Friday Favorite--Irresistible Baby Chicks

Chick Day!  These are my four soft, adorable, sweet little ameraucana peeps. I had to sneak in this one quick bit of flash photography on the chicks' first day night in their new home.

I know from past experience that these little pullets will grow and change daily so I have to capture the cuteness before it changes!  Tomorrow they get to pose in teacups.  I hope they will be on their most ladylike behavior so I can take some memorable baby photos of them!

Stay shiny,
 

Sharing at My Romantic Home!

Playing With Wood: The White Picket (Chicken) Fence and Gate

My chickens' have a new gate!

It not only looks much better than the predecessor which we hurriedly knocked together before a summer vacation four years ago...

But the gate is now fully functional.  As in, it opens and shuts easily without binding--something the previous gate didn't do.  Simple pleasures!

I transformed those dog-eared cedar fenceboards into white pickets using my jigsaw and leftover trim paint.  I found the classic gothic-style pickets via Pinterest.  I couldn't resist the scalloped tops so I incorporated that too. 

I spray-painted the gate handle turquoise--the jury's still out on that one.  It's not quite right.  It needs something else and I'm still waiting for inspiration to strike.

It's only five feet corraling the hens in our side yard, but our cottage now boasts a white picket fence.  I'm lovin' it!

Be (INSPIRE)d, 
 

The Ruffians--When Cute Chicks Go Punk

My sweet little day-old peeps are growing up fast.   We went from fluffy oreos...

 to these scruffy rapidly-growing pullets in three short weeks.  Sigh. 

At three weeks old, they are half fluff, half feather--they've definitely got a punk vibe going. Happily, a sweet chorus of peeps still serenades us from their powder room homestead.

They're skittish babies one moment and fearless ruffians the next--as schizoid as spring weather.

Their chick brooder aka former rabbit cage seems to be rapidly shrinking in size so I'm looking forward to fully-feathered damsels that can graduate to outdoor living in another three to five weeks. It's time to plan what changes will be needed for this new flock

I need to lower the coop for easy access (for the pullets not for me!) and plan to update the run. I'm especially looking forward to constructing a cottage-style white picket fence and gate this time around. The current rickety structure was thrown together quickly before we went on a trip and isn't exactly something you'd Pin or see featured on Backyard Chickens.

I was thinking a spiffy white, but don't you love this blue gate that Manuela has in her garden? I could picture an aqua one--very tempting.

 Especially since it would nicely match the inside of the coop. 

And we all know girls appreciate those thoughtful decorating touches.  Happy chicks are my aim.  That...and fresh eggs in four months.

And since it's supposed to be eighty-seven degrees tomorrow, guess who's gonna get their first outing into the Great Outdoors?!  Photos to come...

 Be (INSPIRE)d,
 
Sharing at My Romantic Home's Show and Tell Friday, of course!

It's Baby Chicks Day

You can have your Tiffany Blue boxes and the sparkling treasures within.

You can keep your scrumptious dinners with an excellent wine in a restaurant where someone else cooks and cleans up.

You can keep your tropical vacations to Hawaii when springtime is still way too cold at home.

I'd like all those things too.  But... these little peeps are what bring me real, true, deep-down happiness and joy. 

So here are the obligatory baby pictures from a doting chicken mama. (I currently have 430 chicken photos on my hard drive.  In my defense, that's only 33 photos per chick.  It could be worse.)

(

Seriously, what's cuter than a day-old peep running amock on your coffee table right before Easter?

 

Or an Oreo sandwich?  And check out that cute lil white chicken butt on the left.  So sweet!

I say do whatever brings you true happiness, no matter how crazy it might seem to anybody else. And if your dream also provides fresh eggs, consumes scrap veggies and provides excellent compost--all the better.

Be (INSPIRE)d,

 

Where I Party On:

Aura Lee Meets Magnolia Pearl

Goldie (aka Aura Lee) knows something's up.

 

She's wondering who that new chick coming her way is.




Why it's Magnolia Pearl, the newest member of the flock. She's fully fledged and ready to enjoy outdoor living.
  


And her friends, more Barred Plymouth Rocks collectively referred to as the Rockettes. I mean, what else are you gonna call'em?
 
They came outside to enjoy the warm afternoon and check out the pullet run.  Goldie is a big softie and will probably be the bottom of the pecking order even though she's older and a lot bigger.  And a lot prettier.

Shhh!  That's our secret and I won't be mentioning that around any little grey ears.  You know how sensitive girls can be.  But it's true anyway--her golden Buff Orpington color is scrumptious!

I wouldn't dare put any of the the new flock, including Goldie, near the aging Bombshells--they are a bit assertive when it comes to other chickens, our dogs and my sandal-clad feet (ouch!).  The only animal that can intimidate them is the kestrel (sparrow hawk) that occasionally brings a snack into our backyard.  And even then they are more curious than wise.

Goldie did have a lovely Buff Orpington sister who didn't make it through the first two months for reasons unknown, so it was a long lonely winter in a makeshift coop in the garage for her.  (I won't be acquiring fall chicks in the future.)  She's in the process of learning to be an outside chicken.  She's discovered that she can go in and out of her coop freely, the wonders of warm sunlight and dark nights, and fresh air.

Her only complaint is the lawn mower.  She's scolds me loudly when I mow the lawn close to her run.  She doesn't know it's electric and pretty quiet, almost silent compared to gas mowers.  Or that our lawn is small and quickly mown so that noise is at a minimum. 

Hey, Goldie, start laying eggs and you'll be moving into new, spacious, quiet quarters!  And the Bombshells shall find a new home via Craigslist.  Nothing else could make me happier. Meanwhile, have fun getting acquainted with the Rockettes.

Bring joy,

The Replacements

Guess what we have at the Cottage? 

 Here's a hint:

 

Long-time bloggity friends may recognize the alien spaceship-look of my fancy-dancy, Rube Goldberg-inspired incubator from the Bombshells tenure there two and a half years ago.  Take one rabbit cage, surround with a metallic sunshield from the car, heat it with a light bulb and a foil pin tin reflector.  Finally put some easily-removed foil over the gate. Dig out the old chick feeder and water dish.  Add two little peeps.

Let me introduce you to the new girls:

 

"Chick One and Chick Two, meet the Readers.

Readers, this is Chick One and Chick Two."

The Bombshells' egg production has dropped dramatically and their days (weeks? months?) are numbered.  Sad but true.  And we're pretty spoiled by fresh eggs, a use for all the kitchen scraps and chickens that do the composting for us so a change was in the works.

My feed store has been stocking baby chicks for the past month and I finally caved after buying fre$h egg$ at the Farmer$ Market. 

This time around we are going with Buff Orpingtons--they should grow up to be attractive matronly hens with golden feathers.  

I'm open to suggestions on better names than Chick One and Chick Two!  You had some great suggestion for my first flock:  The Bombshells were named for movie stars:  Rita (Hayworth), Sophia (Loren), Carole (Lombard) and Norma Jean.  My feeling is that our new girls will be more down-to-earth, girl-next-door types.

Peep, peep,
 

Party time at:

Hot Off The Presses

Dere pOgonip, 

The frsh water is appericiated. Mostly we Lik the roosterz. We used them all up. Plees send mor. 

Hope yu lik the eggz. 

Cluckss,
Yor henz. 

p.s. also we deemand suett and seeedz like yu giv the birdeez.

---------------------

It might have been twenty-two degrees outside this morning with fresh snow powdering the brick patio and icy pond, but one of these eggs was practically steaming in my hand it was so fresh!  

I don't know what made the Bombshells change their mind, but they got a whole sunflower head and free range time in the sunshine as a reward.  

I guess the soup pot will remain empty.

Happily,

The Chicken with the Dragon Tattoo

Chickens should not be allowed anywhere near computers.  They are hackers!  Who knew?  The Bombshells must be hiding an iPad somewhere in their run and tapping into my wireless system.  Is tapping even the right word?  It's pathetic that my chickens are more computer savvy than I am.  I think I now recognize Sophia's uncanny resemblance to Lisbeth Salander.  Those eyes...brrrr.

This post was going to be titled Eggs-Stravagant Layers. One of my worst ideas. I can only surmise the Bombshells hacked my system, read about the Oregon and SoCal hens who aren't laying during these cold dark winter months and immediately decided to follow suit here in Nevada.  Because I was getting close to an egg a day from each girl until I started bragging, er, drafting this post.  You know how many eggs I've gotten in the past two days?  Nada.  I'd gotten used to having eggs magically appear. I was spoiled.  I realize that now.

"What am I doing right? I wish I knew."   

That's what I was stupid enough to type in my original post.  I went on to wonder about why they were laying with only ten hours of light each day.  I wondered if their devotion to laying last winter might be due to their youth and vigor. Maybe, like many females, the Bombshells didn't like me mentioning their age  (I should have known better.)  They're almost two--I wonder how old that is in chicken years?

I think my biggest mistake was the following paragraph:

"My best guess why we're getting winter eggs?  I'm lucky to have a breed that channels all their energy into eggs. They are skinny females and all of them together wouldn't fill a soup pot, so they must be converting all that chicken chow right into lovely brown eggs.  They were supposed to be Buff Orpingtons but turned out to be something like Red Comets. I'm not complaining. They may not have the Orpington good looks, but looks ain't everything!"

I can see how I might have accidentally hurt their feelings. 

Actually I think I'm lucky that after reading that they didn't decide to lure me into their run and attack me like the little raptors they are.

Dear Carole-Amelia, Rita and Sophia,  

My sincerest apologies.  You are young and gorgeous.  You lay the best eggs in the whole world.  No one has ever loved their chickens more.  What can I do to make it up to you?

Fresh organic veggies and leafy greens?  Perrier water?  More free range time daily?  Sunnier dust baths?  Heated nests? Swedish massages given by roosters?

Name your price.  You have me at your mercy.  

Humbly yours,

The former Number One in the Pecking Order

Any and all suggestions are welcome from the Blogosphere.

Desperately,

Party Girl: Romantic Home's Show and Tell Friday

and Met Monday at BNOTP

There's a Box?

I live in a community that has CCandR's--which I appreciate most of the time since we have no rusty yachts parked in driveways or twenty-foot RVs hugging a property line and wrecking a view.  I admittedly chafe at restrictions on composting, clotheslines and other items I consider earth-friendly and green.  It's unbelievably hard to change them too.

So I just think outside the box.  Clotheslines aren't kosher?  Who says you need a line?  I have four patio chairs that are perfect for holding jeans or towels as they dry in the blinding sunshine.

In redecorating the laundry room I discovered that I'd stashed (and forgotten about) two multiple-skirt hangers that now hook over a sugar maple branch and are perfect for pinning up smaller items.  Like tees and undies. Which multiply quicker than bunnies during summertime's daily morning hikes and dry even more quickly in the Nevada afternoons.

I have plans to introduce the shiny silver metal to my can of Apple Green spray paint. All the better to camouflage my rule-bending hangers in the tree, my pretty.

Thanks to the Bombshells, I've finally managed to make quick-and-easy compost in our dry Nevada climate.   In the past, I've succeeded turning unwanted sod into compost by letting it sit in an old whiskey barrel through the winter.  In our desert climate, the trick seems to be keeping the materials damp enough to decompose.  Last Spring I tried using a reject trashcan which I turned regularly.  I had hopes.  F-A-I-L pretty much describes that result.

Armed with a hammer, some very long nails and leftover lumber from a fence that blew over at the Queen Mother's I cobbled a simple compost bin that's normally enclosed on all four sides but is easily opened at two ends.  Earlier this week, I shovelled a cubic yard of chicken-coop-goop turned compost into the raised beds.  And I've started a new pile of chicken straw which will soon be augmented by autumn leaves mulched into small pieces by the hens.  Multi-purpose, those girls!

Fortunately when these homes were built, backyard chickens were all but unheard of so no one thought of forbidding poultry.  The Bombshells are sort of flying under the CCandR radar (not that they can fly very well).  The coop is tucked invisibly away from any neighbors who might object and the neighbors who do know about it are well paid in fresh eggs.

I guess I'm sort of stretching the rules a bit, but I'm not breaking them.

Much.

I still use turn signals, drive the speed limit in school zones and brush my teeth twice a day.

Iconoclastically,

Cheap Cheeps

Once upon a time there was a girl who dreamed of fresh brown eggs.  

Actually, she just dreamed about cute fluffy sweet little chicks

but thought it best to tell her family about the wonderful eggs they would soon have.

Day-old peeps don't stay little for very long and would need a coop in a few months.  However our heroine was a romantic with a practical side.  She loved the idea of chickens, but didn't think fresh eggs should cost her the moon and the stars.  Ideally, she wanted to break even with her little adventure.  So she challenged herself to build a chicken coop as cheaply as possible.

This...

is not it.

She did have an unused dog house

 and an idea.

She used old plywood, cabinet doors scavenged from the neighbors and some free knobs.

Along with linoleum and hinges from the Habitat ReStore and some leftover bedroom paint.  She did splurge on a roll of insulation from Home Depot since her hens would experience cold winters.

The growing pullets appreciated it. In fact, they loved sleeping (and pooping) on the flat roof very much.

Princesses do not like such behavior, so she rooted amongst a pile of old fence boards and 2x4s and created a pitched roof.

The hens lost their roof roost but gained a rooster who proudly decorated their remodeled coop.  With the addition of a tarp, the coop provided a cozy home for the winter months.

But the girl wasn't finished.  Summer arrived, and she found a quart of exterior semi-gloss that was still usable after sitting on the shelf for twenty-four years, more 2x4s and plywood.  She cobbled together a base to raise the coop off the ground, painted the whole shebang and insulated the roof.

Then she moved the whole coop forward so that it was was more convenient for daily use--although it made it impossible to get a good photo.  She plans to nail the other half of the roof as soon as she cuts the plywood. And paint the overhang.

But the Bombshells moved right in and began laying eggs.

Any guesses on the cost of this coop?

Hint:  the practical girl is very happy. Very happy, indeed.

Insulation:  Eleven dollars
Caulk:  Three dollars
Linoleum:  One buck
Roofing paper:  One dollar
Hinges:  A whopping fifty cents
Everything else: free free free.

Truth in blogging compels me to admit that an unknown "something" still has to go over the roofing paper and that will add to the total cost.

Best of all, the base, coop and roof are all modular so two people can easily move the structure by unstacking and restacking it.  The base could use some additional bracing to stabilize it even more and a cement floor underneath would be great someday.

I'm grateful to Donna (Funky Junk Interiors) and Marian (Miss Mustard Seed) for having blog parties where I can share this!

Hitting the Easy Button

I'm in comment heaven!

Imagine that--after being frustrated for a month by my sporadic ability to comment--all I had to do was enable third-party cookies on Firefox. I can comment on blogs again, folks. Whoopie! I sure realized how important two-way communication was to me, big time. Not only was I frustrated by not being able to contribute my two cents, I felt like I was letting all you blog friends down with my inadvertent silence.

The How-To:  I Googled "enabling third-party cookies" and followed the easy-peasy lemon-squeezy directions.  Then I scrolled down through the cookies that were already on my computer and sure enough, blogs that I've been able to comment on were listed, blogs that have stymied me weren't.  I'll be experimenting with making my privacy settings just a tad pickier and see what I think; for now I'm living dangerously and accepting cookies from one and all.  Yum, yum.

Obviously, the peace and quiet is over--pogonip is back with plenty to say!

*******

Forgive me for scaring you with my chicken escape episode (she said with a grin), but I knew I told a better story that way. Admit it--if I'd started out telling you it was a false alarm, it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting!  Plus a bit of adrenaline coursing through the system burns five times as many calories for up to an hour afterwards!  (I just made that little scientific factoid up.  Wishful thinking.)  Too bad, it would've been helpful given the amount of chocolate floating around post-Valentines Day!
 
Au revoir from les poulets and moi,

Four Missing Bombshells

The winter winds have been gusting at speeds higher than I'd like--the kinds of speeds that usually feature a Weather Channel reporter with a churning ocean and tortured palm trees in the background.  Plenty powerful as they raced down the backside of the Sierra to blow three fence boards off the gate to our chicken run.  Fence boards with at least four nails and sometimes a screw holding them on.

Yep, I came home for lunch and discovered a wide-open run and nary a chicken to be seen either in the run or anywhere around their usual haunts in the backyard.  Two wind-blown dogs, but no Bombshells.

I immediately began envisioning the girls achieving flight with the assistance of the winds and making an unscheduled departure for points east, necessitating wanted posters around the neighborhood and lost chicken appeals on craigslist.

Oh, the thoughts that raced through my mind:

Would whoever found them know how sweet they were as chicks?

Would anyone appreciate the difference between CaroleAmelia and Rita? Between Sophia and Norma Jean?

 

Would they even end up together?

It's strange how an emergency situation can disconnect my actions from my brain.  I found myself inside the empty run for no good reason, looking inside an apparently deserted coop.  A coop that they normally avoid unless darkness or the arrival of an egg is imminent. 

Turns out chickens aren't exactly dumb clucks.  All four ladies were inside, happily and cozily ensconced in mounds of straw, protected from the wicked winds.

Giant sigh of relief.  And an immediate grab for a girl's best friend.  Yes, power tools to the rescue!  An electric drill along with a pocketful of longer screws and a Phillips bit securely reattached the boards and I was able to return to work on time knowing that the Bombshells world was once more a safe place.

The winds can gust and blow as much as they want (they are), the daytime temperatures can drop forty degrees in the next day or so (predicted), the skies can change from deep blue to snow-filled clouds (probable),  and Old Man Winter can reappear--my chicky-chiquitas and I are ready.  I feel like I'm not a total failure as a chicken mama after all.

Although my original abilities at coop building and chicken enclosures might be somewhat in doubt.

Grateful for a happy ending,

Looks Like Chicken Scratch to Me

Or is it some sort of Mayan egg code?  Is she trying to tell me something?

 

What?

On the positive side, possibly Sophia is trying to thank me for the thick bed of straw they have. Or expressing her delight at the delicious kitchen scraps provided regularly. Or maybe she's just as happy with fifty degree days and no snow as I am.

But I'm afraid she's been giving me that look.  That chicken look.

"We demand more free range time."

"I thought our coop was going to look like this."

 

"You promised to teach us to play soccer ages ago.  I hope you don't expect us to use this pathetic excuse for a ball."

They know how much I love having fresh eggs so they ask for the world.

I'm hen-pecked.  (And content to have it so.)