The Weekend Crew

If you ever worked for a newspaper, or for a quality type shop, or as an editor, you must wonder – as I do – who is on duty on the internet on the weekend. I'm thinking maybe a 12 year old boy.

The only way a headline like the one above would have made it to print at any place I ever worked is if a smartass typesetter did it on purpose and snuck it in.

I don't think many people who dabble at internet news are smart enough to even be called smartasses.

Buildings, Bodies, Other Things

August 21, 2015
The Sacramento Bee

Suspicious Death in Body Found Floating in Deer Creek

Sacramento County Sheriff Homicide Detectives are investigating a suspicious death after responding to a report of a body found floating in Deer Creek off Kiefer Boulevard.

At approximately 11:15am on Monday, August 17, 2015, Sheriff’s patrol officers were called to Kiefer Boulevard near the Kiefer Landfill, regarding a body that appeared to be deceased and floating in the water.  Sheriff’s officers arrived and confirmed the subject to be deceased, then turned the case over to the Sacramento County Coroner’s Office.

The Coroner’s Office has determined the identity of the decedent to be 50-year old Martin Cuellar Hinojosa.  It was discovered that Hinojosa went missing from his residence within the 9300 block of Florin Road in early August and had not been seen since.  Upon investigation into the cause of Hinojosa’s death, it was discovered he had a gunshot wound to the head.

............

When you live in a rural area, you grow accustomed to people dumping their stray cats and dogs. It's always unsettling, though, when they come out from town to dump each other. Luckily, this was on the other side of the creek and it was a county employee who found the body. I'm betting the resident vultures had it staked out and were very disappointed when it was discovered.

This is our side of the creek — no access for body dumpers.

Also, any strange cars on our side of the creek would be discovered and booted off the place long before they got this far.

So that was the excitement this month.

Closer to home, Vladimir finished my new chicken establishment.

This was made out of mostly recycled wood and is in a useless part of the yard. So it might as well be a chicken pen. There are large fowl Dominiques in it today, but I'm probably not going to keep many of those. In the future it could be a pen for the Anconas or a dog pen, or serve any number of other functions. Like everything Vladimir builds, it's exquisitely sturdy.

The past month has been pretty hectic with the chickens. The chicks are growing, I've taken culls to the auction every two weeks, but there are still way too many remaining. The maintenance gets overwhelming and then I just shut down and don't do anything for a day or two, while I'm trying to come up with a "plan." How many times have I complained about my plans that never work? That's still true, but I still do it.

I went to a party this month. Two of Anna's sisters had birthdays, so their parties were combined. The mariachis were there, of course. They had new outfits. These are quite the fancy pants.

You've seen pictures of this band before. It's always the same band because they are the best. At this party, they gave us a sample of some of the other music they can play. They do vintage rock as well as anyone does, if you close your eyes you wouldn't know they're a mariachi band. (They don't know any ABBA yet, though.)

Anna's family does a great job putting on parties. You wouldn't find a more diverse group of partygoers anywhere, a wonderful mixture of cultures, languages, and ages, and no one has to work very hard to have a good time.

Bob, with Anna's youngest brother.

That pasty white arm is Bob's.

A word to any of my friends and relatives who communicate with me on Facebook: don't send me any crap about how immigrants have ruined our country. The Ukrainians and Mexicans I know work harder and are better people than many of us who were born here. None of the presidential candidates who flap their slack jaws about this issue will ever get my vote. Perhaps we can chat about deporting CEOs whose businesses don't pay their fair share of taxes, instead? Or maybe we can discuss the Australian who owns Fox News, and the Saudi Arabian who also owns a big share of it, and why they prefer you to be sidetracked. (Perhaps I should simply say, if you have your OWN opinion, I'd love to hear it. Otherwise, not.)

This photo is for Beverly.

I need to get back outside now and see how I can rearrange birds so they all have a bit more room to grow. That's my plan today.

Whackdabow?

For a long time, maybe 25 years, I didn't get my haircut. I mean, I'd trim the ends myself, but I didn't GO somewhere and get it cut. I had really thick, long hair. A pigtail was the style I most often wore.

Then I got old and my hair started to thin. The pigtail looked pretty pathetic, like an old lady trying to hang onto a teenage hairdo. I didn't care about the teenage part, I just didn't know anything else to do with my hair. Wait, yes I did! I could make a bun out of it. I did that a lot, too, until it looked less like a big cinnamon roll and more like a mini biscuit.

So, about 8 years ago I hacked off the hair. It was okay, but I thought maybe a professional hairhacker might be able to improve on it. I've been looking for the right hairhacker ever since.

For 2 years I went to a young lady nearby in Sloughhouse. She had gone to elementary school with Bob and she was working in a shop in the old Sloughhouse store building, in the house part behind the store, where the Davis family lived before they were famous for Sloughhouse corn. I liked it there and the girl's work was just fine.

But then she moved to a shop near Rancho Murieta. A bigger shop with hairhackers more her own age.  Most all of them had sloppy hair, like they just got up from bed, wadded their hair back, and stuck a clasp in it. I tried to be a loyal customer, but there's was just something about getting my hair cut by a person whose own hair was pitiful...

The last time I was there I had her first appointment that day, at 9 a.m. She didn't show up until 9:30, with her hair a fright and a bad attitude. The haircut reflected her mood, and at the end she used the dreaded "thinning" shear to "texturize." What a stinking mess.

After that I went here and there before I finally settled on a shop in Elk Grove that is run by a Southeast Asian woman. The first time I just walked in and the owner had "Lee" cut my hair. The second time I made an appointment. The owner asked if the appointment was for Lee. I said yes. Lee looked a lot different this time, but you know I'm not very good at recognizing people, so I just took the blame for that.

Since then I've had appointments with 3 more, different Lees. I tried so hard to remember the second one, I knew right away the third was different. Also she was tall. Not many SE Asians are tall.

All these ladies have done a good job, some better than others though and I would appreciate having that Lee all the time.

Yesterday it was another new Lee. I don't think she's been in the country long, it was hard for me to understand her. My ear is not tuned in to the SE Asian accent. Mexican, yes, I have a good ear for that. Specific words can be a problem, usually solved by hand signals. I have also developed an ear for Ukrainian.

But yesterday when Lee #5 stood with a pair of scissors in her hand and asked, "whackdabow?" I was puzzled and apprehensive. Wait! Whack what? Why? Eeeeek!

She pointed at my eyebrows. "Wax the eyebrow?"

OK, sure, that sounded like fun.

So today I have perfect eyebrows. My hair is too short and has taken the opportunity to poke out in several directions. But it doesn't make much difference. Wesley doesn't care what my hair looks like. Neither do the chickens, nor the horses, nor the pigeons. And I do have a hat for emergencies like this.

I asked Lee to write her name on the back of one of the business cards at the counter, along with the days she works. I didn't tell her that's so I can make sure to get a different Lee next time.

Before

After

Kevin

The breed of chicken that I show is Dominique. I have a couple hundred of them right now, mostly bantams but also a few large fowl.

For many years, son Bob showed chickens. When he moved on to his own life a few years ago, though, he pretty much left all the chicken stuff behind. He has taken care of the birds when I'm gone. He helps me catch some of the wilder ones that are in big pens. But that's about it.

This spring when I first started hatching chicks, you may recall that I had a single chick hatch and had to go to the feed store to buy it a buddy. Single chicks do not do well. I bought two chicks, actually. One was a small Old English game bantam. The other was in the same brooder with the OEGB but was clearly not that breed. It was a large fowl buff Cochin.

It was a very good babysitter.

The two pullets snuggled up under its big butt and were quite happy. Then he got to be about 4 times bigger than they were, and they mostly stayed on a high perch to keep from getting stepped on. I finally had to separate them, which made the Cochin sad.

About that time, whenever Bob and Anna came out on the weekend, one of them would go get the Cochin and sit with him for a while. Today when Anna caught him, she told me they'd named him. His name is Kevin.

This is what Kevin should look like when he's full grown. (Photo from Cackle Hatchery)

He has a few months of growing to do before he's that big. This is Kevin today.

Yes, that chicken is on my couch. In the living room. Stranger things have happened in this house. Wesley was trying to "touch" him. Wesley uses his paws a lot. Kevin wasn't too thrilled about that.

He really likes Bob, though. And he's also very fond of Anna.

When she scratches his head, he falls asleep.

I have no use for a large fowl Cochin. But it looks like I'm stuck with him. Luckily he's really easy to have around, he just takes up a lot of space. In a couple of months I might take him along to a show for Bob and Anna. I can't believe I'm doing this, he'll never fit in my bantam carriers. I guess he'll just have to ride in the passenger seat up front.