tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50933742024-03-13T01:02:12.687-04:00HensteethDown-home hentertainmentKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-56701764030031764542010-04-26T15:07:00.002-04:002010-04-26T15:08:06.159-04:00The Early Bird<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4mu7BlH-z5sLeSLdsR_CyaGL8gj7RPsVdMCKL-661DNa8NlH3l29RumAnYK6XvUboUcHgkwe96uEApyb_QuysTKRkUueHr9_2IuVwm-jAWNekskE6gMWb0fcqxwucXoMPS0vDg/s1600/chicken+baby.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4mu7BlH-z5sLeSLdsR_CyaGL8gj7RPsVdMCKL-661DNa8NlH3l29RumAnYK6XvUboUcHgkwe96uEApyb_QuysTKRkUueHr9_2IuVwm-jAWNekskE6gMWb0fcqxwucXoMPS0vDg/s400/chicken+baby.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464524910670513602" /></a><br />Chick out the first baby of the Spring!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-15267688855978006922010-04-21T15:48:00.012-04:002010-04-26T15:12:35.505-04:00This doesn't look good:It LOOKS like these chickens were forced to dig their own graves. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1-MNJntIFDFDq9CVHt_IPvBf9dDShJoRADcnz9mkI2Ly8_Hneal4wUO6FlMeePyIxAgmTTgI5r79cyDFXu6fSWdK5hR82mghiOLKh6hLyxPlDb3t-UfD7qMFawWg2shH2jsp_w/s1600/doesn't+look+good.jpg"></a><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje1-MNJntIFDFDq9CVHt_IPvBf9dDShJoRADcnz9mkI2Ly8_Hneal4wUO6FlMeePyIxAgmTTgI5r79cyDFXu6fSWdK5hR82mghiOLKh6hLyxPlDb3t-UfD7qMFawWg2shH2jsp_w/s320/doesn't+look+good.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462680185303607826" /> <br />But these hens are in seventh heaven, not regular heaven. They are reveling in the chance to dig giant craters, fling dust all around, and crush dirt into their molty feathers--that is, to take dust baths. They have excavated numerous bathtubs in what is supposed to be my garden, and the hardworking roosters are more than happy to keep an eye on them. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fhyWGc1Ib7wOOPfLbqIHrv11Y8iOACKltStQs8lZ5fqA0j2lADaJnwQMiQtvr8IlKh-FcE5SOBzI-hHZZTgJYqrqU4cmIRpi1Z-f3Qe-AgxqzPpUko50K9LiTf32bNeT3jdDyA/s1600/bathing+ladies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 337px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-fhyWGc1Ib7wOOPfLbqIHrv11Y8iOACKltStQs8lZ5fqA0j2lADaJnwQMiQtvr8IlKh-FcE5SOBzI-hHZZTgJYqrqU4cmIRpi1Z-f3Qe-AgxqzPpUko50K9LiTf32bNeT3jdDyA/s400/bathing+ladies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462690048184987538" /></a>"Those other hens can probably look out for themselves. I'd better station myself right here, where I can keep a close eye on the bathing beauties. Awwww yeah."Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-5104044399096846412010-04-18T20:54:00.011-04:002010-06-12T19:36:25.726-04:00What to do with Eggs: Taste the Happy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QrB9-mSjXfcvFEu16X8L78WMO2u7mSn9yGpNX4jHmqpGFeCHgzJNJxJUz6LhJT6SeYEHhlV2PbvMISAlbgEyiOTLNmVm0TgZ44ut6IABr-gS1r1LJFQwUpq1K1jqtC9eNgrE-Q/s1600/P4180005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QrB9-mSjXfcvFEu16X8L78WMO2u7mSn9yGpNX4jHmqpGFeCHgzJNJxJUz6LhJT6SeYEHhlV2PbvMISAlbgEyiOTLNmVm0TgZ44ut6IABr-gS1r1LJFQwUpq1K1jqtC9eNgrE-Q/s320/P4180005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461650766613553410" border="0" /></a><br />If there is a downside to a muffin, it is the literal downside--the underside--the muffin stump. Muffin tops are gloriously delicious; muffin stumps are merely acceptable. <br /><br />Enter the muffin top baking cups, sent to me by my brother Sam and his girlfriend Leslie. A thousand blessings upon their names: these cups allow you to bake only the delectable muffiny saucers. <br /><br />Here is this morning's crop of muffin tops, made with fresh strawberries. These babies are 100%, insanely delicious. They are like happy on a plate. They kick the stumps of regular muffins.<br /><br />Total eggs used: 1 whole egg, 1 yolk = 1.5 eggs.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1OAKPyJmd7IqKjVdBHp8uAe7jdBog1mOYOdDJ5PXnhXzkwM6psraOpJd5bL9FIF_zDb5SN49LOJFhCOIVXnSfHtLLhpm6CnKYRopyeyKgEZk16XFzuHIHFAFBkJN_sHQLImqHA/s1600/P4180002.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1OAKPyJmd7IqKjVdBHp8uAe7jdBog1mOYOdDJ5PXnhXzkwM6psraOpJd5bL9FIF_zDb5SN49LOJFhCOIVXnSfHtLLhpm6CnKYRopyeyKgEZk16XFzuHIHFAFBkJN_sHQLImqHA/s400/P4180002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461650905959671842" border="0" /></a><br />Mmmmm. Taste the happy!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-88266438615441160332010-04-16T13:12:00.014-04:002010-04-17T14:18:36.333-04:00Some are hens' teeth...some are MY teeth<span style="font-weight:bold;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAfxkO-67Zk45y3mKCIk19hu1fLb0C-Q5ChGk4jSAbQdRY15vAmOYbxTWUOoMJmDoWOrQLUOIf5t0DCPHFLeMSbNTF3lrvDWoqeSNhFFAdFAXM-FeIoEbZHSRnR0-IWm9SIPqFw/s1600/Buddy+Buster-type+collage.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 104px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDAfxkO-67Zk45y3mKCIk19hu1fLb0C-Q5ChGk4jSAbQdRY15vAmOYbxTWUOoMJmDoWOrQLUOIf5t0DCPHFLeMSbNTF3lrvDWoqeSNhFFAdFAXM-FeIoEbZHSRnR0-IWm9SIPqFw/s400/Buddy+Buster-type+collage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460784468465413842" /></a>Last weekend I was snuggling Uh-Oh Chicken, and the yellowish Ameraucana hen flew up to my shoulder. (Her name, once a seven-syllable clunker of a label, has now been shortened to 'Buddy.')<br /><br />So Buddy flew up and perched on my shoulder, where she became very interested in the shiny and tasty-looking things in my mouth. <br /><br />…That is, my teeth. <br /><br />I had not realized this, but my teeth are apparently reminiscent of corn. The more Buddy sat right by my face trying to look into my mouth and peck my teeth, the funnier it was--which exposed ever more teeth for her. Amy, instead of helping me, took these glamorous photos. They remind me of Buster Bluth from Arrested Development, during his <a href="http://www.tvloop.com/arrested-development/show/photos/top10/3" target="_blank">"unfortunate encounter in a photobooth"</a>.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-32296991623017020332010-01-30T08:14:00.021-05:002010-02-03T08:12:44.813-05:00Comes the time, comes the word.The word is "pwned," or "pwnd." According to Urban Dictionary, it "basically means...to be dominated by an opponent or situation, especially by some god-like or computer-like force." It is a voguish, Internet-based word, and lacks vowels to an unpronounceable extent. All of which council against its usage in general writing.<br /><br />But comes the time, comes the word. I <i>could</i> write that, yesterday, Molson was bested by an opponent or situation beyond his comprehension. But the most elegant way to express yesterday's events? Molson got PWNED.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxysDVQutZQ8BSMZH3b9y2AzmPQSywNxGRQI-GZ754sgAhVz3WylNy4jrfOPl4qRFxDjfriQS8iViZnJfPQDIUTBsPzjkgDiIljLNwv1g774hAp5-K46x77NJdXthA6F5Dupmog/s1600-h/molson+pwn3d.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxysDVQutZQ8BSMZH3b9y2AzmPQSywNxGRQI-GZ754sgAhVz3WylNy4jrfOPl4qRFxDjfriQS8iViZnJfPQDIUTBsPzjkgDiIljLNwv1g774hAp5-K46x77NJdXthA6F5Dupmog/s320/molson+pwn3d.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432527317307268834" border="0" /></a><br />Molson loves to do his egg eating trick--you know, the one where he <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/12/but-what-happens-when-you-find-egg-with.html" taraget="_blank">eats an egg</a>. He'd do it all day long if we let him. So we are careful never to leave him alone in a room with eggs. <br /><br />He, in turn, waits patiently to be left alone in a room with eggs. He knows it's going to happen sooner or later. And he's picky about his opportunities--he doesn't risk egg theft when we might hear him standing up on the counter, or if we might come back before he is through. But yesterday morning, when Amy got in the shower, Molson knew his time had come.<br /><br />There was an egg in a plastic produce bag on the counter. Molson took down the bag, and carefully removed the egg without damaging the bag. Then he went to bask in front of the wood stove with his ill-gotten treasure. Which is where Amy found him, sulky and confused, twenty minutes later. He had been working hard on this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSR4YhagFieN_lMzHAQQcx6lQ9ISNfaxne7f-TZjREKl2n2TJ4kSj25vvKTxLCFAVN1EJHiVDni3X5dTDqD9JVWQ84FkeVEF38jdC357nnMTfiWgeUstq5lAzB_Ap4b40yfLqnQ/s1600-h/pwn+3gg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHSR4YhagFieN_lMzHAQQcx6lQ9ISNfaxne7f-TZjREKl2n2TJ4kSj25vvKTxLCFAVN1EJHiVDni3X5dTDqD9JVWQ84FkeVEF38jdC357nnMTfiWgeUstq5lAzB_Ap4b40yfLqnQ/s400/pwn+3gg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432690388242549010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/12/how-to-trick-chicken.html" target="_blank">(remember these?)</a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" >PWNED!</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwczBIuen82Ih4cAasYMJtEDae48td5LCm8O17i0AiM5uWmMJyU4b0qiCll-oyzx5_tgtkHKvkfwPWOtkMKX_xdG78en_OfnhqJK_HrSnG_lNffAPgq4RopzdSy-DzymcNHEjGlA/s1600-h/Henry.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwczBIuen82Ih4cAasYMJtEDae48td5LCm8O17i0AiM5uWmMJyU4b0qiCll-oyzx5_tgtkHKvkfwPWOtkMKX_xdG78en_OfnhqJK_HrSnG_lNffAPgq4RopzdSy-DzymcNHEjGlA/s200/Henry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432693276766014690" border="0" /></a>PS: Come to think of it, that wooden egg fooled three completely different species yesterday. The chickens were fooled by it and laid eggs around it; the human egg collector was fooled by it and collected it with the real eggs, and then Molson was fooled so hard he was epically pwned. Of all domestic species, only the cat escaped being tricked by that egg... or, if it did fool him, he'll never tell.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-71550684684842433492010-01-25T19:31:00.004-05:002010-06-12T19:36:11.280-04:00Wait, is a rooster a chicken?Today on How Do Chickens Work: one of the most commonly-asked chicken questions, according to Amy. <br /><br />I was puzzled when Amy reported that people asked her this question, and averred that I had never heard it, not even once. The next day, I was asked it, too.<br /><br /><br /><br />Q: Can you eat roosters?<br /><br />A: ...Yes.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-70671574788168352922010-01-14T16:03:00.013-05:002010-02-09T15:50:49.214-05:00Where do chickens come from?Today on How Do Chickens Work: Where do chickens come from?<br /><br />Don't worry, this isn't The Talk. (You know, the one about the birds and the... birds.) No, this just tells you two specific locations from which baby chickens can be obtained:<br /><br />(1) The Post Office. These chickens are boxed up and mailed out from a hatchery the day they are born. They travel along in a Post Office truck, and the next morning, you wait anxiously for the Post Office's 5:30 a.m. notification that your chicks have arrived. When they call, you jam on your shoes and drive happily to the Post Office, bringing your towel like you learned from <i>The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy</i>*. <br /><br />You go behind the scenes at the pre-dawn Post Office, to an area filled with intriguing stacks of boxes and obscure machines and a desk with somebody's coffee and donut crumbs on a napkin. Your box of chickens is peeping audibly. You wrap the box up in your towel, so cold air doesn't get in the vent holes between P.O. and car, and you drive your chickens home.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Iiu6N8L9vrbmd84GIMeK5Gss9HDLN7ccxAu5-XCWmPQ6HOFCBg1vpIZiqla1r_ynFmbGHyv26x1qpjsDC3-qNalkbsn9fPDFRiZOIKIFnWH6MBToArhEWrP43AUPLEsOCwYSZA/s1600-h/box+o+eggs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Iiu6N8L9vrbmd84GIMeK5Gss9HDLN7ccxAu5-XCWmPQ6HOFCBg1vpIZiqla1r_ynFmbGHyv26x1qpjsDC3-qNalkbsn9fPDFRiZOIKIFnWH6MBToArhEWrP43AUPLEsOCwYSZA/s320/box+o+eggs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421500282384717698" /></a><span style="font-style:italic;">Inside the box, cuteness reaches dangerous levels as the fluffy chicks snuggle each other for warmth.</span><br /><br /><br />(2) From beneath a hen. When a hen sits crankily on her nest all day and bites you when you disturb her, she is broody. Broody hens lose all the feathers on their breasts and stomachs, so their warm and kind of sweaty-feeling skin is in direct contact with the eggs. It's like a sauna under there, or an armpit. The broody hen does not know whether the eggs she's sitting on are fertilized or not, and she doesn't care. She just feels driven to assemble a clutch of round things, and be left alone to sit on them. Just about the time she's sick of sitting on round things, if she's lucky, tiny little visitors appear beneath her. And she happily moves on to Mother Hen Mode.<br /><br />Craziest part of that scenario? The <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/07/one-meelion-feets.html" target="_blank">Mother Hen Mothership</a>. It's awesome!<br /><br /><br />* if you are a nerdKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-34086828058580797662010-01-05T20:12:00.009-05:002010-01-07T14:44:30.776-05:00I POOP ON YOUThe most dangerous angle from which to appreciate chickens:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPgYm0pj9QxfQOxbhKqfHYmZB0monjoGFhRjAZcFcYnDxaPyVontCFqY7SqVrBuBR3uRBeINJ2YbxQOArOGDNrlhh4gMFO8N7c3HQHJq6SmYiTVC6jW81Z9HJEFMC-bgJto_t6A/s1600-h/danger.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPgYm0pj9QxfQOxbhKqfHYmZB0monjoGFhRjAZcFcYnDxaPyVontCFqY7SqVrBuBR3uRBeINJ2YbxQOArOGDNrlhh4gMFO8N7c3HQHJq6SmYiTVC6jW81Z9HJEFMC-bgJto_t6A/s200/danger.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423428554278970450" border="0" /></a><i>from directly below.</i><br /></div>DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS CAMERA ANGLE AT HOME, OR SITUATE YOURSELF THUSLY.<br /><br />Things might go along smoothly for a couple years. You and the chickens might run a nice, clean little operation for quite some time. But sooner or later, if you spend time beneath the roosts... chickens gonna getcha.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-63993707392011656452009-12-31T15:44:00.014-05:002009-12-31T20:47:19.296-05:00What is THAT?Today on How Do Chickens Work: What is THAT weird part of the egg?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6vuSryf-tkpayI7KEVM4ISHDF06ThisEyVHOGapNAmWXyHMOWHZgt33gLsnQdmgGrm-1l2Ib8_-6jsXzdf3kTtM2WF1egYbQZ8gEZ8NqtSxvUZAuKQUTnd8wcE3s9rUuBf9gnw/s1600-h/egg+dish+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6vuSryf-tkpayI7KEVM4ISHDF06ThisEyVHOGapNAmWXyHMOWHZgt33gLsnQdmgGrm-1l2Ib8_-6jsXzdf3kTtM2WF1egYbQZ8gEZ8NqtSxvUZAuKQUTnd8wcE3s9rUuBf9gnw/s320/egg+dish+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421505125513533938" /></a>Here we have a bowlful of farm-fresh eggs. These eggs' shells had some irregularities that might have allowed bacteria inside the egg. So I'm about to make the world's most thoroughly-cooked scrambled eggs--any bacteria will surely die, but the eggs will have the consistency of cheap chewing gum after three hours of dedicated jawing. But the dogs think that's haute cuisine, so everybody wins.<br /><br />Before I beat these eggs and cooked them down to jaw-aching rubber, I took their picture so I could ask this question: Can you tell which eggs are fertilized? You may think the answer looks so obvious that you suspect a trick. You'd be right.<br /><br /><br />Here's the answer (you can click to enlarge):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydN50Gu5EJe6mrrT57iCc3dRQzbJ7us4c4jyMTKvM-MjtTAfx_NEhKjVPcR-TTIN9-9gsdacGathb2ghgK4No9gVhN0Bv2A9GlYQ1M3EYDX5FhpG2_yfZV3TRcslTloiWC4aA8Q/s1600-h/egg+dish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhydN50Gu5EJe6mrrT57iCc3dRQzbJ7us4c4jyMTKvM-MjtTAfx_NEhKjVPcR-TTIN9-9gsdacGathb2ghgK4No9gVhN0Bv2A9GlYQ1M3EYDX5FhpG2_yfZV3TRcslTloiWC4aA8Q/s400/egg+dish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421511708493146594" /></a><br />The pale little 'bull's eye' appears after the egg is fertilized. That is where the embryo would begin to develop, if it were going to. The much more obvious white globules are just an egg part; they are there whether the egg is fertilized or not.<br /><br />How's that for egg facts?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-72655091015055151242009-12-26T11:51:00.012-05:002010-01-14T18:50:16.651-05:00A magical Christmas (no chickens involved)What makes Christmas magical? Is it snow? Is it getting a Kong Wooba shaped like a fox? Well... those things are okay... but the most magical part of Christmas is receiving* and carefully consuming bags of Hanukkah gelt, without the use of opposable thumbs, right there on your in-laws' carpet. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEotOulhgmP5piK_gU8PtquqSKGDo5Xp42_jDxE-y6qCKKwOlKi4yaRe7qaqt_LgFUz7KqAX0rFiMdst5SFVWknBHN_z2i__P1PulYTYb3MOgC_cmLOKnbNOaxIRan0cPGpR3kg/s1600-h/photo(8).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEotOulhgmP5piK_gU8PtquqSKGDo5Xp42_jDxE-y6qCKKwOlKi4yaRe7qaqt_LgFUz7KqAX0rFiMdst5SFVWknBHN_z2i__P1PulYTYb3MOgC_cmLOKnbNOaxIRan0cPGpR3kg/s320/photo(8).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419592129101669954" /></a><br />Oh: this is all if you are a dog. <br /><br />Molson was pleased to have the chance to apply his <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/12/but-what-happens-when-you-find-egg-with.html" target="_blank">egg-eating skills</a> to interfaith holiday chocolate. His procedure of cracking and discarding the inedible shell, while carefully and thoroughly consuming the delectable interior, works equally well with gelt as with eggs. Click the picture to get a good close look at how clean he got those wrappers. Way to diversify, yet maintain high standards of quality.<br /><br />*Don't worry if someone else technically "received" it in their stocking. If you are left alone in a room with it, now you have received it.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-60962630469234446782009-12-22T13:31:00.017-05:002010-01-31T20:42:26.046-05:00How to trick a chicken, part two<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FfnmaeDGIyVDyMSgaTWoCiTaeTdVoFc3z8-FPME3NDiAiqg1gLt5Nf8fm_DHwgpmvAIlX5PU57uwy2axxF8jtBo_HnFgTZ8cpTRXcF0rUCXZTBZmrB6mvJbhX4aW8KX7fOx_uA/s1600-h/hell.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2FfnmaeDGIyVDyMSgaTWoCiTaeTdVoFc3z8-FPME3NDiAiqg1gLt5Nf8fm_DHwgpmvAIlX5PU57uwy2axxF8jtBo_HnFgTZ8cpTRXcF0rUCXZTBZmrB6mvJbhX4aW8KX7fOx_uA/s320/hell.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418131160700921474" /></a><br /><br />The chickens have a red lightbulb in their house that comes on at dusk--4:30 p.m.--and goes off again at 9:30 p.m. During those hours, lurid scarlet light spills from every window and splashes out across the snow. The chicken house looks like The Chicken House...OF HORROR! <br /><br />The light tricks the hens into laying eggs during fall and winter's shorter days (...OF HORROR!). I kind of remember from a behavioral endocrinology seminar I took many, many years ago that the light actually penetrates through birds' thin little birdie skulls and does its tricking directly on some surface area of the brain. Meaning a bird's actual brain has some kind of light receptors. Could this be true?? <br /><br />Options: <br />1. Go look it up. <br />2. Forget about it.<br />3. Design an experiment on egg production using a control group of birds and a group of birds that has to wear a thick bonnet (...OF HORROR!). (also: Design a thick bonnet, of horror, for birds.) <br /><br />I think I will ultimately choose option one. I will look it up in my old college textbook...OF ENDOCRINOLOGY!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-70172848511604521282009-12-19T09:10:00.015-05:002010-01-08T11:15:53.564-05:00How to make a* eggOnce people come to think of it, they have a ton of questions about how chickens make eggs. Can hens make eggs if there is no rooster? Do they make like five eggs a day, or one per week? <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkulKbUTgKxnuU_2X0xjW_m7bQ03lk32cHVTN3qAV2bt9_KChM8jJii5_26X8JGPRpDu2H2dyLmi_iaUEwizlCvXhS6KofcKV2ej2EXFdbSR_LYwqLa5Bly6OLXYKbGG7dAhO1w/s1600-h/egg+pile.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkulKbUTgKxnuU_2X0xjW_m7bQ03lk32cHVTN3qAV2bt9_KChM8jJii5_26X8JGPRpDu2H2dyLmi_iaUEwizlCvXhS6KofcKV2ej2EXFdbSR_LYwqLa5Bly6OLXYKbGG7dAhO1w/s320/egg+pile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416958156728941170" /></a><i>these five eggs: did they all pop out from the same hen in one exhausting day?</i><br /><br />The usual answer to the how-many-eggs question is something indigestible like: 2 hens will lay 3 eggs in 2 days. Something that, when you try to reduce it, leaves you with half a hen or half an egg. <br /><br />It takes a hen about a day or day and a half to produce and lay an egg. That's the rule of thumb. The actual rate varies, depending on stuff like breed (some breeds were created to just become big and fat and have little energy to spare for eggs) and--ESPECIALLY--time of year.<br /><br />"Time of year?", you say? <br /><br />Yes! Eggs are naturally a seasonal food, like oysters and Mallomars. Hens are set up to lay eggs most strongly in the spring and summer. As the days get shorter through the fall, their laying drops off precipitously. These days we can trick a chicken--I'll tell you how next time--so that these days everyone just eats eggs year-round, and we all think it's as natural as pie. <br /><br />Mmmmm, pie.<br /><br />OK, I have to go eat some pie, so I'll just tell you quickly: if there are no roosters around, hens lay unfertilized eggs. These are the kind of eggs you get at the grocery store. Hens who lay grocery store eggs have probably never seen a rooster in their entire lives. <br /><br /><br />*I know, I know: AN egg. But this is how the <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/07/chicken-talk.html" target="_blank">chickens say it</a>.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-85915309714535154942009-12-16T17:07:00.019-05:002009-12-31T16:31:20.575-05:00How to trick a chickenToday on How Do Chickens Work?: How (and why) to trick a chicken.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2HgKCkc_r_nUEZIdjoNb3jNLq-UYp-qz_9La9anQ26fPI7pxnYtFdAZ1lItw8Qe1-IjrihoIR1cVFWaa3RqYQgBilRFDkP_NxQuEqtv9ViEtQwRIe1tRwDmYUO084IRUa1WtQw/s1600-h/fake+eggs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2HgKCkc_r_nUEZIdjoNb3jNLq-UYp-qz_9La9anQ26fPI7pxnYtFdAZ1lItw8Qe1-IjrihoIR1cVFWaa3RqYQgBilRFDkP_NxQuEqtv9ViEtQwRIe1tRwDmYUO084IRUa1WtQw/s320/fake+eggs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415977085173017138" /></a><br />When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to trick a chicken, I recommend getting specially-produced fake eggs. I ordered some a few days ago, and today they came. <i>Yesss.</i> Step one of my tricky plan: complete.<br /><br />This afternoon I used the eggs to seed some nest boxes that I would LOVE for the chickens to use, but that the chickens are not currently using. Some chickens are instead putting their eggs in crazy places, like on the ledge, or under the chicken house, or in the stone wall on the other side of the fence: all places where I cannot reach. <br /><br />But here's what happens when the hens see a collection of wooden eggs in the nest boxes: "Oh," they think. "What a great place for a nest! Some wooden hen has accumulated a lot of eggs here already; this spot must be very safe. I think I'll put one in, too." And then they start laying their eggs in the nest boxes. Which is far more convenient for me, and saves Amy, with her healthy knees, from having to climb over the fence and back with eggs all the time.<br /><br />And, hold onto your hat... ready to get your word-nerd socks blown off? These fake eggs are NEST EGGS. Then the hens will add to them. That's where "nest egg" comes from!<br /><br />I have high hopes for these fake eggs. I used to try and trick the chickens with golf balls, but the chickens were not totally fooled. Instead of "Wow, what a perfect nesting site!", they seemed to think "Wow, these people are really bad at golf! This seems like a dangerous place to lay eggs."Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-60143239287376113772009-12-15T16:37:00.015-05:002010-01-08T11:19:45.076-05:00How do chickens work?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWL-aJD92zKeoRA8RQUNgWvaAcfXOmMlaKi0Qha-iKnQYMrWp1EWbub7rmgE4oczle9UutNILvFCLlH0zrW23et-iJq7Bkn-NvDemO4YRqE76Pv6lsW8WSgE0Ntx542DIEKH5og/s1600-h/eating.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipWL-aJD92zKeoRA8RQUNgWvaAcfXOmMlaKi0Qha-iKnQYMrWp1EWbub7rmgE4oczle9UutNILvFCLlH0zrW23et-iJq7Bkn-NvDemO4YRqE76Pv6lsW8WSgE0Ntx542DIEKH5og/s320/eating.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415589000212024066" /></a><br />Answer: A chicken is a food tube. Everyone knows that: 1. Food goes into the chicken. 2. Food comes out of the chicken. 3. The chicken itself is also food. It seems almost magic! Some of this Green Technology money should probably be spent studying chickens. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRJzSoBoR1XzzfuCqWePluK41wUwUEzkP6W81p1_oeQSmCo-jVygTZA4lGBYOr0whTVXtaP5SW4JMIr_xSepK2Pa79edxYjM0vjKurtdPRNHOCxYhcLz-c2TtuZtxwOP5x5tuCA/s1600-h/egg+basket.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRJzSoBoR1XzzfuCqWePluK41wUwUEzkP6W81p1_oeQSmCo-jVygTZA4lGBYOr0whTVXtaP5SW4JMIr_xSepK2Pa79edxYjM0vjKurtdPRNHOCxYhcLz-c2TtuZtxwOP5x5tuCA/s320/egg+basket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415589786021069138" /></a><br /><br />Yet, this answer is also puzzling. Are chickens the solution to the problem of a Perpetual Motion machine, which has tantalized scientists and thinkers for centuries? Also, how exactly do chickens make these eggs--do they need roosters? How can you tell which eggs are going to hatch into chicks, and which eggs are for eating? Are brown eggs healthier than white eggs? Do the chickens have personalities? Why are there different types of chickens? And those chickens that lay green eggs: am I making them up? <br /><br />With the exception of the first and last ones, these are the most common questions people ask me when, after a lifetime on the planet, they suddenly begin to consider chickens. (The last question they just wonder privately, giving me a suspicious look.) As a public service and for my own amusement, I will answer these questions. AND I will deliver additional information so surprising you would never had thought to ask. Here's a taste: Chicken babies? They love to stand on their moms.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgd0-pRfgijXXcBF7hgqBPIq5RPN3AkNpv-mL3Hz0J_14a5OEnxlKoYpkA7DS-ydydcThAd70hM9gHE8cnn12KZmPGcEPAWkAufGsEZhOH4Cil5CW1OLbIrCf_EZC20BqUoMr3w/s1600-h/stand+on+mom1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgd0-pRfgijXXcBF7hgqBPIq5RPN3AkNpv-mL3Hz0J_14a5OEnxlKoYpkA7DS-ydydcThAd70hM9gHE8cnn12KZmPGcEPAWkAufGsEZhOH4Cil5CW1OLbIrCf_EZC20BqUoMr3w/s320/stand+on+mom1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415589491894569474" /></a>They love it!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeqZ6GEmpLHYxRox5zIRcjqlOPjNe_UwSXv5B1rnc52hVLfwPntNbuaVYFJJwy5yCTN_P_WUrA1_upL8Lx8Mvl7lvhNvAepzxgxDy83mPF_vyl_jdupqkbuXEBuX-2-rtvRkEsA/s1600-h/stand+on+mom2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeqZ6GEmpLHYxRox5zIRcjqlOPjNe_UwSXv5B1rnc52hVLfwPntNbuaVYFJJwy5yCTN_P_WUrA1_upL8Lx8Mvl7lvhNvAepzxgxDy83mPF_vyl_jdupqkbuXEBuX-2-rtvRkEsA/s320/stand+on+mom2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415589633880123106" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-64732912648569766682009-12-09T10:24:00.016-05:002009-12-09T10:49:17.713-05:00Snow good?Or, as chickens think: 's no good. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8l1Oty1yL2adm0nKmqKSYXGDkLGDM8wslPHpGzr1L9L47Wq47KgwIL0qTr2sR1E5z7NUTLnRL35z3uFagsnyc9XEOKJfnOx2IcU-Gvl9DAnnE79F_TempbTESML6IEndPPmDgg/s1600-h/snow+hat.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK8l1Oty1yL2adm0nKmqKSYXGDkLGDM8wslPHpGzr1L9L47Wq47KgwIL0qTr2sR1E5z7NUTLnRL35z3uFagsnyc9XEOKJfnOx2IcU-Gvl9DAnnE79F_TempbTESML6IEndPPmDgg/s320/snow+hat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413259265319117330" /></a>About 5 inches of sleet and snow came down overnight, and when the chickens woke up this morning they couldn't believe how much the world sucked. We've all had mornings like that, so it stirred in me a rush of fellow-feeling. Poor horrified chickens. I tell you from experience: it will get better. It's ok. Maybe next time don't drink so much. ...wait, what was I talking about?<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsqfO3TcidiBaSVydKsp4gtNBi5cB3DYzRIWUhdhtz-ygOWoKbaeS45tOjIosfBEEP96iFRaQlVgMizG8BVkO_BuLKmTR7zSnZZeTF6SMYD9WuOZ8ATGiK6sFCobeeRTwRhAR6w/s1600-h/shut+the+door.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsqfO3TcidiBaSVydKsp4gtNBi5cB3DYzRIWUhdhtz-ygOWoKbaeS45tOjIosfBEEP96iFRaQlVgMizG8BVkO_BuLKmTR7zSnZZeTF6SMYD9WuOZ8ATGiK6sFCobeeRTwRhAR6w/s320/shut+the+door.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413260058861273490" /></a>On normal mornings, these chickens have flown into my head in their rush to get outside. This morning, they were all, "shut the door!"<br /><br /><br />These dudes: "I said shut it!"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1wAgopUznYtgtqJgvSGn8BYILdPv6z843tj2h1YWSpjepha3kVHnDdVHKlXoQdawjGgjPDiDs-lXMNYwSIfRMf_mhEDKleqtZa5tiC_68WNb6I-yQsNoy1eQbPK_DFZ8UqknHA/s1600-h/i+said+shut+it.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1wAgopUznYtgtqJgvSGn8BYILdPv6z843tj2h1YWSpjepha3kVHnDdVHKlXoQdawjGgjPDiDs-lXMNYwSIfRMf_mhEDKleqtZa5tiC_68WNb6I-yQsNoy1eQbPK_DFZ8UqknHA/s320/i+said+shut+it.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413263505888178786" /></a><br /><br />This little white roosty boy was the only one walking around in the snow. He is one of the three patience-testing Stupid Babies ("stupid babies!!"), so I suppose this is in character. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jhlz_f2qpcpxZSvTWr5Y1TkR_vG7Ml5XJ5qBKus4uhK5SjSJxUg9TROTRJ21eApHwvKJCr4Z2qg34lBqCVw6DWpytAd4NNBtOooF8eJ9lRMSJa2Guuam7dUbugBvdcgyKQMdBQ/s1600-h/ugh.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8jhlz_f2qpcpxZSvTWr5Y1TkR_vG7Ml5XJ5qBKus4uhK5SjSJxUg9TROTRJ21eApHwvKJCr4Z2qg34lBqCVw6DWpytAd4NNBtOooF8eJ9lRMSJa2Guuam7dUbugBvdcgyKQMdBQ/s320/ugh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413261238231220386" /></a>"Ugh, how did I get out here? Why is the world cold, and wet, and sticking to my feet? Where are my Stupid Baby friends? Ugh. This is awful. Ugh."Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-54241825543995872792009-12-06T19:16:00.006-05:002009-12-06T19:25:40.720-05:00IT FINALLY HAPPENED!Green egg! Green egg! Green egg!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRcOkM15hgBrm2Ew7WorflOOoRsQs8gN8Hk8FjrRZd0I4Uu00bEShZgu-vzuQdCrrdPH5x7vIYPk9QKZsiktzkPUF_ArZRDAdKVrLqkTr6uixKeu_loDdNHP8nx60aRYpBHEJow/s1600-h/PC060005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHRcOkM15hgBrm2Ew7WorflOOoRsQs8gN8Hk8FjrRZd0I4Uu00bEShZgu-vzuQdCrrdPH5x7vIYPk9QKZsiktzkPUF_ArZRDAdKVrLqkTr6uixKeu_loDdNHP8nx60aRYpBHEJow/s400/PC060005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412281821222686002" /></a><br /><br />Ever since this year's crop of young 'uns started producing their first eggs, I have been waiting on tenterhooks--TENTERHOOKS!--for the Ameraucanas' first pastel eggs. I have been checking, like, five times a day. Finally, today, hooray!! One of the Ameraucana hens has become a woman! (er, a hen woman...who makes eggs...) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxXp0onaSm6hMzCVCUIB3-mfIqT_5ceckSEtM2303MUKymv1ew9k9-Z2aFALm3_wHjtYrb5cW_Ke8i_68yAIFq9qrKu7gHhfPUkZaJSF6ioxk7271brCM0PfUyeoCbaxi4BWtNFw/s1600-h/PC060004.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxXp0onaSm6hMzCVCUIB3-mfIqT_5ceckSEtM2303MUKymv1ew9k9-Z2aFALm3_wHjtYrb5cW_Ke8i_68yAIFq9qrKu7gHhfPUkZaJSF6ioxk7271brCM0PfUyeoCbaxi4BWtNFw/s400/PC060004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412281732942923794" /></a><br />Green egg!!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-48345614112862933012009-12-04T15:48:00.009-05:002009-12-06T19:16:46.149-05:00But what happens when you find an egg with a crack in it?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXkkzK3rs3MihspWKif_VTfI07SYnmZWb4pB2WWq1mYo1yJB-vP4jg8Qk5EyLmlNx9Sk64fm7mNWrgxqKPoUu3BaISPiLC9u6VaCYzC1u-sCnwv2HdgDqzhX9ptZadxpR9_MC6A/s1600-h/egg+dog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXkkzK3rs3MihspWKif_VTfI07SYnmZWb4pB2WWq1mYo1yJB-vP4jg8Qk5EyLmlNx9Sk64fm7mNWrgxqKPoUu3BaISPiLC9u6VaCYzC1u-sCnwv2HdgDqzhX9ptZadxpR9_MC6A/s400/egg+dog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411485976939872386" /></a>Dog heaven.<br /><br />Molson has a 7-step procedure he follows to the letter when he is offered an egg:<br /><br />1. Take egg!<br />2. Find perfect place to lie down with egg.<br />3. Gingerly allow egg to roll from mouth. (Not too far!!!)<br />4. Using front teeth only: gently, gently, gently crack egg.<br />5. Now, quickly! Lap the goodness from inside.<br />6. Shell = gross. Leave the shell for some other sucker to clean up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwb3d2QcLEAYjlX6wGV3qWtOzINGEoAuaEQFnkxrsTPKFVG7HlgPMySRy99Zz914FJo4UJTBQTOeK55O5Urj9ZRoGVcfqjbrZ5BwopsHzaOtzfT93nI0UOBehiPTjx8cfWj_CqA/s1600-h/dog+belly.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwb3d2QcLEAYjlX6wGV3qWtOzINGEoAuaEQFnkxrsTPKFVG7HlgPMySRy99Zz914FJo4UJTBQTOeK55O5Urj9ZRoGVcfqjbrZ5BwopsHzaOtzfT93nI0UOBehiPTjx8cfWj_CqA/s320/dog+belly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411488258158671810" /></a><br />7. Point belly to the sky. Bask. <br /><br />Ahhhh.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-54978738859594182442009-11-27T20:32:00.018-05:002010-01-08T11:24:17.781-05:00How come Amy is magic and my hero.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvqCBxJbHPr5UpGFI8LGxBqMcT2aJiJBWYlgnNj3Udo3-oQiW9um55bZOi8QfM1yf9b1-vDJfcr1P6U7BJDdufQ5Lo4GXeO201HPrOC504wAmM8HwtvI2NUKDgDdrFLWe68vCNA/s1600/amy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvqCBxJbHPr5UpGFI8LGxBqMcT2aJiJBWYlgnNj3Udo3-oQiW9um55bZOi8QfM1yf9b1-vDJfcr1P6U7BJDdufQ5Lo4GXeO201HPrOC504wAmM8HwtvI2NUKDgDdrFLWe68vCNA/s200/amy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408962182894965154" /></a>The other evening I decided to move the <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/10/no-spring-chicken.html" target="_blank">not-spring-chickies</a> up to be with the grownup chickens. Their mother had notified me that it was time: she was sick of them, she explained, and was ready for them to be big chickens on their own. <br /><br />So at dusk, I grabbed the Mama and one baby, and moved them into the garden. Then I came back for a few more babies. Then a couple more. Soon I had moved all apparent babies. But as I counted the babies with the mama, I kept coming up with "six." Correct number of babies? Seven. "Hmmm," I thought. "We have minus-one babies." <br /><br />Wherever this singular baby was, I thought, it would be very upset. Chicken babies do not like to be alone in the great big world. But I couldn't find the missing baby anywhere, and I couldn't even hear any agitated peeping. Eventually, I took a closer look at a weird shadow in the baby enclosure. It turned out to be not a weird shadow, but a creepy surprise: the missing baby. It was still, and quiet, and kind of smashed into the corner closest to the garden.<br /><br />I got the total heebie-jeebies. I remembered my <a href="http://hensteeth.blogspot.com/2009/11/our-two-main-enemies-are-kittens-and.html" target="_blank">now-prophetic-seeming dream</a> in which a little chicken had been killed by a kitten. Had a kitten gotten into the baby chicken pen? That didn't make any sense. I paced around the gravel outside the baby pen in tight, agitated circles. I did NOT want to crawl in the baby pen and get the sad, creepy little body of the dead little chicken. On the other hand, someone had to do it. <br /><br />So I decided to see if Amy was awake from her nap.<br /><br />"Amy!" I said in relief when I found her barely awake and in the kitchen. "Something happened at the chickens." I made a couple more circles and gave a garbled explanation of events. She grabbed some gloves and came outside right away. <br /><br />That was really nice of her. But HERE is why she is magic and my hero: she crawled in to get the chicken baby, and she got it, and it was not dead. It wasn't even really hurt. It had just gotten its head stuck. That's right: I conscripted her to deal with a dead chicken on my behalf, and not only did she do it without raising a single objection, she crawled out of the pen and held out to me a living chicken. So: magic, and my hero.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZxSTg2OapzYjQoT1qGaiWVJGnPuqJfaZdkommz7ZQzWTzLoaViUnTPSM7voGxILwA_DpvwQ9Q5YxRQovO9IPCPGr2iM0Pcp2di60-YuPnc1AkU3hJ7PqU0M4R4Z_sjdOp7n4zw/s1600/photo(5).jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ZxSTg2OapzYjQoT1qGaiWVJGnPuqJfaZdkommz7ZQzWTzLoaViUnTPSM7voGxILwA_DpvwQ9Q5YxRQovO9IPCPGr2iM0Pcp2di60-YuPnc1AkU3hJ7PqU0M4R4Z_sjdOp7n4zw/s320/photo(5).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408969451548396914" /></a>Here the little chickens are, enjoying the big-chicken life on a tall, grownup-sized perch. Little baby Stuckface is on the extreme right, this time with her head stuck outside the photo frame. (Will she ever learn?) I banded her so I could keep an eye on her, and she is doing great.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-24039896639335859432009-11-22T07:55:00.007-05:002009-11-22T11:11:01.189-05:00Too many roos on the coop floor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4_zKmjlFBtHrT0nAVPdLbhtd24lXKy5_mPLACrX_7fUpnVVY6yaUrs8z_wlaXiNqIzv1PdFmQ9qv3-RNj_vd3xwPEjUi93voFGt0glatvY_q0vq-8_yOSHHT1d8oqu45ZTPROg/s1600/roo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4_zKmjlFBtHrT0nAVPdLbhtd24lXKy5_mPLACrX_7fUpnVVY6yaUrs8z_wlaXiNqIzv1PdFmQ9qv3-RNj_vd3xwPEjUi93voFGt0glatvY_q0vq-8_yOSHHT1d8oqu45ZTPROg/s400/roo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406934256313168610" /></a><br />This blog is maybe 95% chickens, and 5% Flight of the Conchords. I don't know why; it just happens. <br /><br />Even after a few sessions of rooster-eliminating, we still have waay too many roosters. Although not all of them are mature, about 33% of our chickens are roosters. Optimal percentage? Around 8%. It's going to be a surprising day for roosters sometime soon.<br /><br />In the meantime, here is a Flight of the Conchords song that pertains. Caution: The title is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-EN8dpAvBw" target="_blank">"Too Many D-cks on the Dance Floor</a>," and the expurgated word is not "ducks." It is extremely applicable. Sing it with me:<br />"Too much time on too many hands / Not enough ladies, too many mans..."Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-6953088177691032992009-11-04T17:27:00.006-05:002009-12-11T16:40:35.807-05:00Our two main enemies are kittens and hawks. Hawks and kittens.The other night I dreamed that the friendly little chickies had been killed...by kittens. I don't know why by kittens. In the dream, I held the broken body of my favorite little chickie, which was very sad and also creepy, the way dead things smaller than a breadbox are when you hold them. And then I woke up.<br /><br />Understandably, I was a little anxious when I let the chickies out after the sun rose later on that morning. But everyone was fine, cheeping and peeping as per usual. I had a talk with them as they came out: "Listen, kids. Kittens look cute, but they are fluffy, bloodthirsty killers. If you see one you should tell your mom." They were all, "Whatever, lady. I hope you brought delicious apple cores." And I was all, "OK, I did."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcbsA0mLBWmQ2IUqk-rVROjZwvuwjslXo_BqUIt9xnRbSdiYGQJFbqO9U4O1F9yjU40jJe3bp2ALI2DjaEKqQhAqsA82OHnzo8x_gqc8DebXYPo1wtcY0Jn4x4pQbKczqm_RVnA/s1600-h/field+trip.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcbsA0mLBWmQ2IUqk-rVROjZwvuwjslXo_BqUIt9xnRbSdiYGQJFbqO9U4O1F9yjU40jJe3bp2ALI2DjaEKqQhAqsA82OHnzo8x_gqc8DebXYPo1wtcY0Jn4x4pQbKczqm_RVnA/s320/field+trip.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400011306433608018" /></a>That evening, for a special treat, I let the mom and chickies out of their super-safe baby area. They were thrilled about all the new forage. I stayed with them so I could hustle them back in in case of hawks. But good fortune smiled on the chicken family, and they were threatened by neither of their natural predators. No hawks or kittens menaced the quiet gloaming.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-37571272894379643022009-11-03T17:30:00.003-05:002009-11-27T21:25:49.902-05:00Molting: It ain't for sissiesHere's a surprise fact about chicken keeping: when chickens get old enough (let's say...two), one day you look at them and they do not look so good. They seem disheveled. "I hope that chicken is okay," you say to yourself. And then a couple days later they look like this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLwZqTjQtA0IY5Guks_DLr9RF4TYfg2eQH1cQoLokA82NzVUyoN0oxAEYt_XkovzqFQmj4aPJ37vWvGQ9_gQbVnx0reOUPHHDXdUGSj0Q0ViLy7n9nv6UyagbsxVTBJMjRKTr9A/s1600-h/molt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFLwZqTjQtA0IY5Guks_DLr9RF4TYfg2eQH1cQoLokA82NzVUyoN0oxAEYt_XkovzqFQmj4aPJ37vWvGQ9_gQbVnx0reOUPHHDXdUGSj0Q0ViLy7n9nv6UyagbsxVTBJMjRKTr9A/s320/molt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399638398445581314" border="0"></a>Auggh!! And this isn't even the worst of it. A few days after this picture was taken, this hen was down to a number of feathers that was extremely close to zero. (let's say...two)<br /><br />At that point, the chicken looks horrible. Just...horrible. I don't know why she hangs on to those last two feathers, either. They don't keep her warm, they don't help her fly, and they certainly don't do much for her dignity. But they're all she has. Maybe I do understand--she's all cold and cranky and naked, and she looks ridiculous, and she just wants those two feathers. Okay.<br /><br />Eventually things get better. Here is that hen now, a few weeks later. Her new feathers are small but shiny and they cover her naked skin.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXTFLZn5APzhgPIx_83fcVTNxJd5Ru-M6V5QXjDWYbolDHDSrjj2fbFVmpzzDSs3p02W8lx2yDMzPzYZf4CT4IORggL1qIb9D6j05wm-HA0y6l1BA6U02t7Gz1A3IAI8Kdl0dgA/s1600-h/better.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXTFLZn5APzhgPIx_83fcVTNxJd5Ru-M6V5QXjDWYbolDHDSrjj2fbFVmpzzDSs3p02W8lx2yDMzPzYZf4CT4IORggL1qIb9D6j05wm-HA0y6l1BA6U02t7Gz1A3IAI8Kdl0dgA/s320/better.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399643596011386162" border="0"></a>"Phewf, glad that's over!" We all are.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-57349935413183006872009-10-31T08:49:00.003-04:002009-12-30T18:50:59.921-05:00Spring ChickenHere is one of those healthy Spring Chickens. This guy was one of the first to hatch, in late May, so he is about 5 months old. He has his dad's comb, the "rose comb" typical of Wyandottes, which is much more resistant to frostbite than a big single comb. Otherwise he looks a lot like his mama, a Brahma.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tBq-Qra_eMecjxYfRHqDsScKWRj4Ue8YX8AmR7QFij8E0z5ocuK2tSsY7e-JN1AT0ogNCkxQQE_TQHiUUuUW_vSnKZDrs6MwrzC9GCeTHdZPtHi1YPF-k8hiR1W7fvnjghUhaw/s1600-h/head+and+shoulders.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tBq-Qra_eMecjxYfRHqDsScKWRj4Ue8YX8AmR7QFij8E0z5ocuK2tSsY7e-JN1AT0ogNCkxQQE_TQHiUUuUW_vSnKZDrs6MwrzC9GCeTHdZPtHi1YPF-k8hiR1W7fvnjghUhaw/s320/head+and+shoulders.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398377262280858370" /></a> Look how tall he his--his shoulder comes halfway up the neck of the chicken standing next to him! He is also broad--broader than he looks in this photo. But Brahmas are "slow to mature," so he may be 6 months old or more when he attains his full size. (By contrast, industrial meat production birds reach 'slaughtering size' between 6 and 8 weeks (WEEKS!) of age. Such rapid growth is quite injurious to the chickens in question...see below for our 6 week old chicks, who are healthy and happy but not too substantial yet. A couple mouthfuls, tops.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-q9XdQ_dyQ0JZ3im0aQ2wPvojouDNagBq9YQGO0CDr9QxnA2OVtSP8Ul5Lo3H6OWwrl-v7DnuJebEKoYDwgy43jkwODKTGCSWwxB8-CW-VWgVHqWU3LClOkghjriU-ede7-Wag/s1600-h/legs.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8-q9XdQ_dyQ0JZ3im0aQ2wPvojouDNagBq9YQGO0CDr9QxnA2OVtSP8Ul5Lo3H6OWwrl-v7DnuJebEKoYDwgy43jkwODKTGCSWwxB8-CW-VWgVHqWU3LClOkghjriU-ede7-Wag/s200/legs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398378440617902034" /></a>A lot of this guy's height comes from his giant legs. Click on the photo to get a better look at those honkers. He looks almost like he's got stilts when he stands erect. I call him "Legs." He's big and handsome, and I feel affectionate towards his Brahma half. I feel hopeful that he will display all the watchful and generous qualities of a good roo, without being a jerk. I'd love to keep him in the flock. We will know pretty soon, as he is quickly becoming a man. He just got his crow last week. His crow was awful at first--it sounded like a chicken being deflated--but it is getting better with practice. C'mon Legs! Be a good rooster!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-49203221453845433352009-10-30T09:34:00.015-04:002009-11-04T18:17:58.511-05:00Chicken Talk IV: No Spring Chicken<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0jJZWnaj68EBzudBVz9LcVK30KddO98Bm73l9mr2Ds8jPo0WC9U1ZrKJMEPOxJl2v1TgCrZNL_1Td_vzESaZyIaYLXr9QypUG5Trqd-GP1CmW-rdHaCgPh4noWHR6bjGeuJlJQ/s1600-h/spotty+chick.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0jJZWnaj68EBzudBVz9LcVK30KddO98Bm73l9mr2Ds8jPo0WC9U1ZrKJMEPOxJl2v1TgCrZNL_1Td_vzESaZyIaYLXr9QypUG5Trqd-GP1CmW-rdHaCgPh4noWHR6bjGeuJlJQ/s320/spotty+chick.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398390536475644194" /></a><br />Here's another question of chicken talk: what does it mean to be "no spring chicken?" Well, chicks hatched in the spring are healthier and more vigorous than those hatched in the summer or early fall. Spring hatchlings have months to feast on the ample forage, and to feather out and grow healthy and strong before the weather turns cold. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0xZBmn9gC92BU8oKymPj0vqspSoZt3wkE8lCvTl96HoDaunnhcASrOt8SfMBs1W3-qMbHlqcoUS1SlKOfUEQxOyOjKjQdjtfGstvANRAzIeOZc8dHcl8Zzfxs7jiqC1gBafPrw/s1600-h/white+chick.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX0xZBmn9gC92BU8oKymPj0vqspSoZt3wkE8lCvTl96HoDaunnhcASrOt8SfMBs1W3-qMbHlqcoUS1SlKOfUEQxOyOjKjQdjtfGstvANRAzIeOZc8dHcl8Zzfxs7jiqC1gBafPrw/s320/white+chick.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398387751367515682" /></a>Our last batch of chicks are no spring chickens: they hatched the second week in September. Six weeks later, at the end of October, they are still kind of little dudes. Their wings and breasts and backs are fully feathered, and they even have teeny tailios, but they are still sporting their baby-chicken neckfuzz. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Their mama is still taking good care of them, snuggling them in a nest at night instead of roosting on a perch. Soon she will wash her hands (wings) of motherhood though, and start roosting on her own. With November breathing down their fuzzy little necks, I hope these little guys and their teeny feathers are big enough to take it.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4EPDt6RgAPyJ3UZv92UKUcJ0n7Z3BJ08NVc44hTT1Y5wIVwVl8v1WXq3M4XJpIAsCRdv3FNpM9_3d0v3sm8dxryR5oxkiX-abWwARzjWRhFCiPD7bhdyKD_fag4iyv3ZK4hMZA/s1600-h/fly+down.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4EPDt6RgAPyJ3UZv92UKUcJ0n7Z3BJ08NVc44hTT1Y5wIVwVl8v1WXq3M4XJpIAsCRdv3FNpM9_3d0v3sm8dxryR5oxkiX-abWwARzjWRhFCiPD7bhdyKD_fag4iyv3ZK4hMZA/s320/fly+down.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398388931212172946" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-16363181612635213822009-10-26T22:11:00.014-04:002009-11-22T11:07:55.730-05:00How far out are you, man?Meet the David Bowie Rooster.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fSGBrpmuyrB-s_y_i-6jROWn7fPfygbHOWmWA4p8ocL9oeepnZ0Z8Y-yU2hRz3E-Vm5exiU8diO0BobNFzv4lLRlHZO34JLS6sL7EPqK5ixGdwO1JVzdXEociYrYfEj7ejewJg/s1600-h/Bowie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fSGBrpmuyrB-s_y_i-6jROWn7fPfygbHOWmWA4p8ocL9oeepnZ0Z8Y-yU2hRz3E-Vm5exiU8diO0BobNFzv4lLRlHZO34JLS6sL7EPqK5ixGdwO1JVzdXEociYrYfEj7ejewJg/s320/Bowie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397097634152587586" /></a><br />He is an Ameraucana. The other three Ameraucana roosters look just like David Bowie Rooster, except they have large, full tails. They have the same kind of hair-band look going on with their rockin' white neck feathers, so I call them the Aerosmith roosters. David Bowie Rooster has no tail, because the Aerosmith roosters peck it off him. All four of them are kind of jerks.<br /><br />"Why have you named a chicken after David Bowie?" you may be wondering in horrified fascination. Three reasons. Firstly, I think of the human David Bowie as having big hair and then dwindling down to a tiny little ass, like this roo. Plus, this roo is not as a huge of a jerk; he's more quiet and watchful, as human David Bowie may or may not be. But mainly, I like the Flight of the Conchords song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4zV4pJ8MwM" target="_blank">"Bowie's in Space"</a>, so a fake version of human David Bowie is often on my mind, being sung about under my breath.<br /><br />Bowie's in... space...<br /><br />PS: don't get too attached to David Bowie Rooster. For the sake of the hens, there is going to be some serious Ameraucana-rooster-thinning soon.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5093374.post-81275577633508401182009-10-21T12:23:00.007-04:002009-10-21T12:41:41.967-04:00Do the hustle!Here is Uh-Oh Chicken, dancing her little heart out (PLEASE excuse my chicken-training outfit):<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6JOAeYlAI9u6yLncfvxIKGXEs98jCt9RF5OE77NxajfaM09f_KP4K6ZTMdgL6oX8VJgHH-9sq_R9P9apyjzjf87ADyIDVi4yY86k3sRTrcBBaYgX-TKi_TCBsLt4hNf6ySfvPQ/s1600-h/hustle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6JOAeYlAI9u6yLncfvxIKGXEs98jCt9RF5OE77NxajfaM09f_KP4K6ZTMdgL6oX8VJgHH-9sq_R9P9apyjzjf87ADyIDVi4yY86k3sRTrcBBaYgX-TKi_TCBsLt4hNf6ySfvPQ/s400/hustle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395090513139726690" /></a><br />Look at her go! She's dancing so fast she's blurry! OK, so you and I know that she is just turning in a circle to the right. But I'm telling her she's dancing.<br /><br />Though it's as exciting as ever (...) to practice clicker training on a chicken, we haven't done it in a while. Training took a hiatus while I went out to California last week. Then, when I got home again, I did something so distressing to my back that I couldn't bend over to pick up a chicken for a couple days. But now I'm better, and yesterday I went out to see what Uh-Oh Chicken remembered. We reviewed the entire shaping process, and I leveled off my criteria at 'turning halfway around.' But with a few more sessions she'll be turning and turning in the widening gyre. (...or is that falcons?)Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09729305620290429786noreply@blogger.com0