Death of a Chicken

Sometimes you get a unique perspective on an event that would seem otherwise random chance and are able to see how multiple variables met up in just the right way at the right time to lead to an absolute conclusion.  Today was one of those times for me.

We have a dog.  Said dog has wounded one of our chickens before, but it was because she pushed her way into the barnyard when the temptation was too great not to chase them, it was because I let the chickens out of their coop within the barnyard and they were clucking about while I worked in the barn, and because I didn't know that the dog could push the gate open.  No real mystery there.  I rescued and rehabilitated the hen and I was more careful about locking the gate when I was both out of the barnyard AND inside.

A few days ago, I found one of our hens on the wrong side of the fence.  She was strutting around the wood pile looking as confused as ever.  (She is by far one of the two dumbest chickens I've ever encountered, the other being her sister of the same breed.)  She's a lightweight bird so it was not impossible for her to fly over the fence, and her being so pea-brained it probably sounded like a good idea to her.  I threw her back over the fence when I found her, and that was that.

We also have goats.  The chicken coop is within the fenced goat pasture/barnyard.  In case you're unfamiliar, dear readers, goats will happily try to squeeze their bodies through very tight openings to get at food or anything that might be food.  Our goats being pygmies, they're short and wide in the middle and they eat to excess.  I have witnessed them shove themselves into the chicken coop (through a chicken-sized door) to steal their grain, pig out, and then, just a tiny bit too fat to fit, get stuck in the chicken door like a loud-mouthed Winnie the Pooh.  Hilarious, annoying, all depends on your perspective of course.  Recently I discovered a hole in the chicken coop near the outer door.  It was pushed straight through the chicken wire right at pygmy goat height with some telltale fur left on the wires.  They didn't exactly hide the evidence.  The birds left some rind or something else near the door to the coop that looked good enough to eat, so they tried.  The hole was big enough to let a predator in, but I wasn't very worried since we have an automatic door on the roost that locks the chickens in at night.  I haven't been bothering to close the coop door since the hole was made.  Not only would it not keep a predator out, it couldn't keep the chickens in either, and they could conceivably hurt themselves trying to use the hole as a door..  Otherwise, I keep them cooped up during the day and only let them out when I can keep an eye or ear out for them.  I figured they would be safe enough though for a few days or week or however long it took to figure out what to do about the goats damaging the coop.

So today, the chickens were out because they couldn't be in. and I was working in the office, and the dog was outside, and one of the smarter hens followed one of the dumber hens over the fence where she was an easy plaything for the dog.  That was all she wanted, really.  She didn't eat her.

So many failures had to take place for that to happen.  Why was the dog outside unsupervised?  She's an anxious rescue and doesn't do well in captivity or on a tie-out.  I let her out to go pee and she didn't come back right away.  She usually stays nearby. I wasn't very worried.  Why didn't I fix the coop right away?  The goats had been causing damage to it for months and I didn't want a hack solution, I wanted a solution, but I hadn't thought of a good one yet.  ( I  have since implemented a hack and have planned the permanent, but it took me one day longer than she had to come up with one I knew would work and seen the necessity of a temporary fix.)

It makes me think because these are the kinds of situations that I work so hard ot prevent.  When something is important, I try to construct layers of fail-safes.  I sometimes feel as though I'm being attacked by a universe-sized slot machine, and each spinning column stops at a decision and all the factors culminate to wreck what I've built.

My getting to work on time in the morning relies unfortunately mostly on the behavior of others.  People are nice randomness generators too of course, far more complex and unreliable that slot machines.  But that's where my life is right now.  I have to rely on the kids getting ready without too many tantrums or mishaps, I have to rely on two bus drivers arriving on time and not blowing past us because they're a substitute.  I have to rely on the husband to leave me enough gas in the car, our plow guy to show up to plow the long dirt driveway so I can get out.  I have a backup plan for many of these things, in case they fail, but what do you do when they ALL fail?  Sometimes they do. I'm really bad at having to rely on other people.  I hate doing it.  I don't blame the dog. I'm a bit of an anxious rescue too. I wouldn't let anyone put me out on a chain or in a cage either.  Who knows if they'd ever come back?

Breakfast Musings

This is my typical breakfast these days - sharing because I love it and I can't be the only one who would:

Start with a truly, bona fide non-stick pan.  Not the 20 year old non-stick pan that smells like tires when you heat it up.  It needs to be honestly non-stick-glue-tar-and-fat-free-turkey-bacon-all-slide-off-this-thing-non-stick.

Turn it up to low-med heat.  Sprinkle your favorite shredded cheese around the bottom of the pan to just cover it.  Cheddar and Havarti work well.  Next comes a great big fistfull of cooking greens.  I like the ridiculously named and packaged "Super Greens" in the bright Barbie Pink bag with spinach, bok choy and chard.  Add a drizzle of oil or butter and the seasoning that suits you.  Next crack in two or three whole eggs on top and cover.

The eggs will somewhat poach in the steamy green juice.  The cheese will remain unburnt for about 10 minutes.  Less for cheddar, more for havarti, but keep an eye on it no matter what.  When the eggs are done through,  fold it over like an inside-out omelet on your plate and enjoy.

As long as you don't overcook it or put the heat too high, the greens should be tender and juicy, the eggs done through, and the cheese somewhere between leathery white and crispy brown.

Rather healthy, and delish if I'm allowed to say so myself.

Simple names

Most of the parts of a guitar have 1 syllable names.

I told you so

Not sure if being able to say "I told you so," is really worth it.  If someone is about to do something incredibly damaging, and you know it, and you don't try to convince them of it, are you culpable?

Robin Williams is Dead to Me...and Everyone Else Too I Suppose.

This Robin Williams thing has gotten me thinking.  Everything gets me thinking, but I don't dwell on things quite this much usually.  A celebrity dies, a public figure, a famous person, whatever you call them, whatever it means to be famous, most of the time when they die I do little more than shrug.  Once in a while I'll go "Aww."  But now and then a celebrity death makes me sort of balk.  And it seems when that happens, I am confounded as to why *this* celebrity suddenly means so much dead when surely they meant less to me than others.  This happened with Heath Ledger.  Loved him in the handful of movies he managed to make before he died.  Lovely, lovely man. Really divine....  Yum.    Anyway. That's not enough to make me mourn someone - is it?  Now as for Robin.  I don't think I ever thought of him as especially attractive.  Though I love a funny man and he was very much that.  Michael Jackson.  Surely he helped define my childhood.  I had a poster of him in my room, I listened to every damn thing he recorded, played his videos over and over.  He was fascinating, incredible.  I barely shrugged when he died.  Is it the persons ranking in my consciousness when they die that determines how I feel about it?  I had heard Robin's name mentioned a few times in recent months I guess.  New Mrs. Doubtfire coming out.  Not sure I was thrilled with that idea.  And I don't think two days ago he was very close to the surface of my thoughts at all...
So maybe it's my comparison to my mom.  She was also 63.  I didn't realize RW was younger then my mother.  I somehow assumed he was a bit older than her.  But he killed himself quite intentionally it seems.  I can't help thinking about how much of a dick move that was.   I've been thinking about his family.  How could he possibly think that no one needed him, or that his depression was more important than his family's happiness?
But then I can't compare Heath Ledger to my mom.  He died before she did.  And, well he was a hell of a lot more attractive than her.  So what's the deal?  Why do some strangers mean more to me than others?



Update:  Oh.  I'm a fucking idiot, that's why.  He died on my mother's birthday.  I love it when I'm dense.

Binkectomy #4

We've taken away the binkies again.  Right now J is up in his bed in a dimly-lit room with a lullaby playing, comfy pajamas, his favorite animals, and he sounds like he is possessed by the devil's devil, if there is such a thing.  The screams coming out of that room are like demonic tongues being fed through a wood chipper.  Hell hath no fury like a toddler deprived of his binky.  I wish he could keep it, but his teeth look terrible.  Maybe he'll thank me later?  That would be nice.

awful

The worst drink I have ever had is this: Gin, a splash of red wine, and olive juice.