If I Were A Chicken

At 2am I realized I hadn't checked the chicken coop.  We've been forgetting to close it up after twilight lately and we're down two birds. :-(  We lost an Australorp to a noisy attack a few weeks ago.  By the time I ran downstairs, threw on shoes and grabbed a broom, all that was left was a trail of feathers and a flock of traumatized chickens.  Two weeks ago, Dave stepped out to go to the store one night and had three chickens greet him on the front porch.  After searching the flower bed with flashlights, all but one chicken was found and returned to the coop.  We waited a day to see if maybe she just took off hiding, but Kimosabe hasn't come home. :-(

So tonight I went out, flashlight in hand.  I closed the front gate of the coop.  I lifted the roof and did a head count.  Eleven.  :-/  We're supposed to have sixteen.  I counted again.  Still eleven.  I went to the other side.  It was less crowded and I thought maybe I'd get a better view underneath, just in case anyone is sitting on someone else's head.  No doormats.

Sometimes it's easier to figure out who we're missing and who we still have.  Sometimes, with this many birds, it's easiest to do that in categories.  Roos first: Tanner- check!  Attica - check!  Leroy - MIA.  Brown Leghorns:  Wasabi - check!  Martha Jones -check!  Araucanas:  Pippa - check!  Sunshine - MIA.  Stripey - check!  Golden Laced Wyandotte:  Goldie - check!  Silver Laced Wyandottes:  Fluffster: check!  Chica - MIA.  Brahma:  Lightning Blast - check!  Austrolorps:  Lolli - check!  Can't figure out which one you are #1 - check!  Can't figure out which one you are #2 - MIA.  Red Sexlink: Polly - MIA.

So I'm looking for Leroy, Polly, Sunshine, Chica, and an Austrolorp.  I'd love to tell you which one it is, but since they got feathers, I can't tell them apart.  Lolli has paler skin and more beetle green in her feathers than the other two.  As for which one is Twinkle?  I have NO idea!  I have to wait for Dayna to come home and tell me how to sort that one out.

Now, if *I* were a bird, where would I be if I wasn't sleeping in my bed?  Easy.  A tree.  There are a few problems with that idea.

One is that these chickens weigh about 5 pounds.  That's a bit of a load to lift off the ground.  Their wings work.  They flap up a storm when they want to.  They're especially skilled at propelling the bird across the yard at speeds you'd think would be aerodynamically impossible.  When you factor in the weight distribution of their bodies atop their skinny little legs and splayed toes, it's an amazing feat of physics that the avian doesn't topple over just standing still.  Now add to the equation a velocity approximately equal to a seven year old on a two-wheeler bicycle.  I'm telling you, it's a miracle of God that poultry is as agile as it's proven to be.  Some days I wonder if the wing flapping is for added speed or if it's more a function of balance, akin to a tightrope walker holding his arms out straight when on a high wire. 

Back to the point, their wings are not sufficient for long flights or high flights.  They are adept at jumping and flapping and coasting.  When Pippa was a baby, she imprinted on me.  She would get SO jealous when I would handle another chick that she would actually take off from across the room and fly onto my head to yell at me.  Now she mainly hops from the top of the run onto the roof of the coop, about 6 feet high.  I have seen Leroy jump/fly onto the door of Sheldon's stall at the barn.  If the stall door is open, he will then head up to the roof of the barn.  I have never witnessed a chicken jump over about four or five feet, or "fly" further than about five or six.  Maybe my chickens just don't.

Second problem is that our trees are mature.  They are all beautifully majestic.  In other words, TALL.  Their lowest branches are still pretty high.  With the height and distance of the bird's flight restricted, any of these trees would be impossible to roost in.  We have a few smaller, shorter trees, but I doubt their branches would be sturdy enough to hold a chicken comfortably without bowing.  Forget it if they wanted to roost together like they normally do.

That in mind, scratch the tree idea.

They like hanging out under the deck.  Bad place to sleep.  Only two sides have "exits" and it gets consistently narrower in height the further south you go, no room to jump over a predator.  They'd be an easy target to a predator with a good sense of smell.  Even if the predator made noise stalking through the dried leaves under there, the chickens would make easy prey.

They also like the flower border around the house.  This provides abundant cover for hiding and ample space to retreat and escape.  However, it also makes a poor roost since it is low on the ground, no high roosts, and easy targeting for a predator with keen scenting abilities.

I turned around looking at the yard.  Think.  Think.  I noticed the shed light was left on.  I walked a few steps to go turn it off.  No sense wasting electricity.  The door was also left cracked open.  Hmm, I wonder...

Sure enough, there on the shelves along the back of the shed were Polly, Leroy, Sunshine, an Australorp, and Chica :-)  Good place to pick.  Enclosed, high up, light on, only one way in and they were facing it.  Smart birds!

Alright, now to get them back into the coop!  Wyandotte first.  I pet Chica and scooped her up.  She flapped enough to cause a mini tornado!  Chica never was much of a cuddler.  Even as a chick, she was always a bit off in the corner and skittish.  I got her calm and walked out to the coop.  I raised the roof, showed her her flock mates and encouraged her to hop in.  She perched on my hand.  I moved her further in and told her to get down.  She refused.  I bounced my arm to encourage her some more. She unfurled her wings for balance and stayed put.  :-/

Okay.  Let's try the other side.  I walked her around the less crowded side of the coop.  I raised the roof and put my hand in.  She stayed put.  I tried putting her down.  It didn't work.  Somehow, she ended up on my head.  It is very awkward to be holding up a somewhat heavy piece of particle board roof with one hand, a flashlight in the other, and have a chicken on your head.  To make it worse, this is the part where a spider fell on me and I wigged.  Use your imagination. 

I walked over to the run opening.  I lifted the chicken off of my shoulder.  I TRIED placing her gently in the run.  She walked up my arm back onto my head.  :-/  Chica was NOT cooperating.  I blindly groped for the chicken, got hold, and successfully got a claw scraping underneath my glasses just under my left eye.  BRILLIANT!

After that escapade, somehow the bird ended up walking down my back.  I ended up bent forward at the waist, and the chicken was perched...hard to explain...kind of the top of my hip and butt at the same time, I was on a weird angle.  Needless to say it was awkward, and would probably have made a very humorous picture.  I don't quite remember how I managed to get out of that predicament.

The remaining four birds were not nearly as difficult.  I plopped all of them into the top of the run and let them figure out how to walk up the stairs into the coop by themselves.  I was kind enough to hold the flashlight for them and say Night-night! 

Saving My Bedroom

With a few days left until the move, we were getting down to the wire.  A lot was left to do.  A few more boxes were acquired.  We were packing (or rather, Dad was packing), Lisa was trying to pack some and clean some, and I was throwing some bags and boxes together to move.  We would take a few loads over per day between the Suburban and the Maxima.  We'd unload, unpack, throw the empties back in the vehicles, repack them and do it all again the next day.

Dave's brother, Glen, managed to snag some Chiquita banana boxes from the grocery store he works at. We looked like we were moving liquor and produce.  When Dad made enough of a dent in the downstairs, he commented how my room was next.  Lisa began talking to me. 

"I'm sorry. I can't talk right now.  I have to go save my bedroom."

"What?"

"Dad's on his way upstairs.  I have to save my room.  You'll understand when you start unpacking."

I raced up the stairs as fast as my damaged legs and stenosed spine would let me (which isn't very fast at all).  I asked Dad what he was doing.  I directed him to boxes and began UNpacking the garbage bag he had begun packing.  I reorganized it.  I threw garbage in the garbage, keepers in the bag, stuff I needed to know where it was immediately in my purse.  I directed him to the bookshelf, the toiletries on the dresser, the computer desk - anything that really didn't matter if it was immaculately organized alphabetically according to my OCD standards and stuff I would not need right away.  He did a fine job :-)

On Tuesday, April 30th we had a rented truck and formally moved to the farm.  It took more than one trip.  It also took another week or so of back and forth trips to the house with the Suburban and the cars to load up and clean up.  But that's another blog, or set of blogs.

As Lisa began unpacking some boxes, she began to realize what I had meant.

"Your Dad doesn't really organize, does he?"

"Nope.  Not at all."

"Yeah.  There doesn't appear to be any system to how he packed anything."

"Yep.  If it's there and needs to move and he has a box, it goes in the box.  That's how it works.  Now you understand what I meant when I said I had to "save" my bedroom.  I wasn't kidding."  :-)

Uncle Henry Talks to God

Dad's first week in Virginia was interestingly eventful.  My nephews, Jeremy and JJ, were pleased to have someone else in the house to torment...I mean, PLAY with.  The first dilemma was "What should we call Donna's Daddy?"  After a few hours of thought, Dad settled on "Uncle Henry."  That was fine - until the five year old started thinking about it. 

"So is he the Daddy and you're the Mommy?" asked JJ.

"He's MY Daddy," I explained.

"But is he the Daddy and you're the Mommy?"

"He is MY Daddy and I am DAYNA's Mommy."

"So he's the Daddy and you're the Mommy."

"No.  Not like that."

"But you're Aunt Donna and he's Uncle Henry."  :-/

"Well, yes, I see why you're confused now.  We're not married.  Like how Uncle Glen is Uncle 

Glen and I am Aunt Donna but I am not married to Uncle Glen.  Uncle Henry is MY Daddy.  I am DAYNA's Mommy."

I think he finally understood at some point, but it took a while.

Dad was a lean, mean, packing machine!  The man didn't stop!  If there was a box, he found stuff to put in it!  If there wasn't a box, he FOUND something to use as a box.  The living room?  Cleaned.  Garbage out.  The dining room?  Same deal.  The kitchen?  Done.  We were seeing floor that hadn't been heard from in MONTHS. 

I sat out on the front porch with a cup of coffee one morning and kept Dad company. 

"The lady across the street just went inside," Dad reported.

"What lady?" I asked.

"The one in that house there."  He pointed directly across the street.

"Dad, it's a guy who lives there."

"Well, there was a lady just outside smoking a cigarette."

"No, Dad.  It's a young guy.  He's like in his mid-twenties.  He lives alone.  There's no lady there."

"Well, it LOOKED like a lady."  Dad then proceeded to pull his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on his face.  "Nope.  These aren't helping either."

"You're not wearing your hat today."

"I can't find it.  The boys hid it on me."

"Are you serious?  They stole your hat?"

"Yeah.  They did it yesterday, too.  I found it in the pantry then, though."

Sigh.

Almost as if on cue, the front door opened and two loud, boisterous boys came barreling through allowing the door to slam shut behind them.

"JJ!  Did you take my dad's hat?"  A look.  "Did you?"  A weird smile sort of expression. "Go get it and give it back."  He retreated into the house without a word.

A few moments later he returned, hat in hand.  He handed it over and advised, "It's going to be cold, though.  It was in the freezer."

I really wish I could say that was the only thing the boys hid on Dad.  It wasn't.  Maybe I should preface by saying this is not a Catholic household.  Lisa and Dave were both raised Christian, but they are not church goers.  They are spiritual in their own way, but they are not Bible readers nor do they mention Jesus.  I am open in a more philosophical, metaphysical way with the boys.  I teach eclectic respect, differing belief systems and mythologies and such.  So Dad and his openness and visual presence was a bit different for the kids. 

They didn't understand his meditations.  They didn't understand his pacing the back fence and mumbling.  They didn't understand why they couldn't bother him when he was doing that.  And they didn't realize that the little red beaded bracelet with the cross was NOT just a pretty little bracelet with a cross charm - UNTIL they hid it from him and we got VERY angry about it and made them give Uncle Henry back his Rosary Beads so he could "talk to God."  After we explained what Uncle Henry was doing, JJ asked Uncle Henry to ask God next time he talked to him to make his nightmares go away.  

Dad's Trip to Virginia

April 21st 2013

After dropping Dayna off at her father's, I decided to stop in at my father's to take a break from driving.  Unsurprisingly, Dad made up the couch and would not let me head back home.  He told me I was spending the night. 

It was a good visit.  We chatted quite a bit. I told him all about Virginia.  I told him about how we were moving soon and the circumstances of trying to pack and all.  I said, "Want to come?  I'm sure Lisa and Dave won't mind the help."  He laughed.  He said he has the cats.  He has the house to take care of.  He wasn't prepared for a vacation.

Around midnight or so Lisa texted me to find out if I was heading back or crashing at Dad's.  She instructed me to spend the night and bring Dad home tomorrow.  I told Dad, he smiled. 

The next morning I heard Dad talking to Marty as he was leaving for work.  "Would you be able to take care of the cats for a few days?"   {insert big grin here} I fell back to sleep.

When I got up, Dad handed me a coffee mug and spoon, non-dairy creamer, and a bag of sugar.  He informed me he had to take a shower and pack a bag.  He was coming to help me pack since he knew my back was bad and Lisa and Dave were so nice to help me move, he was going to help them move.  He's only ever been to Virginia once, it was Virginia Beach, and it was a LONG time ago.  This would be a brand new experience for him. 

Dad usually describes himself as "having a condition." He has trouble with anxiety.  It's especially prominent in new places and in crowds.  He tends to talk to himself.  Sometimes loudly.  I'm not sure he knows he's doing it a lot of the time.  Most times it's harmless.  I've lived with him my whole life, so I am quite used to his quirks.  Sometimes I will intervene, other times they play out on their own with no problem. 

I was a little worried about how he would tolerate being away from home.  I knew in the long run, the environment change would be therapeutic.  It has been for me.  At first though, I was nervous how he would adapt to a noisy house full of people with two small, active children!  All in all, it went well with just a few minor bumps.

We set out with a full tank of gas onto the Garden State Parkway south bound to exit 98.  We followed the twists and turns to briefly visit Route 34 and enter I-195 west.  I don't think Dad has ever been on 195 before.  I'm quite familiar with it from the time I lived in Manchester.  I had some doctor's visits over in Hamilton and took 571 -->537 --> 195 to get there. 

At exit 6, we merged onto the ramp for the NJ Turnpike.

"Prepare for the ugliest hour of our trip, Pop.  Once we survive the Turnpike, the rest is easy, piece of cake, and beautiful-aside from about 45 seconds of tunnel in Baltimore.  That keeps my anxiety through the roof.  I usually pray through the whole thing.  We'll be fine."

About a half hour in, Dad was still looking a bit high strung. I asked if he was ok.  He said he was.  I assured him the trip gets better.  We stopped at the last rest stop in NJ.  Then we got back on the road.

Delaware Memorial Bridge.  One of my favorites.  I don't know what it is, I just find that bridge to be really pretty.  There is another one or two along the trip I find beautiful, I cannot remember their names.  I will try to take note next trip.  Into Delaware we crossed.  As a good tour guide, I notified Dad.  He asked how long we'd be in Delaware.  He was surprised when I replied, "About a half an hour."  Then I added, "But don't worry.  They make up for it by raping us in tolls.  It's like $4 in and $4 out.  Smallest state in the country, but highest toll price tag per time you drive through!"

By the time we entered Maryland, Dad was calming down.  He put his glasses on and was beginning to remark on the beauty of the scenery.  He commented how he knew he was feeling better - he needed his glasses to see!  Usually around the house, he wanders about without them. 

We came upon the tunnel and sailed through with ease.  I breathed a sigh of relief on the other side. 

Dad said, "That wasn't so bad."

I said, "No.  It's usually not horrible.  I just HATE tunnels.  I was praying the whole time.  I always do."

"I was, too." He confided.

Welcome to Virginia!  Two hours left!  Home stretch now!  I'm smiling because I am almost home.  It's amazing how it hasn't even been a year yet, and I feel like I am coming home coming back to Virginia.  I did not feel as if I was coming home bringing Dayna Leigh back to NJ.  It's kind of sad to think about.  I spent so many years of my life there, but it doesn't feel like "home".  I guess it really never did.  I never felt "home," I just felt "I live here," but it wasn't how I define "home."  Where I am now, in Virginia... THIS feels like HOME.  Where I am SUPPOSED to BE.  I BELONG.

"It's beautiful, isn't it Dad?"

"Yes, it is."

"And there aren't any tolls.  Makes you wonder what they spend all that toll money on in NJ."

"Heh.  That's a good question!"

I got off I-95 a little further north than I usually would.  I drove Dad past the barn first.  It was dark, but I wanted to show him the horses and chickens:-)  I wanted him to see the nature and land before we hit suburbia.  At the traffic light at Brook Rd, I hung a right.  Then I immediately jumped three lanes left and made a left onto Cedar Lane.  Dad grabbed the door handle and made a sound sort of like, "WHOA!"  I could almost see his eyeballs fall out of his head and roll across the floor mat in my peripheral vision.

"It's ok, Dad.  We're not in Jersey.  You can do that here."

"You would never be able to do that back home!"

"Nope.  You can legally hang U-turns in the middle of the street here, too."

After a quick check in at the barn, we headed to the house.  The kids were up and crazy waiting for me to get back.  Dinner was waiting.  The dog was happy to see me.  The kitten missed me.  It was a very animated and warm welcome home.  :-)  I think Dad may have been a little overwhelmed, but he handled it like a real trooper, right in stride!  He even fell in love with the dog.  He commented how he could understand the dog.  Dad's got really poor eyesight, the dog is deaf, they both have ailments, they're on the same wavelength.

Dad called Marty to check in and make sure the cats were ok and the house was still standing.  He dialed Marty's cell number.  

"Hello?"

"Hello?  Marty?"

"No, there's no Marty here."

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I must have the wrong number." And Dad hung up.

Dad's cell phone rang.  Caller ID says it's Marty.

"Hello? Marty?"

"One smart ass remark and you hang up?"  :-)

Yeah, it runs in the family genes...being snarky and fluent in sarcasm is kind of a pre-requisite.