Where Did You Come From?

        Another member joined the fowl menagerie team. Well, no.  Not quite.  Joining would imply that he would travel in their pack – which he does not.  He seems to keep to himself.  There also appears to be a puzzled look on his face – but perhaps it’s just the mask he wears that is throwing me off.  I wouldn't have even known it was a pheasant if Roland hadn't said anything (He was the first one to spot the pheasant and then Jenna.)  If Roland hadn't said anything I would have thought that he was a rooster trying to disguise himself.   It wasn't long ago when Jenna and I watched a goose imitate a flamingo.

 

The goose standing on one leg

        The pheasant stands by himself – sometimes observing the other chickens.  His cry is worse than Mitch’s. I don’t know what he’s thinking.  I can only guess.

 

Jenna took this one with her cell phone

        “Where is my family?”

        “Who are all these birds?”

        “Who are those people?  Why are they throwing things at the birds?”

        “Why do the birds flock to what the people are throwing?”

        “Where is my family?  Where are my pals?”

        “I think I’m lost.”

 

        I don’t know why there’s a pheasant in our yard.  Or why he continues to hang around.  The entire fowl group is weird to me.

“You Know Those Aren’t Our Chickens, Right?” and “This Ain’t No Poop Deck: Be Gone!”

         I don’t know how many posts I’ve created about the fowl creatures that come into our yard.  The turkeys were still around after Thanksgiving but seemed to disappear before Christmas.  The hens have seemed to multiply though their eggs have not.  I haven’t seen any roosters except for Mitch who seems to be the source of the “pighen demon” call.  Trying to sound like Bruce whom I thought had vanished but did see him the other day.  He’s not as annoying as Mitch.

        Jenna was told by the owner’s son that the black rooster was named Bruce.  I don’t know if he personally gives the animal names or if they really do have names.  They are not pets after all – except for maybe Miss Piggy who looks like she could win tons of blue ribbons for the tons of weight she must have put on.  Roland’s special name for the pig is “Chris P. Bacon” though not an original joke as I have heard it before.

        For the most part Jenna is the one who comes up with names for all the fowl who have wandered into our yard.  She says “Mitch” looks like the kind of rooster that are popular with oven mitts and other kitchen décor – but “Kitch” didn’t seem to fit and so she picked a rhyme that worked. 

        She calls the feather-duster looking one Cheryl – I don’t know why.  I’m guessing Cheryl and Mitch are roughly the same age as they had entered our yard as babies – well, not fluffy chick type babies.  They were obviously rooster and hen but very small in size.  I figure they are teenagers right now and Mitch is a cocky teenager at that.  He has not perfected his crow but I think he thinks he’s hot stuff.

This photo does not begin to capture how many chickens come into our yard

        Jenna has named the smaller orange hens Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy.  She calls the large orange hen Merida as she seemed to be the most brave about climbing up our deck and not bothering to run when the door was opened.  She just stays as though it’s her domain.  I don’t mind the creatures coming into our yard and even on our deck until they have decided that it is their personal toilet. That does not set well with me.

        Roland just cleaned all the poo off the deck with the garden hose and it reappeared the very next morning (less than 12 hours) and so I took the meshing net that had snared one of the chickens and laid it across the stairs.  They dared not cross it until they spotted Bonnie’s bowl with the chicken livers inside.  Jenna reported that they had crossed over to delect on Bonnie’s food.  Cannibles!!!

        Roland went to the feed store to purchase chicken food and a coop for them to lay their eggs in instead of under the porch – which they haven’t been doing but I doubt that Mitch has gotten around to impregnate the females who used to lay roughly three eggs each day (that is one for each of us if we don’t count Bonnie).  Our neighbors said we could keep the eggs if they laid them in our yard.  Okay, having them invade our yard as though it is a free-for-all territory is one thing – but enticing them to stay?  What is Roland thinking?

        We have purchase a lot of eggs over the years.  A LOT!!!  Even with only the three of us their small eggs are not enough.  So we still buy them.  Theirs are brown.  Ours our white.  

The darker yolk is from one of the brown eggs laid by the chickens
The lighter yolk comes from the white eggs we buy at the store

And we have been purchasing chicken parts in another county.  We feed those to Bonnie.  I don’t think Bonnie knows she’s eating organs that resemble those running around our yard.  The chickens don’t know we have a freezer full of chicken livers, hearts and gizzards.  If they did I’m sure they wouldn’t come around anymore. 

 Begging to Be Fed.

As though feeding them has ever been our job

Somehow they believe that it is.

 If they only knew.

I’m Not About to Cook Eggs for a Dog!

          My aunt had a Scottish Terrier when she was ten years old – or perhaps Heather was a family dog.  I barely remember the pet dog.  

I of course don't have a picture of Heather
but copied the photo from this site:

Grandma and Grandpa had planned to take my aunt to Europe and had asked mom and dad to house sit while they were gone. Taking care of Heather was part of the deal.

          My mom had not grown up with pets nor seemed fond of them.  Grandpa had left instructions and told my mom that Heather needed to have two fried eggs each morning.  Mom said there was no way she was going to fix eggs for a dog and so my dad made the eggs for Heather each morning during their stay.

          Whenever Roland cooks eggs for the dog I always think of that experience that mom had shared with me.  For the most part Bonnie will get scrambled eggs rather than fried eggs – except this morning.  I fried up the white part but the yolks were still runny when I put them in Bonnie’s bowl.

          As I have mentioned in previous posts, there is a slew of fowl who come into our yard and expect to get fed.  This morning they were following me around like I was a magnet and they were all made of steel.  

The owners told us that if we ever find eggs we can keep them – which we probably would have done anyway.  We did not know they were roosting right beneath our deck.  Roland sends Jenna out every morning to gather what she can find.  The first time she found 24 but because we didn’t know how old they were, Bonnie got them all.  

The two that Bonnie ate this morning were dropped before they made it into the house – hence why Bonnie got them instead of us.  We don’t give her eggs often. Roland purchased a bunch of chicken organs for Bonnie when he and Jenna were in Grants Pass last night.  Dogs enjoy eating hearts and livers.  They seem to give Bonnie energy.

Not Exactly a Free For All

 

There was frost on

the ground and so

were the chickens. 

I don’t understand the draw. 

 

The roosters have

gotten brave enough

to approach us.

They will look at us

in the same manner as

Bonnie asking,

“Why don’t you feed me?”

 

At least Bonnie has an

excuse to look at us

that way. 

She has been placed

in our care after all.

 

The fowl are all trespassers. 

They are not our responsibility.

I have seen their owners

feed them but evidently we

have better grass, better

bugs, better vittles somehow.

 

The roosters have discovered

the bird seed carelessly

fallen to the ground

knocked over by greedy

birds eating from the bird feeder.

 

Roland thinks it is his

job to feed all of

the stray animals except

for the deer. 

The fowl are welcome

in our yard. 

The deer are not.

 

Right now we don’t

have anything that

the deer would be

interested in.

The fowl are

welcome to eat

all the bugs they want. 

 

The garden food is

for humans.

Other animals are

not to mess with

our garden.