Catching Up …

Since my last post, we’ve been preparing for horses.  The sheep and goats were given to a farmer willing to take them on.  The pasture was fallow all summer, allowing it to regenerate.  In the meantime, Tammi found 1800 feet of used triple split-rail fence.  It has a lovely historic look to it, and will enclose the horse pasture.

Stay tuned as we get ready for this new chapter!

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No More Naked Neck Turken

Example of a Naked Neck Turken (not our photo)

She wan’t the prettiest of hens.  No — she was kind of funny looking.  OK — to be honest — she was just downright ugly.  I would joke that she was “coyote ugly,” but comparing anything to those stinking vile vermin at this time is not appropriate.  Back to the naked neck.  She was the last of the flock of 25 hens purchased for Tammi after her mother passed last year.  Tammi was so thrilled when the box of little peeps arrived.  In a few months, they blossomed into an eclectic flock of fancies — 5 varieties in all.  We had the fluffy Delawares and their docile dispositions, and the Black Australorps with their turquoise eggs, and the Americaunas with their pheasant-like appearance, and the Buff Orpingtons and their rich brown eggs — and five goofy looking turkey-like no-feathers-on-the-neck chickens that Tammi declared her favorites — the Naked Neck Turkens.

Every day, for nearly a year, we were overwhelmed with 12 to 18 eggs from this crew — a cornucopia of color.  We purchased a crate of “Local Hens” egg cartons and listed our produce for sale. Everyone who tried them loved them.

“You have the best eggs!” was heard a hundred times. “Can I get more?”

We had a couple incidents over the year.  There was an obvious hawk or owl attack here and there.  The circle of feathers on the ground — in one spot and nowhere else — was the clue.

When the revonations were being done to the summer kitchen this past Winter, one of the workmen reported seeing a “big fox” near the henhouse one day.  This creature was seen a couple times — and the men scared it off.  They boldly decided to begin using the back of our property as their urinal in order to ward off the beast.  It seemed to work.

When the men finished working, we were ecstatic to begin living in our house again.  The new kitchen (see the pics in a prior entry) and the second bathroom were very functional.  We were delighted. By then, we were down to 20 chickens.  We were still retreiving at least about a dozen eggs a day.

Now early March, the ewes began lambing. It was still very cold. There was snow on the ground. That’s when the first attack occurred.  Tammi discovered one of the lambs buried in the snow, its jugular severed by the fangs of a coyote. There were tracks in the snow from possibly two of the canids.  We became very worried about the lambs — especially at night.

Stock photo of a Pennsylvania Coyote

Over the next few weeks, we lost 5 of our 8 lambs.  Three were killed by coyotes and two were born weak and couldn’t be saved.  Fortunately, three have survived — Samson, the young black ram, and his cousins Delilah (a black ewe) and Ezekial (Zeke), who resembles a highlander.  All this time, the chickens were doing fine — following their routine — which included free ranging during the day and being locked in their coop at night.

Then came Bloody Thursday – April 2.  Tammi returned from work and called saying she saw a dead chicken in the field.  As soon as I arrived home, we investigated and were sickened to find a dozen of our beauties lying dead — scattered about their paddock — all mostly or completely intact. It was like Jonestown — but with chickens.  A quick count showed only four alive — and another 3 or 4 missing.  Tammi called them in, but none came.  Sadly, we collected the bodies and made a pile of them in the compost.  We were down to four — two of which were Naked Necks, one Australorp, and one Americanauna.

The war with the coyotes began.  Those nights, immediately after the massacre, I waited quietly, in the wee hours, with my rifle as the vermin returned to collect their kills.  Twice, I was able to get off shots in their direction.  It was hard to tell, but I may have hit them.  Unfortunately, in the dark, at that range, I could not drop them.  But, they ran off.  And, for over a week, they did not return.

Then, one by one, in broad daylight, a chicken would disappear.  There were no circles of feathers — no evidence of eagles or owls.  One by one, we think, our remaining birds were nabbed in “grab-and-go” attacks by a coyote.  One by one, the Australorp, then the Americauana, and then the Naked Neck — leaving just one ugly Naked Neck — the ugliest of the uglies — so ugly, even a hungry coyote hadn’t killed her, yet.

Now she’s gone. We have no idea where. She never said goodbye. There was no evidence of her death. And, she left us one last brown egg a couple days ago. I just enjoyed it for breakfast, wondering what had come of her. I’d like to think she’s off free ranging like the hen in the Geico commercial.  Maybe she’ll text Tammi — sending some pictures of her travels — but so far, not a single selfie has come across.

No, we fear our last Naked Neck Turken was not “coyote ugly” after-all.  We think she was also nabbed like her sisters.

Now the coop is empty — quietly peaceful.  We just think about Tammi’s mother a lot more.

 

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Coyote attack!

Words cannot express the shock, dismay, and disgust we felt this afternoon when we realized at least 11 of our beautiful fancy chickens were slaughtered by coyotes — in broad daylight.  It was a beautiful warm sunny day.  Sometime between 8 and 5, a pair (most likely) of these feral canines jumped the fence and began killing indiscriminately. In the end, only four of our 20 birds could be found alive — and one of them was seriously wounded.  Tammi and I quietly picked up 11 carcasses — lovely hens who had until this day provided the most wonderful selection of delicious colored eggs.  Four or five are unaccounted for. Now, all but a few are gone.  Our only recourse is to use the dead chickens as bait to see if the coyotes come back this evening.  Then they will be pumped full of lead, if they can even be seen!

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Farm Animal Update!

These just in…

Two of the cats –Simon (the porch cat) and Momma Cat (a barn cat)

Our “fancy” chicks are growing!

Ginnie, Hermione and their mother Myrtle — nubian goats

Our sheep — Coal — the black ram and the flock of Scottish Highlands

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The chicks arrive — let the party begin!

The post office called at 6 am — didn’t even know they were up that early!   We were informed of the arrival of our box of chicks, and to pick them up ‘around back.’ After retrieving the day-old baby birds, we went to work setting up their initial brooder:

Chicks under the heat lamp.

(1) five foot baby pool — bright pink!

(1) bag of red cedar bedding

(1) bag of starter/grower feed

(1) water dispenser

(1) feeder

(1) heat lamp

In a matter of minutes the little ladies were dashing about and exploring their new confines.  It was only a matter of minutes until they discovered the food and water.

We had ordered 25 birds from the Hoffman Hatchery, but only received 20:

Delaware on the left, Americauna behind, Naked Neck Turken on the right

(5) Black Australorps

(5) Naked Neck Turkens

(5) Delawares

(5) Ameraucanas

courtesy of Hoffman Hatchery

BLACK AUSTRALORPS — Black with greenish sheen. Excellent layer of brown eggs. Very good layer even in hot weather. Dual-purpose bird. AMERICANAS — Multi-colored birds that are excellent layers of blue and green eggs. They have beards, muffs, and tailheads but not tufts. DELAWARES — Docile white bird which is more decorative than solid white birds. Good layers of brown eggs. NAKED NECK TURKENS — Very good layer of multi-colored eggs. No feathers on the neck and only half as many on the body.

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Spring … Finally!

Finally, the long cold nasty winter is over for good.  It held on well into April, with the temperature dropping into the 30s on some nights, while fighting to get into the 50s during the day.  Everything is now blooming, and the old Christian Baker Farm looks lovely.

It has been awhile since I have recounted the additions and substractions among the animals.  2012 was a difficult year, as we were getting started and learning “the ropes.” If you’ve been following the blog, you know we went from 25 leghorn chickens to zero in a relatively short time.  Most of this was by design — the rest by varmints!

Hermione and Ginnie

This May 14th, we will receive, from the Hoffman Hatchery in Gratz, PA, a shipment of 25 fancy chickens.  I don’t remember all of the varieties — but there are 5 different.  When they arrive, we will track their growth with you on this blog.

Regarding the sheep, we lost the big old ram “Rambo,” who succumbed to pneumonia after some unseasonably warm weather last February (2013).  He did manage to sire a number of lambs.  Our flock grew to 7, thanks to his exploits.  It would have been 9, but two of the lambs were to weak to survive.  They were all born last spring (2013).

Not long after the birth of the lambs, we adopted a young black ram lamb named Coal.  He is thriving, taking the place of Rambo, as he grows to full size.  Thus, the flock is now at 8 — all healthy and recently sheared.

As you know, we said goodbye to the old goats, Nellie and Twinx, who were in their late teens and suffering terribly from arthritis.  A few weeks ago, we added a doe goat, Myrtle, and her two baby daughters, Hermione and Ginnie.

Meanwhile, Gertie, our dog, is now full grown and a handful!

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And then there were none…

Bakaaaaawwwwwk!  Bakwaaaaaaak!  came the cry in the wee hours of the morning.  The sun was providing a hint of the day to come as I arose to the alarming cry from our last leghorn hen.  I knew it was not a good sound and quickly dressed.

“Something is after the chicken,” I said to Tammi, who was waking to my activity.

“Oh no! Not the last one!” she said.

I grabbed a flashlight and headed out the door.   I didn’t bother with the .22.  I figured the murdering varmint was long gone.  Sure enough, by the coop, there was a pile of white feathers, like someone had dumped out a pillow.  There was a trail leading to it from the pasture fence, and then a trail heading back toward the barn.  I followed the trail to the barn and looked around, shining the light in the stalls.  There was no sign of the chicken or the critter that took her away.

Thus ended the “25 Chicken Experiment” begun late last winter, before we moved.  One had died in a coop accident (see earlier entry). Eighteen were sold at a profit.  This left six that we allowed to free range since the spring.  Unfortunately, we lost about one a month, on average.

Plans for two additional chicken experiments are already underway — laying hens and meat chickens.  We will keep them separate on opposite sides of the coop.  I doubt we will try free range again — perhaps sticking with a fenced in paddock.  We will keep you posted!

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The End of Summer…

It has been awhile since our last post.  Much has happened!  First and foremost, the Lady Leghorns have been laying…

It all started one afternoon with a tiny pullet egg — about the size of a quarter.  Brandon found it and was very excited.  We decided to cook the egg and share in our bounty.  Everyone received about half a forkful of fried egg — “Best egg ever!” Brandon cried.

Since then, the production rate really picked up.  Through the weeks, we increased from one to two to three eggs a day.  We have now been consistently receiving five or six little gifts from our Ladies every day.  We’ve learned that six chickens are probably too many for our needs — at least during their peak production.  We have now been giving a few dozen eggs away here and there.

A huge distraction these last few months has been the facelift we’ve been giving the old place.  We have completely replaced the roof of the house with a metal roof resembling shake shingles.  This replaces asphalt shingles on the back of the house and ancient slate on the front.  The side and porch roofs were metal.  When this was peeled off, there were mid-19th century cedar shingles underneath.  It was a tragedy to have to remove them, but most were rotten and unusable.  The shake metal roof closely resembles the look of the cedar, after aging.

All of the brick has been repointed and a new concrete steps were poured in front.  The porch and stairs will be covered with slate-like stamped concrete in the next few weeks.  We can’t wait!

Our Homestead – nearing completion

On a sad note, our two elderly nubian goats, Twinx and Nellie (ages 16 and 14) were put down a few weeks ago.  Their arthritis had become very painful and their health was failing.  Neither was eating well and both were beginning to look emaciated.  It was a sad day, and the farm has felt empty since.  They had lived here a long time…

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Keine Hoffnung vor den Hinkler (No hope for the chickenman)

“Mommy!  Mommy! One of the chickens is dead!  The metal thing fell on it, Mommy!” came Brandon’s cry from the back porch as Tammi was putting the dishes away.  It had been a peaceful Tuesday morning up to that point.

Sure enough, upon inspection, the small ten-unit nesting box had come loose and fallen over.  Unfortunately, one of the lady leghorns was not quick enough to escape the sudden force from the metal contraption. It’s legs stuck out of the bottom like the similarly unfortunate Wicked Witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz.  Tammi lifted up the nesting box and put it in place. Brandon stooped down in front of the bird.

“It’s not moving, Mommy. It’s definitely dead,” proclaimed my stepson like a junior coroner at a murder scene.

“I know honey,” said Tammi. “It’s a shame.”

“Are you goin’ to tell Baron?” he asked.

“Let’s bury her first,” said Tammi.

The two solemnly carried the chicken down to the compost pile, dug a hole, and laid lady leghorn #25 to rest.  It probably looked like a scene out of the Sopranos, except that it was daytime rather than two in the morning. The call came to me at work a few minutes later.

“We lost a chicken this morning,” said my bride, solemnly.

“What?” said I, “Did something get in the coop?”  I was imaging a weasel wreaking havoc on our little ladies.

“No — it was crushed by the nesting box that tumbled over…,” she explained.

I was immediately struck by a complete sense of responsibility.  I had killed that chicken through my own ineptitude as a rookie farmer.  I had committed unintentional third-degree chicken-slaughter and was feeling every bit guilty.

“Damn!” said I, “Damn — it’s all my fault!”

Unfortunately, this little episode spooked our ladies again — that made three incidents in the last two weeks — the evil space robot chicken feeder, the township fireworks, and now the death of one of their own right before their eyes.  After catching the birds and returning them to the coop, we decided it was time to downsize.

“I am afraid we just have too many,” I said to my bride, convinced we needed to reduce our flock.

“Really?” said my lady in a tone only a wife can make when reminding her husband she had made a similar suggestion some time ago.

“Yep — put ’em on Craig’s List — $6 each or 2 for $10,” I ordered.

And so it was done — within a couple days 18 of the 24 remaining birds were sent packing for a cool return of $90 cash.  We decided to keep six — enough to provide for us and a little extra.

Tammi set about creating a fenced-in run outside the coop with a small paddock for the birds to “free-range.”  We also downsized the coop, pulling out the two nesting units and replacing them with a three-box wooden one from the barn.  We removed all of the old hay and replaced it.  We then caught the six birds in the barn and placed them in their transformed home.

“How many eggs have we gotten out of this?” I asked my bride as I was raking the chicken poop.

“Uh….none,” she said.

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Old Goats, a Baby Lamb and Spooked Chickens

Last week, while driving home from York with one of the now fixed feral cats, the feline couldn’t hold its bladder, leaving a small puddle of pungent liquid on the back bench of the F150 — despite it being adequately covered. The next morning, the odor was unbearable, forcing me to abandon the vehicle to the wife in a fit of rage. “You’re responsible!” said I, as if poor Tammi had been the one leaking in the back. I went to work angry, worried about how it was going to be cleaned.

Late in the morning, I became so worried it was going to be cleaned improperly, I called Tammi to no avail. So, I headed home to see what was up. I also needed to vacuum my car a bit to make it presentable to some coworkers who were to be lunch partners. As I arrived in the driveway, there was no F150 — no Tammi — and no Brandon (who was now off school for the summer). Perplexed, I set about cleaning my car when the large animal vet pulled into the driveway for his scheduled visit. Tammi had forgotten to cancel the meeting meant to review the health of our goats and sheep — especially the pregnant ewe.

I showed the doc around myself, apologizing for Tammi’s absence.  Fortunately, the doc was able to see Twinx and Nellie, the old goats. He was not able to see the sheep, who were out in the field. After a few minutes of examining teeth, hooves and front legs, the doc declared the pair as “very old” – especially Twinx. Apparently she had worn her teeth down to nothing. Both were diagnosed with arthritis and possibly encephalitis. Both were given less than a year to live. “I will prescribe some pain medication to keep them comfortable,” he said. I had no idea they were both in such horrible shape. “They both have lived well past their normal life expectancy” he continued. I was relieved to hear the prior owner had taken great care of them. I knew we needed to tell him of their pending demise.

I returned to work, not having seen Tammi or Brandon. The vet left not seeing the sheep – especially the pregnant ewe.

About an hour later, I received a call at work from Tammi.  She reported Brandon had been out in the field looking for the sheep and stumbled upon a newborn lamb with its mother!  All appeared well.  Tammi jumped to action to find some way to separate the mother and baby into a holding area to be sure they bonded. It turned out this was unnecessary – the bond was obviously strong and the mother was providing more than enough nourishment, though we did worry a bit on the second day.

We discussed the fact that dinner may just have been born. Given my mood about the cat odor and the missed vet appointment, I was still not happy. But, when I returned home that evening and saw Tammi pick up the newborn lamb, I knew another bond had just occurred. There was no way we could butcher the poor thing (I am talking about the lamb, not the wife). It was just too damned cute and my wife had found something else to care about. I realized, some day Tammi will be a wonderful grandmother. Her mothering instincts are amazing!

So, the talk around the farm and at the office was all about the baby lamb. Brandon had declared it was a boy and that he would name it. I suggested we wait until the sex is confirmed. In the meantime, if it is a young ram, my stepson has declared it to be Ram Bam — an appropriate monicker if he should be anything like his father.

That Saturday my parents dropped in to visit from Alabama. They looked about the farm and were enamored with the baby lamb. After some small talk and a tour, we headed out to an antique mall to look for some items and pass some time. One of the items I found for less than 20 dollars was an old metal chicken feeder painted with a Taneytown (Maryland) Feed Mill advertisement. It was a legitimate old antique with a lot of eye appeal. “What better to feed our chickens than an antique feeder!” I declared, confidently carrying it to the check out. “I am actually going to use this,” I said the the clerk with a smile.

When we got back to the farm, Dad, Tammi and I filled it and hung it in the coup. We then continued our visit. After Mom and Dad left, Tammi and I settled in for a movie — The Descendants.  We highly recommend the film, but about halfway through, there was a huge boom outside — almost like the Battle of Gettysburg was being relived in our front yard.  Poor Gertie, who had been laying asleep on the wood plank floor, jumped awake, startled and confused.

“What was that?” asked Tammi.

“Township fireworks!” I replied. We headed to the porch and watched a spectacular display of pyrotechnics lasting a good 20 minutes. “Impressive for Monroe Township!” I declared.

“Sure beats Harrisburg!” said Tammi. Both of us reflected on that comment — realizing it meant a lot more than just the fireworks.

After it was over, I quickly went to close the chicken coop and returned to the house for the remainder of the movie.

In the morning, I went out to retrieve the Sunday paper and open the coop. I was surprised to find all but three of the chickens out in the yard. “What the…?” I thought. I realized I had not checked them before I closed the door. I went inside to tell Tammi.

“The chickens were out all night!” I said. “They were probably spooked by the fireworks.”

Later that day, Tammi noticed none of the chickens were going in the coop — not even to feed.

“It wasn’t the fireworks, Baron,” she said to me. “It’s that damn antique feeder!”

“What?” said I in disbelief. “Get the f*ck out!”

We went to the coop and switched the familiar plastic feeder back in for the antique.

“Money well spent!” said the wife, sarcastically as I hid the blasted thing in the corner.

“I guess this metal contraption scared the hell out of them!” I said. “To them it probably looked like a robot from outer space!”

While the chickens did return to eat, they did not return to sleep. So, we were forced to catch them in the barn, where they were roosting and returned them to the coop. The next day, the same thing happened — chickens did not return. So, we caught them again and cooped them up — this time for three days. We’ll know the results soon…

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