Why Hubby Should Not Send Me To Buy Chicken Food

I should never be allowed to go into a Farm and Garden store. Or a pet store. Or the local animal shelter. Or anyplace with small cute mammals. Because I Am A Sucker. With a capital S. And it's worse when my daughter is along because she's basically a mini-me.

And so it was that today we went to get chicken food, and came home with a bunny. Because with 16 animals here at Casa del Crazies, we needed one more. In my defense, let me just say that this is the sweetest, absolutely cutest bunny on the planet. Absolutely.

How I Avoided Being Arrested In My Underwear at Three A.M. Wielding an Umbrella

It all started a couple of months ago when we were woken by a godawful racket outside, and hubby and I rushed out with flashlights in hand to find a chicken flopping around on the ground and a raccoon staring at us from a nearby tree. The chicken coop hadn't been closed up properly, and one of the cute but vicious little furry thieves had gotten Gloria, one of our hens. Unfortunately, she wasn't dead. This is the moment that all hen-keepers fear, at least wimpy ones like me: the chicken is not dead. One look at her told us that she wasn't going to make it though. It's never a good sign when your head is on sideways. So did I do the brave thing? Of course I did: I yelled at hubby to kill the damn thing already.

Hubby grabs the nearest chicken-killing implement, which happened to be a hoe, while I kept the raccoon at bay with a rake. Unfortunately, killing a chicken with a hoe at three in the morning is a lot harder than it sounds. For one thing, remember the whole "chicken with its head cut off" cliche? This chicken was flopping around like crazy, I mean like three to four feet with every flop. Meanwhile hubby is running around in hiking boots and a bathrobe hacking madly at it with the hoe and I'm yelling helpfully in the background. Feathers are flying and even the raccoon is starting to look scared of the crazy people. But we did it. I cornered the chicken and hubby beat it into submission. I didn't have the time at the moment to be sad about the fact that this was Asa's favorite chick from last year, one she rescued from being the last baby chick at the Feed-n-Seed store and hand-raised.

So, fast forward a few months and I am once again awakened by some sort of loud noise at three in the morning. This time I didn't stop to even pull on a bathrobe, just rushed out in my underwear and cami, quickly grabbing the nearest raccoon-fending devices that came to hand, namely a big-ass flashlight and a long-handled umbrella. Luckily, this time all was serene in Happy Hen land and there were no fuzzy bandits to be seen. This is where my bad luck began however. As I was trooping back up toward the house, a patrol car pulled slowly into our cul-de-sac. Uh Oh. Maybe what woke me up was a prowler? And maybe he was somewhere nearby in the trees next to our house?

Even worse: the cop car was shining its spotlight around the cul-de-sac and I was nearly naked and carrying two large weapon-looking devices in my hands. Awful scenarios flashed through my head: My kids in tears as their underwear-clad mother is hauled off in a patrol car in front of throngs of neighbors. Even worse, the cops accidentally shooting me thinking I was an armed would-be burglar. Being taken down and tasered before I could even explain what I was doing out there (don't laugh, police in my town recently Tasered an unarmed exchange student in his sleeping bag because he couldn't communicate in English to them that he wasn't a prowler).

So I did what any reasonable underwear-clad chicken defender would do: I hid behind a tree. It felt like a surreal scene from a thousand movies. The searchlight playing along the trees surrounding me. Holding my breath to prevent it from steaming out into the night air. My heart pounding a thousand beats a minute. And then, after what felt like an hour or two, they were gone. I crept up our porch stairs and gratefully back into bed. No one knows what I sacrifice to keep my family fed with wholesome local eggs!

The Ironmom Extra Mile:  Perhaps I should carry a Samurai Sword-handled umbrella next time? Or maybe a light-saber umbrella to fend off the dark side? Check out the Twenty Coolest Umbrellas you'll ever see for more cool gadgets to carry when hiding from police and defending chickens.

Dog Days

Haven't had much time to post this week, something completely unexpected happened... we got a puppy! Although it's hard to believe, it's been two years since I had to say goodbye to my best buddy Sabre. The kids of course have wanted another dog, but we've just told them it had to be the right dog at the right time, and we knew that someday it would come along. Well, I guess this was the week!

Our neighbor took a trip to California and ended up rescuing a puppy down there from a bad home situation. She's a 4 month old Jack Russell terrier mutt/mix (we think with some beagle), and she's a real sweetheart. But of course she's also still a puppy, which means a lot of work. Overall though she has a great temperament, not a barker and a real snuggly pup.

I don't know if she'll ever be the running companion that Sabre was. And honestly, I think out of the four of us I'm the only one who really wasn't ready yet to get another dog. She's very cute and very sweet, but she really hasn't taken my heart like Sabre did. Maybe because he was all mine from the start and he and I spent so much time together, or maybe just because there's this place in my heart that I can't really open up yet. Only time will tell. But it's been just great for the kids. They knew Sabre their whole lives, so it was very hard for them not to have a dog around. So far they're doing a great job taking care of her, I'm hoping that lasts!

And so now we have eighteen, yes count them, eighteen animals! Oy! I keep having this panicky feeling when I've left the house that maybe I've forgotten something. Guinea pigs in their outdoor pen, check. Baby chickens have food and water, check. Hens are out of their coop for the day, check. Cats fed, oldest cat had medicine, check. Now dog is with us, check. Phew.

A Big Blue Lake Beats a Bouquet

Hubby is not a Hallmark Holiday kind of a guy. I think another wife might even get disgruntled at the lack of bouquets, cards, or other trinkets. But the thing I really love about him is he knows me so well, he always finds the perfect gift. Like a Mother's Day camping trip where he says the magic words "Why don't you bring your wetsuit and we'll go to the lake." So Mother's Day found me on the edge of this gorgeous lake on the Oregon coast, not a boat to be seen, ready for my first open-water swim of the year.

I can't say it wasn't cold. While we're supposed to hit the 90's later this week, the night we went camping the freezing level dropped to around 2800'. The water was not exactly toasty but it was swimmable, which is all that really counts. I managed about 40 minutes before my toes refused to bend anymore. Of course my daughter, who has the impermeable skin of an eight year old, was jumping in wearing nothing but a pink bathing suit. I remember swimming in the ocean off of the Oregon coast at her age and never feeling cold, but now I can say I fully understand why my mom refused to join me - she didn't have a wetsuit of course!




















So after my swim my kids had a captive mom in a wetsuit, in a lake known for it's newt population. This time of year the little buggers are all hiding out in the weeds in the shallow parts (probably trying to keep warm) and I was dispatched to try an capture one or two. Not trying to brag too much, I do have to say that I have quite a reputation among my kids and their friends as a Newt Capturer. I have the requisate amounts of patience and can be still long enough for them to practically swim into my hand. So into the weeds I went and emerged with a newt or two for holding. The Oregon rough-skinned newts are actually poisonous. A small fraction of the poison found in the skin of an adult newt is enough to kill a human. Now as far as I've discovered, the only verifiable newt-related death was an intoxicated man from a coastal Oregon town who swallowed a newt on a dare. Still, it's not a good idea to handle one if you have any broken skin on your hands, and I always get my kids to wash their hands so they don't accidentally transfer newt poison to their noses or mouths.

All in all, it was a wonderful water-and-newt-filled Mother's Day. And at home the kids made me home-made cards (my favorite kind) and Asa drew this on the driveway for me: