It is breeding season here on the farm, dammit!

It is inevitable.  When Spring comes and I go into the goose house and see the pile of straw in the corner, I know what will follow.  There is an egg in there.  I bring it in the house.  Next day, the same thing happens.  I have 2 hens.  Only 2, but they both lay.  I can tell by the size of the egg who did it.  Now, if them laying an egg and me stealing it was the end of it, that would be fine.  But it is not.  They have beady little eyes and they have tiny little brains, but they do not miss a damn thing.  They see me go in and even though I hide the egg I get that day, they make the connection.

If I leave the eggs, the old African Gray hen will set, because that dainty little white Emiden is sure as hell not going to spend her time in that hot goose house setting on a bunch of eggs.  If that was all that occurred it might be different, but unfortunately it is not.  Across the fence is a pile of old discarded tires and in those tires lives Mr. and Mrs. Snake and 85 of the baby snakes that never left home and have no intentions of ever doing so.  The goal of these 87 snakes is to devour the eggs under the little gray goose.  Her goal is to not let that happen.  I do not know just what my part in all of this is, but I know it is very hard on my heart!

Last night the little gray hen and her big white Emiden lover were the last to go in.  He was standing between me and his beloved to protect her.  When a goose goes into defense mode, they lower their head and shake their tail feathers.  I have never actually been attacked by one of my geese and I am pretty sure they are more afraid of me then I am afraid of them.  I have actually held and petted the little gray hen, so that big white Emiden does not scare me one bit.  Well, not much anyway.

When I open the door and see the snake on the nest and the little gray goose cowering in the corner, I immediately go into "Kill that bastard" mode.  In my heart, all I really want to do is get the hell out of there and pretend I do not know what is going on.  But primal feelings deep inside me make it imperative that I "protect the nest".  And since I am living in my lala land world most of the time, I do not carry a weapon.  So I throw a rock at it.  Snakes apparently have straight vision that goes out each side of their head, and the rock goes unseen.  Screaming does not help because I am pretty sure snakes are deaf.  So I grab what ever is handy.  In most cases it is something like a garden rake.  Ever try to get a 6 foot bull snake to curl up on a garden rake?  It is not happening.

This is an old picture that shows how the flock protects the babies.

This picture is Bret having killed one of the smaller snakes and disposing of the remains.  Now back in Kansas when I was growing up, if a farmer shot a coyote, he hung it on the fence.  I always heard that was so the coyotes would not come around lest they end up on the fence.  This particular year there were 3 big bull snakes (at least I hope like hell they were bullsnakes) in my back yard not 15 feet from my back door.  I have given up gardening because they hide under the squash leaves and scare the living bejeezus out of me.

So while you are comfy in your little town house or wherever you call home, think about this old lady out here fighting off horny geese, rabid skunks, 5 inch grasshoppers. egg eating snakes.  And there is no hope just because winter comes.  That drives the spiders and centipedes inside.  Every summer, I plan on moving into town, but then I have a second thought that beats hell out of that first thought.  So here I set, again.  My words for today are just this:

Brighten the corner where you are!

And back to the Stroh place.

Mother had a very big yellow Tom cat.  As with all cats, he was very independent and just did pretty much as he wanted to do.  One day he must have wanted to have his head chopped off because he showed up at the door with one of mother's baby chicken's in his mouth.  Since my brother Jake was the only male present at the time the job was given to him.  Mother handed him the cat, an axe and sent him off to the "forest".  Now the forest was a grove of about 8 trees that was about 50 feet behind the chicken house.  Jake was probably about 9 years old at the time.  You need to remember that times were different back then.  We never were allowed to be "kids" because the mere act of survival made us grow up really fast.  In society today if a 9 year old kid chopped the head off of a cat he would immediately be put into therapy because he had all the makings of a serial killer.  Back then that tiny chicken was part of our cycle of life and no cat was going to snack on mother's chickens that would someday lay eggs for us to eat, hatch more chickens and eventually end up in the stew pot to feed the whole family Chicken and Noodles.  The cat, by killing the baby chicken,  proved he was a chicken killer and that does not work on a farm.  So, off they went to the forest and only one of them came back.

The chicken house was also an attraction to either a Fox or a Weasel.  Dad patched the chicken house fairly regularly, but what ever was getting in was not to be deterred.  One night him and one of his cronies hid in the chicken house and when the varmit surfaced we heard the blast from the shotgun.  That problem was solved, but then there was that gaping hole in the chicken house.  That is another story!

Have you ever gathered eggs?  In the Spring when the chickens first start to lay, several of the old hens also begin ti "set".  The setting is the fine art of laying eggs in a nest and setting on them until the hatch.  The hen has to turn them every day, keep them an even temperature, and be the most patient creature in the world because this takes 28 days setting time.  Did you ever hear the saying "Mad as an old wet hen?"   I used to throw some of my biggest fits when Mother would tell me to go gather the eggs.  She would tell me which nests had the "setting hens" on them and I did not gather those eggs.

I would walk into the hen house and several of the nests would have eggs in them where the hens had laid early that morning and then gone off in search of bugs, seeds or whatever.  Those were easy to gather because I just had to pick the eggs up and put them in my basket, but some of the nest's had chickens on them.  I knew which ones not to bother, but I was afraid of those beady eyed chickens any way.  I was terrified of the "setting hens" because they were very protective and I had much respect for thier mothering skills.  I gave them a very wide berth.  However, I was supposed to reach under the hens who were setting on nests that were not designated as nest boxes.  These are the hens that really scared me.  You do know that hens have sharp beaks, right?  Thier beak is thier sole means of defense.  So I would slowly extend my hand while the hen watched my hand with those beady eyes.  Time would stand still as my hand got slowly closer to her body setting on the nest.  If she inclined her head even the smallest bit, I would run screaming from the hen house.  Usually it would scare her so bad she left the nest in fright.  In that case I could go back and get those eggs.  I do not recall if a hen ever pecked me, but in my mind I left the hen house a bloodied mass every time.  And mother knew when I left the house exactly how many eggs I should have when I came back.  Mothers' are intuitive little creatures.  Too few eggs meant I had not done my job.  Too many and one of the last hatching had started laying.

We had a cow also.  Well, as I recall we had several cows and horses.  The horses were used to pull the plow, combine, trailer, or what ever.  Dad did managed to get himself drunk once when he went to Hutch to the sale.  He came home with a Shetland Pony for us kids.  That was like a dream come true.  A pony of our own for us to ride.  OMG!  That was the meanest damned horse I have ever laid eyes on in my life!  That thing came out of the trailer kicking and snorting and I sought the solace of the chicken house!  Scared me out of 4 years growth.  His name was Star.

Star had a pen and went into the barn at night for shelter.  Star had been ours for about a week when friends came by to see our new horse.  The friends had kids our age.  So Jake and a couple of the boys went out to see Star.  By this time it was dark.  How they came up with the next part of the adventure is beyond me, but Jake decided to crawl across the enclosure and scare the horse!  (There was talk of actually "goosing him with a stick" which I am sure is closer to what happened then these boys let on to Mother.)  To make a long story short, Star did not take to well to whatever happened and in typical horse fashion, kicked backwards.  His hoof connected with Jake's right cheek and sent him flying into the fence.  Much scrambling as the friends loaded Jake into thier car and took him and mother to Hutchinson to the emergency room.  It was a very long night.  Jake carried that scar to his grave.  It was about 4 inches long and a 2 inch scar across the bottom.  It looked like a "J" so he told everyone it was his initial.

Star was probably with us for 12-15 years and I do not recall anyone ever riding him.  Well, Josephine might have, but not me.  He died when we were at the Strong Street house.  Dad called the "dead animal wagon" which in those days, made house calls.  They probably still do.  The man pulled out a long length of cable, wrapped it around Star's neck, turned on the wench and drug him across the yard, up the ramp and into the back of the big truck on top of whatever else was in there, and drove away.  Fond memories?  Not for me.

Will try to get back soon and finish off the Stroh house.  Or maybe not.  A lot happened there.

My insane mother goose!

I have a goose that has been with me since Bret was 9 years old.  All she has ever wanted to do was have babies.  True, she has hatched out a few.  I am not sure of the lineage since she is an African Gray and she has hatched several Imidens and one Imiden/gray cross.  That one had a white "v" across it's chest so I know it was a mix.  See, the way this works is the hens lay and somebody sets on them until they hatch.  Everything in the nest belongs to the whole flock.  They do not know that they are different.  This is mama goose with her "husband".  They have been together for 4 or 5 years.  I think he was her "step son" which means she hatched the egg, but did not lay it.

Now, here is her on the nest.  I took this early one morning.

Here is the nest with her NOT on it.  She has dragged almost all of the straw into this one corner. 

What you need to know is that she has been setting on this nest for 2 months.  It takes 28 days to hatch an egg.   I go in and pet her every morning and tell her what a good job she is doing.  Then she goes out to get a drink of water and visit the rest of the flock.  And every morning I rake her nest and then pile it back up.  There is no egg in there.  There was an egg or two early on which I ate.  But now there is no egg and there has not been an egg for almost 2 months.  But still she comes back in and sets all day and I want you to know we have had a lot of 100 ° days, so I am thinking this is one determined goose!  Someone said I should let her have babies, but I am trying to get rid of my flock that eats high dollar grain and does not pay me back.  I used to think I would sell the babies, but that did not happen!  So, I am sorry, but no goslings here on South Road.

I do not know how long geese live, but when Goosey is gone the rest will be shipped out to someone who wants geese.  I managed to set here and let the fox eat 37 ducks before I shipped the last two out to a pond in Pueblo West, but I am not going to be so lenient with the geese.  I have already lost 3 and am down to 10.  If I were younger I might do the baby thing again, but I am not and doesn't look like I will be getting younger any time soon.  Goosey is the last of my original flock.  I had three.  One had neurological problems and the neighbor man took care of him.  The the Muscovee Ducks murdered the other male.  So Goosey had to go many months by herself before Lyn moved into town and blessed me with a pair of African Grays,  a pair of Imidens, and a pair of Chinese.

So that is where we are now.  10 geese, 2 dogs and 1 cat and then I can move into town.  Probably going to be staying at the State Hospital, if you get my drift!