Speckeldy Hens

Found some info on omlet.com about Speckledy hens. They're the result of a Marans/Rhode Island Red cross. I will have to look up more info, but I seem to remember that the chicks are sex-linked; that is, different colors or patterns at hatching, so it's easy to tell pullets from roosters. Yeah, if you know what you're looking for. Obviously, I will have to do more research on this. I do have a few more weeks before eggs hatch. If they're different, I guess I will just figure out how to separate or band the chicks, or both. Speckeldy hens lay chestnut, speckled eggs. Evidently they're darker than Rhode Island Reds, lighter than Marans, and speckled rather than plain. It'll be 5-8 months before we'll see. I am rather reassured that omlet says they're prolific egg layers, so evidently I can expect that trait to follow through from the Rhode Island Reds. This picture is of a commercial white egg, light brown Rhode Island Red eggs, and Speckledy eggs.

Rhode Island Reds

The hens we have are Rhode Island Reds. We think we have 22. On an off day, we get 16-17 eggs. Most days, we get 19, sometimes more. They lay brown eggs. One of the things I've learned in reading about these chickens is that they have laying cycles and the color varies within that cycle. We have one broody hen that we decided to leave be, and another that wants to be, but I frustrated her yesterday.

My dad's mother raised hundreds of Rhode Island Reds. My dad says she got them from another old-time breeder. He doesn't know how she persuaded him to sell her some, but they were not what we know now as Rhode Island Reds. I think they must've looked like what are now called New Hampshire Reds. When she was done with them as laying hens, she would call a kosher butcher in California's Bay Area; he would bring his truck, delighted to be able to buy all the chickens she'd sell him.

Marans, Part 2

Cuckoo Marans lay dark Mahogany eggs. They're known in England, barely known here, although I've seen pictures of them in a Seattle newspaper blog. There are chicken breeders in the US who have 4 different varieties of the Marans.

Cuckoo Marans Rooster, part 1

My not exactly computer savvy self is trying to learn all by myself how to add pictures and play with fonts, etc. Easier said than done.

I didn't plan to have a rooster with the chickens, but since this is a joint venture, sometimes things happen that weren't what I had in mind. So far, that hasn't been a bad thing, just different that I'd thought. D was given a rooster. He looks very much like a Dominique, which is an old, rare breed. But he isn't a Dominicker. I honestly thought someone was making up "cuckamaran" at first, but it is a real breed of chicken. He's a Cuckoo Marans. From what I've read online so far, they were developed in Marans, France in the mid 1800's. Marans is about 10 miles northeast of the port of La Rochelle in Southwestern France. There are 4 varieties, all rare -from my viewpoint, all rather expensive. So even though I could find it desirable to have hens like him, that's not going to be an immediate thing.

D calls him Mister. He's a big bird, easily 18" tall, maybe 15 lbs. He's pretty mellow; very easy to handle, and gentle with the hens. I hadn't heard him crow before last Saturday, and that was a territorial thing in response to a small hawk. It's maybe 2/3 the size of a crow; I doubt it's much threat to the big chickens, but Mister has the right idea. He doesn't much like it when I do things like separate his hens to clip wings, or do his, but all he does is turn his back on me and grumble. Maybe it's a good thing I don't have a way to translate chicken into English or French - he's probably cussing under his breath, and I'd understand.

Jersey Wooly rabbit

I wasn't looking for a pet rabbit for myself, but we went to a rabbit show Saturday, and I came home with one. He's definitely not a meat rabbit. Breed standards would disqualify him for weighing over 3 pounds - way too much effort for a little snack! He's a ruby-eyed pointed Jersey Wooly, which means that he has a black nose, dark grey ears like a Siamese, and eyes that look like an albino. They were developed by crossing Angoras and Netherland Dwarf rabbits. His former owner is in poor health, couldn't keep up with the rabbits he had.

The cats are still evaluating this. He doesn't smell or look like a mouse. He does follow the etiquette of touching/smelling noses and licking front paws to wash his face. The youngest cat licks his face, and tried to get him by the scruff of the neck. I think he means to be playing; he likes to play with kittens about this size. Rabbits aren't playful the same way; Satsu'd get hurt. Tark cuddled up with the Siamese who's only a little darker than himself. She put up with it for a little while. Falcon just watches him. Cashmere, true to her nature, hisses and practices avoiding the thing. But she thinks Satsu, the lone male, who wants to play with the rabbit, is a 'thing', too.

I have never owned a 4-footed animal this small. He's 16 months old, so he's full grown. My only experience with things this small has been toy dogs, and I detest them. Since he's a pet, a name makes sense. Ben said something about naming this critter, which reminded me of an old PBS show called Krat's Kritters and a later spin-off in which the Krat brothers had a cartoon alter-ego named Tark. So his name is Tark. He's MUCH cuter than the cartoon kritter. I've probably spent 4 hours over the last 3 days clipping out mats, teasing out clumps, brushing, and brushing, and brushing. If necessary, I could have completely sheared him. Angora owners shear theirs. But I didn't want to do that in the middle of winter. I brought him home because I wasn't sure how much hair he'd have to lose; didn't want him to take a chill. Next step in grooming is a bath.

O-o-o-oh.... well, I knew he needed a bath, since his rear end was encrusted. Now I get to eliminate more bedraggled fuzz. How much of it I'll add to the pile he's sitting beside in the picture....I'll see.

Happy New Year!

Ummm, well, does Bah, Humbug! apply to New Year's as well as Christmas?

I have a hard time with Christmas. It has historically been a less than happy season for our family. I was getting sick of customers asking if I was done with my Christmas shopping. No. Hadn't started yet. With my husband unemployed, I was busy with the mundane stresses of trying to make sure the bills got paid, and some of them didn't get paid when I would have liked. We were already concerned with what December's electric bill was going to look like. The weather was extra cold, the firewood wasn't burning hot enough and/or our woodstove isn't big enough, so we used the milkhouse heater. I did not blurt out that, from where I stand, just getting the current round of bills paid sounded pretty good.

And shopping? In the first place, shopping isn't usually something I do for fun. Holiday crowds are a huge turn-off. People get so wrapped up in accomplishing their lists that it's a wonder there aren't more wrecks. They act like they're the only ones on the road or in the parking lot. And I don't shop in the usual places. I may go to Joann or Walmart or Shopko if I want/need something specific, but for just looking, I hit the thrift stores. They're the only places I can afford to be slightly self indulgent. They also have things I wouldn't find in standard retail stores, or those things cost a fraction of new prices.

I'm sick. I was sick before Christmas, and I still am. My eyes burn, and my nose is either stuffed up or won't stop running, or I'm sneezing - or all at the same time, and my hands hurt. I want nothing more than to sleep at night, but do you think I can do that? Last night I lay in bed for 2 hours, being discontent, mad at, or scared of an entire assortment of things that may or may not be 'real'. Even the ones I can or must do something about weren't going to happen at midnight. This cold will not go away. I feel better than I did Friday, and Saturday, and Sunday, and I still feel perfectly awful.

On top of that, my equilibrium is messed up, so I'm staggering and falling. I fell into a laundry basket, sat on the poinsettia my boss gave me for Christmas, crumpled the top of the laundry detergent container, pulled over the coffee/espresso maker we got Ben for Christmas, breaking the carafe, and bumped open the back door all at once. There are no steps outside that door, so the last thing I wanted to do was fall out. It's 3 feet to the ground, and I would have landed badly. I managed to grab the sides of the door frame and have Ben come help me up. He was worried about my shoulder being hurt. It's fine; the only thing really hurt is the new coffee machine. And DH used a plastic colander as a steamer inside a pan on top of the stove. It melted. Imagine that! Part of me would like to sarcastically ask him what he expected.

It's gray, and raining, and I hate rain. Spent 40 years where winter weather is rain and sometimes floods, and it seems to go on forever. It may sound odd, but I honestly prefer snow. Except that right now the snow's melted into slush, which turns into ice overnight, which makes footing and driving slippery. I started off this morning being discontent, fed up with, mad at, or scared of anything, nothing, and pretty much everything in between; and completely unwilling to deal with people. Since my job is dealing with people, and more often than not trouble-shooting, I really don't have the option of taking time off from dealing with people and still get paid. I don't get paid if I'm not working, so guess what else? I'm sick and working.

The carafe and colander can both be replaced. I just have to make the time to look for them and set aside the money. The poinsettia can be trimmed or something. It's not dead. I didn't get hurt. There's more money in the bank account than I was afraid of in the middle of the night. The electric bill IS nearly $30 more than usual - OUCH - but if I pay some this paycheck and some next paycheck, I'll get it paid. Our chickens have finally started laying. DH is back to work, for now. It was unexpected, and nobody knows how long that will last, so I just won't borrow trouble.

I was reading something in a yahoo group posted by a woman in Australia. She's picking raspberries and tomatoes, and canning, and.... I think I'll go to Australia -just for a little while. Something along the lines of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No good, Rotten Day.

Sleeping in is a GOOD thing!

That is, as long as you don't make yourself late for work or school. I didn't, but woke up at 4:30AM, went back to bed, lay there thinking I may as well get up; I wasn't going back to sleep. I obviously did. Somewhere, it registered that someone else was up, moving around, and since Steve was gone, it must've been Ben. Then I woke up at 7:40. Good thing Ben was already gone, since his first class is at 7:45!

I've needed to sleep in like that for months. I've been running myself ragged with all the moving and building that's done and still needs to be done. My body's exhausted and my brain won't shut down. There are a million or so things to do over the next 6-8 weeks between packing and building and getting out of our current domicile. Then there are my plans for what I need and want to do to make the new one livable.

A couple years ago, I slept until noon. I've done that only once before in my entire life. About the time Steve was going to come see if I was still alive, I stumbled out of the bedroom. One of the cats checked for him. She put her nose on mine, in my mouth, in my ears... she really was checking for signs of life. She did wake me up!

Finished the load of laundry I started yesterday morning, left soaking. Paint didn't come out of the clothes. Oh, well, that's why I was wearing old junk I don't care about. Did another load because I thought I had work shirts (uniforms), and they were all in the hamper. So I put one in the dryer for a few minutes and put it on still damp. It's not cold enough yet for damp to be a problem. Supposed to get warm again over the next couple days.

According to the calendar, yesterday was Tuesday. But it acted like Monday. Sales were slow, one problem after another, and just to make life more interesting, corporate was working on our computer and things got changed that shouldn't have been. There were 4 guys hustling to build 60 trusses yesterday. So they were beat before they got home. Dinner was microwaved frozen 'meals'. Nobody could have mustered the will or energy to cook.

This morning, there are 11 fewer parking spaces than usual at work. First I parked around the corner at the bank, but they only have 4 parking spaces, needed to move the van asap. My van's parked in front of the store. I don't do that, but there's nowhere else to park. There were boulders on the sidewalk the size of garbage cans. The slope where the Colorado blue spruce were is now denuded. It looks better without the grass and straggly brush than it did without trees. But what does that do about erosion over the winter and next spring?

OK, OK, there are times I indulge in sarcasm. I have a sign on my van "Before you make yet another derogatory comment about how ugly I am, consider YOUR willingness to buy my replacement". There's a little Central American bistro a few doors down. Nice people run it, food's fantastic, but I'm fed up with the women who "do lunch" there. One of them asked me how I could stand driving such an ugly thing. Easy - it's a lot faster and more convenient than walking. It's paid for, too. My co-worker's comment, when I told her about it was 'Trade ya!' I liked that. Don't think I really want a Lexus, though. Last week's comment, in Ben's hearing, was "No wonder the old thing's so ugly; look at the brute driving it". It's a 26 year old Dodge cargo van - it was ugly when it was brand new. Age has not been kind to it. But my gentle 17 year old is a brute? C'mon, that's adding unnecessary insults! Where are these people coming from that they've never heard of the little courtesy of keeping thoughts to themselves? California? Or are they just disgustingly affluent?

I've been painting in between all this. I have 3/4 of the 31 foot trailer painted. The lovely '70's paneling was horrible dark. When you know your're going to have to spend a lot of time in an 8' x 31' space, it makes sense to have it be as light and livable as you can make it. It's possible to paint paneling, but whoever came up with the grooved stuff should have to paint it. That would be a fitting punishment. At least one coat MUST be brushed on. A roller won't cover well enough. The only part I haven't touched yet is the bathroom.

The bedroom and kitchen are primered, in pale yellow and white. The paint was the right price, so it doesn't matter what light color I use as an undercoat. Lowe's has mistint paints for $5 per gallon. These are paints that are usually $25/gallon. As long as the finish colors are compatible, we can live with other's 'mistakes'. There are 3 coats on the floor, but I'm holding off on any more until the bathroom floor has plywood on it. That's a 2 person job, can be done after the shed's farther along. The living room has one coat of green suede. I have yet to primer the cabinet doors for the living room or bedroom. The living room doors have insets of 70's cliche' gold veined mirrors. But they will reflect light, so I'm going to leave that alone. The other doors have yuchy dark amber textured plastic. The bedroom ones, I'll paint over. The kitchen ones, I took the plastic out. Steve says I can easily have a glass place cut glass for them. I'm not too sure when I'll afford that, but I can paint the doors in the meantime.

I left a ziplock of hinges and another of door handles on the table Aug 29, and they disappeared. They re-appeared this weekend in the far back of the farthest bedroom cabinet. Ben and I are pretty sure what happened, but since they're back, I'm going to leave it alone. $30 worth of hinges is pretty important to me. The door handles are a take it or leave it thing. I want to replace them. But what I want is $60+, so that will have to happen little by little.

I'm supposed to go to Sandpoint this weekend, while the other grandma's gone to California. Carter is saying some words and phrases. "I do it", "You do it", and "yes" to almost anything unless he's fussing about something. The other night Erin asked me what I said to him, since he was saying 'yes' a lot. I told him that if he wants to talk with me on the phone, he has to say something, not just breathe in my ear, and he mustn't fuss. He's getting the point that I won't talk to him if he fusses.