Special Deliivery

Stan's arrival was a bit delayed, and that was fine with me because I could keep going on stuff in the house.  There are ongoing problems with the new vacuum cleaner and the living and dining rooms didn't get quite done.  Crum.

When Stan did come, I went out to get a great hug, a big grin, and meet the new arrivals.  All seven chickens were in a huge dog pen in the back of the enclosed truck, very quiet, as chickens are when afraid or wary.  The Delawares turned out to be white with touches of black and a light wash of gold.  These kids are hefty two-year-olds, being dual-purpose chickens.  They might be a little past prime for Sunday dinner (never happens here), but the perfect age for laying eggs.

Stan's first order of business was to nail down a warped section of T1-11 on the back wall of the coop.  The hammer and nails were easier to find than anticipated, but getting the panel nailed down was more complicated than one would think.  Stan was good at improvising and got the job done.  I'm pretty good at holding and handing things and staying out of the way.

I like to think I can still do everything by myself, but I never could have unloaded those big birds without Stan.  We had discussed the need to clip wing feathers to keep the chickens from flying.  Adopting Butterfly McQueen's attitude, Stan said "I don't know nuthin' 'bout chickens," but was game to try.  We worked out a pretty good system where he'd grab a hen from the cage and hold it tight and I did the clipping.  We left the rooster for last.  Stan was rightfully respectful of that big boy's spurs, and we got him done.  By that time the girls had found the scratch and were inspecting their new home.  Bessie Anne was so excited to meet the new residents.  I think she thinks I got them just for her.

I am very happy with the new flock, but the best part of the day was spending time with Stan, catching up on family news, and getting another great hug when he left.

With sundown coming, I needed to adjust time frames to accommodate the addition of chickens.  It's been awhile since that was on the chore list.  Happily, these kids trooped into the coop right away and tucked themselves down for the night like they'd been here all their lives.

Throw in a gorgeous sunset and I can say it was a very good day.

Quick Change

Wow!  I wasn't prepared for that!  Got dressed as usual yesterday, but it didn't take any longer than the walk down the hall to know that a tank top wasn't going to cut it.  Almost shivering, I put on a jacket.  A cool down was predicted, but I'd anticipated something a little more gradual.  It was 51 degrees at barn time.

I was on a business call when another call came in.  (Don't you love call waiting?)  For a minute there I was juggling back and forth like an executive until I could conclude the first and devote attention to my brother-in-law, Stan.  He was acting as intermediary between the Chicken Lady and myself.  Between the two of them, they arranged for Stan to pick up all seven chickens for him to deliver here this morning.  That's a triple gift:  I don't have to leave home, I get the chickens, and I get to see Stan!  Of course, that meant a quick trip to restock with two new metal trash cans (I learned my lesson with plastic barrels) and bags of scratch and lay pellets.  Bess got her two cookies, one outside and one in the house, and then stood looking at me.  "Ahem, Mom, haven't you forgotten something?"  Well, yes, I had.  Regardless of where we go, she always gets half of a lamb treat when we get home.  She'd been traumatized as a pup, hated getting in the truck, and for fifteen years has gotten a reward for being a good girl.  Even with the two cookies, she got her treat.

I got a treat, too, when I got a text from Deb saying they'd be up this Saturday.  Two companies in one week!  My cup runneth over.

That morning chill wasn't a fluke.  It barely rose to mid seventies and I wore the jacket most of the day.  How long has it been since we've seen honest overcast and no smoke?

It was a good day.

Fair Weather

It's hard to believe that there is now a generation born after 9/11, but uplifting to see school kids planting flags in memoriam.  Watching the news or reading FB posts regarding that day still makes me cry.

There doesn't seem to be anything fair about the weather these days.  It was pretty good here yesterday, warm, but not too hot, and there was a nice breeze.  My niece in New Hampshire was telling me that it was 90 degrees with nearly 100 percent humidity back there, and the Carolinas are gearing up for Hurricane Florence.  A little more moderation, Nature, please.

Tessie and Sheila are becoming more dependent on each other.  I rarely look out without finding them close together in either pen.  I dread to think about when there is only one.

The Chicken Lady still hasn't returned my call, so I may not be getting chickens after all.  Oh well, the pens and coops needed cleaning anyhow.  I'm just glad I didn't rush out and stock up on feed.

Helper Dude is coming this morning to cut down a few volunteer live oak saplings that are growing too close to the house.  I'd leave them for the shade, but I'm due for an insurance inspection and I know they wouldn't pass.

The kitchen help did the dishes yesterday.  I'm not above playing Lady of the Manor.  (I once had a step-mother-in-law...it's complicated...who used, and meant, that phrase.)

All said and done, it wasn't a bad day.

Think I Was Kidding?

This mess is the remnants of a bale of alfalfa.  It's not enough that the whatever-they-are critters are freeloading, they tear apart and burrow into the rest.  I found a large, shallow, bowl-shaped flower pot and use that to carry the girls' breakfast to the pen.  Life used to be simple before Genghis Khan and his horde moved in.

Ralph and Celeste had such a good time again at their latest Feline Frolic.  I'm starting to feel more like a janitor after Mardi Gras than a housekeeper.

I knew that the NASCAR Cup race had been moved from Sunday to Monday.  Because the TV guide doesn't keep up with such changes, it took me a while to find the right channel.  I thought it was to come on at 1:00, but there it was at 9!  Oh crum, and then I noticed it was the Xfinity race that normally runs on Saturday and I usually skip that one.  Both races had been postponed because of rain in Indianapolis.  The Brickyard is NASCAR's crown jewel, the race that determines who has enough points to get into The Chase for the championship title and a lot of money.  What the heck, a race is a race so I settled in to watch and ended up many hours later, having overdosed on two helpings of NASCAR.  Clint came in fifth, but will definitely be in the running.  Yep, I'm a fan.

I don't kid.

Sports Fans

"Listen up, sports fans," is an oft used phrase of Bull Meechum, played by Robert Duvall in the film "The Great Santini" (1979, Blythe Danner, Michael O'Keefe).  It came to mind yesterday as I was watching the Minnesota Vikings beat the San Francisco 49ers, knowing that Dave was also cheering.  Clay wasn't so happy about the tie between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Cleveland Browns.  NASCAR was delayed until today, so I know I'll be sending texts to Dave and Clay while they're at work.  Let's face it, we're sports fans.

I put the laundry room servant to work washing clothes.  I love the TV pause button.  It allowed me to go out and hang up a couple of loads, feel somewhat productive, and not miss an event.  It also gives the opportunity to fast-forward during the multitudinous commercials.

Bessie Anne has either gotten better control of her back legs or has overcome her fear of uncarpeted floors.  It had come on rather suddenly, but for the longest time she stopped coming farther than a few steps into the kitchen.  Now she is back to using what had become a cats-only water dish.  She never wants to be left behind, but it took real coaxing and patience to get her to cross the tile floor in the laundry room.  Yesterday she beat me to the door.  Either way, I'm happy for her.

It was a good day.

Blast From The Past

I still haven't heard from Chicken Lady, but only piddly chores got done anyhow.  All the good PBS cooking shows are  back to back on Saturday and I'm hooked.  I even watch pretentious Martha Stewart's two shows.  How many of us commoners keep sumac in the cupboard?

Then I got caught in a time warp and sat through "Battle Cry," a perfectly awful 1955 movie with Van Heflin, Aldo Ray, Tab Hunter, and a host of B actors.  Bad writing, stilted acting, faked love scenes...just dreadful all the way around.  It bore no resemblance to the gritty war story by Leon Uris in 1953.  I first read the book when I was thirteen, maybe fourteen (my mother put no restriction on my reading).  It was in that book that I first saw the F word.  A girlfriend later explained what it meant.  Wow!  It wasn't in the movie.  How times have changed.

NASCAR doesn't start until one o'clock today, so maybe, just maybe, I'll get something done today.

Theme Song

"Wasted Days And Wasted Nights," Freddie Fender, 1993...yesterday's theme song.  I understand there are some people (Steve was one) who really like to go shopping.  I take that back; I really don't understand that at all.  I had to go to town to pick up Bessie's heartworm medicine (six-month supply).  After looking at my list and deciding what I could do without, I pared the trip down to three very quick, in-and-out stops.  It didn't matter, it still wiped me out and, as usual, I was useless for the rest of the day.  It didn't help that we were back up into the 90s.

Steve loved to go shopping.  It didn't matter what store or what for.  Groceries, shoes, underwear, hardware; it didn't matter.  I know what I need and where it is, go there, get it and get out.  Depending on the lines, I can be in and out of Wally World in 40 minutes.  Shopping with Steve was an all-day excursion.  We'd cruise up and down every aisle.  He'd try on fifteen pairs of shoes (and not buy any).  I spent countless hours standing and waiting in the hardware store while he looked at stuff he didn't need.  (I did learn, however, that a snath is the handle for a scythe.)  Now, if I need something out of the ordinary, I put Craig on the trail.  He, too, is a shopper.

I haven't heard back from the lady with the Delaware chickens.  Clay messaged me saying he would help pick them up if needed, bless him.  Loomis is a small town a fair distance away, over in Placer county, above Rocklin.  I can probably wrangle the chickens by myself, but I sure would appreciate his company and a navigator.  I don't do GPS.

Unless she calls and today's the day, I might be more productive.  Or not.