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Friday on the Farm
Dec. 16th, 2011 09:45 amHobo takes his job, such as it is, very importantly. He waits until I fill the poultry water bucket in the laundry room sink (the spigots are covered in insulating caps, or rather they were until the ducks ate it. And the replacement cap), then he follows me outside. I hold the gate for him, then gently close it behind him. He'll use the doggie door, but its not his favorite.
The ducks gather outside the main coop, quacking madly for breakfast starting at about 7am. Hobo sits safely up on end of the house, ears pulled back. He's afraid of the ducks, with good reason. Even at his extreme size, they outweigh him. As I let out the big chickens, they race out. I throw two huge scoops of food, trying not to hit Hobo or the opportunistic Bassets. I unplug the heat lamp and grab the still warm eggs. Hobo by now has moved around to the bantam coop and is waiting for me, again. He doesn't want to get in the middle of the feeding frenzy. Chickens go after my toes, they will go after his.
We walk in to the bantam pen with a scoop of feed. I let out the bantams and they race over to the feed bowl. Hobo doesn't mind the little chickens, so I don't worry about this. Today, the broody Mamma Spot has come out to eat so its a good time to check on her eggs. I encourage Hobo to come out of the pen and he's so obedient he's like a dog. We walk around back to the coop and I open up the nesting box trap door.
Today is a sad little duty. Wendy has abandoned her eggs, so I now have to throw away the frozen eggs. Hobo wants nothing to do with this, so he's leisurely laying down on the property line rise. I gather the cold eggs and pop them in the now empty water pail. I can see the darkness of the partially formed chicks through the thin shells. Very sad. I grab a marker out of the main coop and mark Spot's eggs, so I'll know if someone decides to sneak in more eggs. Someone is. There's 14 in there!
As I walk back towards the house with my bucket, I tap my leg and call for Hobo. It takes awhile as he's arrogantly watching the flock eat. A few more calls gets his attention and he trots over, kangaroo-hopping. I scoop out kibble for him, toss a scoop for the poultry who followed us in desperate hope and feed Libby who is most displeased. Scarlett is sitting on the porch rail, hiding behind the cat kibble bin. She's in full molt, looking horrid and miserable. She's too embarrassed to let me pet her so we're both pretending I haven't noticed.
All in all, a good morning's work - 40 minutes.
The ducks gather outside the main coop, quacking madly for breakfast starting at about 7am. Hobo sits safely up on end of the house, ears pulled back. He's afraid of the ducks, with good reason. Even at his extreme size, they outweigh him. As I let out the big chickens, they race out. I throw two huge scoops of food, trying not to hit Hobo or the opportunistic Bassets. I unplug the heat lamp and grab the still warm eggs. Hobo by now has moved around to the bantam coop and is waiting for me, again. He doesn't want to get in the middle of the feeding frenzy. Chickens go after my toes, they will go after his.
We walk in to the bantam pen with a scoop of feed. I let out the bantams and they race over to the feed bowl. Hobo doesn't mind the little chickens, so I don't worry about this. Today, the broody Mamma Spot has come out to eat so its a good time to check on her eggs. I encourage Hobo to come out of the pen and he's so obedient he's like a dog. We walk around back to the coop and I open up the nesting box trap door.
Today is a sad little duty. Wendy has abandoned her eggs, so I now have to throw away the frozen eggs. Hobo wants nothing to do with this, so he's leisurely laying down on the property line rise. I gather the cold eggs and pop them in the now empty water pail. I can see the darkness of the partially formed chicks through the thin shells. Very sad. I grab a marker out of the main coop and mark Spot's eggs, so I'll know if someone decides to sneak in more eggs. Someone is. There's 14 in there!
As I walk back towards the house with my bucket, I tap my leg and call for Hobo. It takes awhile as he's arrogantly watching the flock eat. A few more calls gets his attention and he trots over, kangaroo-hopping. I scoop out kibble for him, toss a scoop for the poultry who followed us in desperate hope and feed Libby who is most displeased. Scarlett is sitting on the porch rail, hiding behind the cat kibble bin. She's in full molt, looking horrid and miserable. She's too embarrassed to let me pet her so we're both pretending I haven't noticed.
All in all, a good morning's work - 40 minutes.
