's old toys in some forgotten corner. I hope dropping things in the toilet isn't a new trick in his repertoire. He still drags toilet paper all over the house, and has discovered how to pull a roll of paper towels off the holder and tear it to shreds.

This week I'm also helping cousin-in-law Beverly try to catch her feral cats and take them to SPCA to be neutered. She has four, a mother and 3 of her kittens from two different batches. It was easy to see why the cats have settled in Bev's backyard. She lives in the midst of chihuahua-ville. Her neighbors all seem to have yards full of the little yappers.

I read a Facebook letter from the president of the American Kennel Club today. They are going to fight back against PETA and the Humane Society of the United States (which appears to be more engaged in making money than helping animals). The "humane" folks are trying to get legislation passed that would make it illegal for anyone to raise puppies, and are blaming breeders of purebred dogs for overloading our pounds.

I have no opinion about how many purebred puppies are raised every year (Mitzi?). I can only say that I check out the adoption sites at least once a week and, as I have probably pointed out before, two-thirds of the dogs there are either pit bulls or chihuahuas, or crosses of those breeds with mutts. If it was just purebred culls at the pound, there might be a dozen dogs instead of the 200 or so that have been dumped there.

I would donate money to an organization that hunts down and eliminates irresponsible pet owners. I think that might also solve our human overpopulation problem. And the nice part about this is I know none of my own friends or relatives would fall into that category.

Do most of you have Facebook pages, or visit them? I like being able to keep track of my younger relatives that way. But the only thing that makes me grumpier than an unwanted sales call is a Facebook post that's stupid and begs for a snotty answer. I have a large repertoire of snotty remarks floating around in my head, but it's seldom satisfying to cut one loose.

I'm off to bed early. Bev is going to call at 6 a.m. and let me know if we need an SPCA run. Bob is back from a week at Disneyland. I have more pens to clean and birds to wash. I hear Wesley using his claws on something in the living room, must go check.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

No, I didn't sit on him.

Why old folks eat pet food

I eat a low carb diet. Recently I found a recipe for one of my favorite dishes, Corned Beef Hash, that does not use potatoes. They are substituted by cauliflower. Take my word for it, this works. You either steam or microwave the cauliflower first, then sort of dice it into potato-sized chunks. The rest of the recipe is the same.

The cauliflower is no problem.

The problem is that corned beef comes in these demon-inspired cans.

The cans have pull tops. People who can open these cans easily have long, slender fingers that are extremely strong. Like ET maybe. These cans are best opened by aliens.

I can open cat food cans. With all these cats I open at least 6 cans a day and seldom have a problem. If I inadvertently pull off the ring I used to just get mad and smash the can with a piece of firewood (I'm usually opening cans in the woodshed.) Then I got smart and learned to keep a can opener out there.

The corned beef can has instructions about using a can opener.

It says don't use a can opener on the TOP of the can. Which led me to believe it should be used on the bottom of the can, not that it shouldn't be used at all.

I tried using the ring to open this can. My finger doesn't fit in the hole. I had to put the handle of a wooden spoon through the hole. It broke the spoon. I got a pair of pliers. The ring broke off, just like I thought it would.

So I turned the can over and used the can opener on the bottom of it. Guess what? Can openers don't work on those tight corners. You have to take a knife and pry through the corners. It wasn't too bad, I only cut my fingers once.

 Wesley thought I was messing up HIS dinner. You know what? This corned beef was about $3.50 a can. A 70 cent can of Friskies beef cat food looks and smells remarkably the same. And I can open it.

Still Best of Breed

My pullet #33 was Best of Breed at Hollister. That means she was best of the Dominique bantams (there were 11) at the Hollister show. It's not as huge a win as best RCCL or Best of Show, but it's still good. This pullet has been BB 4 times and Reserve of Breed once, with different judges each time.

That's better than I would do if I, myself, were being judged. I might get DQd for SH. (Disqualified for Sloppy Hair.) I guess I'll let my hair grow back out, this short hair isn't working for me, it just gets wilder all the time. Some day I'll get frustrated and start hacking on it myself, and that could be a total mess.

The Hollister show was lots of fun. It was in an old building at an old fairgrounds. There were plenty of folding chairs, so the exhibitors got to sit and visit. We mostly go to shows to see our friends, so that was good.

Carlotta went with me, she has become a very skilled assistant, she handles the birds well.

I wouldn't say she's a great navigator, though. She won't put on her reading glasses, and they don't make maps with large enough print. Luckily I've been to Hollister several times and know where I'm going.

We had a senior moment at Casa de Fruta on the way home. We were walking back to the car from the restaurant, and I turned toward the rest room as Carlotta continued to the car. We had been discussing when we might need to use the rest room and as we got further apart, we were talking louder and louder. Finally I hollered, "Why don't we just talk loud enough so everyone here will know about our bathroom habits?" Gaaah! We hadn't been paying attention to the people around us. Oh well, no one there knows who we are. And I know most of you readers won't judge us because you're either in the same boat or close to it.

The next show is in Stockton. I'm taking 17 birds. Last year it was the Dominique National and I took 27, so it will be easier this year. I don't expect to win much at Stockton, it's the biggest show on the West Coast, with almost 3000 birds and some really great competition. If I do happen to win, though, you can expect to be invited to a huge celebration party.

The big show for Dominiques this year will be in Ferndale in February. Some breeders are coming down from Washington and Oregon. We intend to have fun.

Have I made my life too easy?

When my son Bob was showing chickens in 4-H, the entire week before a show was busy. We washed birds for at least 3 days, and spent hours cleaning and grooming them because they were all in large pens on the dirt. We had to load the carriers (they are not heavy, but they're bulky) and haul them through the yard to the van. At a show, they required constant care. When we got home it took quite a while to put each bird back in its cage. And then we had to clean up the mess we'd left in the kitchen because we were in a hurry when we left.

When I decided to start showing by myself, because Bob decided not to help, I knew I'd have to change the set up around here.

Now on Mondays before a show, I start getting antsy, thinking I need to be doing something. But I don't. I don't need to do anything until Thursday, and that usually only involves washing birds' legs. On Friday morning I do a last minute spiff on each bird as I put it in its carrier, and it's no trouble to get going on time.

You recall that I organized my chicken pens and built new ones that were easy to keep clean and maintain. The smaller show pens I built last summer have worked great, far beyond my expectations.

I can back right up to the carport and load the chickens quickly. The garbage cans where I keep the chicken feed are about 3 feet from the car, which makes hauling 50 pound sacks much easier. The pens I built keep my chickens clean and in good condition and require very little ongoing work. I can feed and water everything on the place in 15 minutes, and only have to do that twice a week. I have carefully avoided raising more chickens than I can easily handle.

So here I sit on Friday morning, drinking my coffee and messing around on my blog. I don't have to leave until noon, that gives me plenty of time to get the birds loaded.

What, you might wonder, is taking up all my time these days? Why do I seem to find it difficult to blog? This week I spent my time on the important task of redecorating the bathroom. We went from poinsettias to peacocks.

Maybe I've made my life too easy. And that's why I haven't had much to blog about.

Bathroom Concierge

Wesley says:

Welcome to the bathroom, madame. I did not run your bath for you this evening, though you might consider taking one, perhaps with deodorant soap. I have, however, prepared a generous supply of toilet paper for your requirements. I will be right here outside the door while you use the toilet. You will see my paw under the door to receive your tip. It's such a pleasure to serve you. Enjoy.