Speaking of Ducks

Bird Fever  Strikes Again                    

Indian Runner Ducks, originating in long ago Indonesia, appear caged in the photo above. I really liked watching our "Runners" as they zoomed about their pen. They looked like wine bottles, standing tall and elegant. They also provided numerous delicious eggs for baking-- especially cornbread. We also enjoyed those eggs fried, scrambled and as omlettes. I miss those runner ducks.

 They're used frequently to train sheepdogs for trials because they move as a flock; they moved as a flock the day they got into the green bean patch, and the crazy lady came out and chased them. The beans must have been delicious, there were only leafless twigs left when I found the gate  open. They laughed as they ran from the arm-waving maniac. Not funny, I thought at the time.  The resulting eggs had yolks so orange they made me chuckle. I got to eat those beans secondhand, so to speak.

Francois was a crested Runner. His pom-pom would bobble crazily as he ran. Crested birds are almost as good as feather footed chickens as far as I'm concerned. The crests range from a tuft of feathers to a tophat like Francois'. If his technique with the lady ducks had been better, he would have been a ladies' man, but he was just eager. Annoyingly eager, according to the females as they ran from him, shreiking duck epithets.

The "bird fever" calls me (see prior post). I must have ducks... Muscovy, spotted Magpie, Campbells, Pekins, and Runners.

No, I Didn't! Really! I Didn't! (yet)

Up front, I need to tell you these are chicks from a past order.  Maybe eighteen months or two years ago, OK? So, Art and Matthew, heave a mighty sigh of relief, I'm not hiding any chickens at this time. Or ducks. Or Guineas. Or geese, either.

Aren't they cute? Look at the grey one with feathers on it's feet; I love feather footed birds. How adorable they are as they speed around their baby enclosure, bright-eyed and alert. Remember how happy I get watching baby birds, guys?

Menfolk of HomePlace! Gird your loins and prepare for spring! The hatchery price list has arrived. Color plates of the birds are available online at http://www.ideal-poultry.com/.

Our current crew of chickens are laying again, its true, but what will happen next winter? We will be eggless again, feeding gluttinous chickens on sabbatical. I know, I picked them, but they were examples of breeds we didn't have. I knew they weren't known for their laying abilities.

Let's get some good layers, Please? Australorpes, Rhode Islands, Barred Rocks, Americaunas, Silver Dorkings? Something?

What about ducks? We have no ducks, either. I miss having geese, but it may be too late for them. Don't worry, I'll check online!

OMG. I have "bird fever" again. The source of contagion is that price list, sent in an innocuous white envelope. I've got it bad. I could be cured with an order of birds, though. Awww! Look at them in that brown shipping box....

Godzilla, Another Chicken of the Past

  Another walk down Memory Lane -- meet Godzilla, another porch chicken. A perfect name for her, as she had a similar temperament to that famous Japanese star of science fiction.

She had a convenient habit. Each morning she left an egg in her nest in this corner of the porch. Want an egg for breakfast? Open the door, lean out, and reach for that freshly laid, glowing brown egg. Some day it was so fresh the bloom (protective coating, applied just before egg is laid) hadn't even dried on it. Perfect eggs, at least AAA Grade, orangey egg yolk standing high and proud in the frying pan. Until one terrible morning....

I reached out and found her on her nest wearing a most curmudgeon-like look on her face. Not moving, she dared me to reach under her. Does she look friendly in the picture above? No, she had gone "broody", and she had plans for this egg and the subsequent ones. Each day she laid a new one, until she had a clutch of  ten. Those eggs were hers, and violence was the preferred method to deal with the kidnapper of her future children. She pecked like a coiled snake striking. Drawing blood made her happy. I could tell by the way she smacked her beak after she connected with my hand or wrist. She never lifted off that nest as long as I was visible.

She developed such an evil mood it was dangerous for the grandbabies to come to the door. The solution was a cage. How to move vicious and violent Godzilla? We waited until she went to sleep; while in chicken sleep-stupor, she and her nest were scooped up and placed into a cage on the porch.

Notice how "Spud" (Grandbaby Matthew) kept his hands out of her reach? Her chicks had hatched and she was Super Mom, able to reach through cage wire in a single strike. Banties are well known for their mothering, and Godzilla was a first-rate example. One very scary chicken. You might see a Coke bottle of water hung on the back of the cage; we couldn't reach in to water her, so she had to drink from a bunny bottle. Food was poured through the top.

This chick is not one of Godzilla's, I wouldn't have tried to take one away from her. It's from a hatchery order we made a year ago. This chick is the same size as Godzilla's hatchlings on day one. The coin is a quarter, to give some scale to the size of the chicks. Some even had the feathered legs like this one, as the rooster back then was feather-footed and feather-legged.

Sadly, free ranging porch chickens have a limited survival rate, even though they have strategies to avoid predators. She hated being caged, and slept high in a tree to avoid capture ever again. Godzilla came down and set on her next nest somewhere on the ground out in the woods or goat pasture. We never found her or the nest. I miss my morning egg from the porch, and I miss her, too.

Debut of Baby Bunnies 2010

Fifteen days old, eyes open wide and leaving the nest. Check the lower left corner for an escapee.

Three color patterns just as we hoped and bred for. The ones with black coats, light ears and light necklaces are silver marten, like their grandpa.

The white ones will resemble their momma, Scaredy Cat, once their adult color develops. ----->
The black ones take after their daddy.

Scaredy Cat is not pleased with our attentions, but allows us to hold the babies. Six kits, evenly divided among the three color patterns.

Look at those cute feet! Look at those pink eyes! And the adorable tiny ears! I'm so excited, you'd think I'd carried and birthed them myself!

Lula's kits are in their nest box, contained for another week perhaps, before they can climb out over the sides.  We pulled back their hay and fur covering to see them better. Usually the covering is moving up and down as the babies explore.

Lula is silver marten.Five kits in all, and three color patterns--a wonderful result for a first time momma.

The goal is to have 100 kits to sell by Easter. We ran out of bunnies last year; we don't want to disappoint anyone this time, especially ourselves!

Homeplace Peaceable Kingdom

 One of my favorite pictures popped up when I was checking my picture files. Cats and chickens can coexist at breakfast time. Especially if the cats have been tutored by the hen on the right (rust chest, black and white neck).

As kittens they thought they'd sneak up on her one balmy summer day. She beat them with her wings and pecked them until she was tired. Anything wearing fur was in danger that day. They developed deep-seated respect for chickens.

Chickens get first chance at the cat food, so extra dishes are must when serving breakfast on the porch. Cats must keep watch for fear a chicken might sneak up on them; you never know when a chicken will go crazy and attack again. Chickens are not concerned about cats or the idea they've got their head in a retired casserole dish used to cook poultry long ago. cat food is more delicious when you take it from cats.

After breakfast, everyone  leaves the porch to bask in the sun.

Through the actions of a single chicken who'd  had enough of silly kittens, peace still reigns at HomePlace. She's gone now, but I swear each generation of kittens has been told the story of the Avenging Chicken by their parents.  All of them keep a respectful distance from anything with wings and a beak. Chickens walk unmolested past our outside cats to this very day.

Hangman's Cooking! Come to an Event!

Hungry????

Authentic  chuckwagon food looks good, right?

We got the dates for the living history events from Hangman last night.

The picture  is a "sample" of his cooking from the event we held here in October. That man can COOK!

Hangman traveled up here the last time I went to  Katy. 
he  picked up a trailer load of heritage birds (and me) because Art was out of town. The event was held in May, and by noon I had hung my voluminous petticoat on a nearby bush to try to get rid of some of the 1800's period insulation. April sounds much better for outdoor events in Texas. We caused quite a stir at a Humble Sonic when we stopped for drinks on the way home after the event. You'd think folks had never seen a 16' trailer loaded down with chickens! Not to mention the two folks dressed in early Texas garb swilling limeades.

Stop by and see him for a taste if you're in the neighborhood of any of these events :

Feb. 13--Heritage Days at Jessee Jones Park, Humble, TX

April 10--Katy Folklife Festival at Katy (natch), TX

I've attended both these events in the past, and know you'd enjoy them if you're in the area. See early Texas life and learn about the life folks lead back then.

 Ask me about the "Dances With Fire" award I won at Jesse Jones in the late 1990's in our encampment. That's another living history story for another time.

Jellybean,the Spoiled

Pictured here with his beloved ice bottle, is Jellybean. Jelly has tantrums. Why? It's a function of his perceived status. He's been spoiled bythe Grandkids and believes he must eat first.

If he doesn't get his food first, he seizes his dish and throws it around the cage. The sound grates on the nerves like a metal trashcan kicked down the treet.

Hungry as he might be, food from a second, or worse yet, third turn is inedible. He ignores it, turns his back, and sulks. If he doesn't dump the pellets out, he waits until he is alone to eat it. He's a perpetual two year old. If he could speak, his favorite words would be "Mine" and "NO!" shouted at the top of his lungs.

As much as I'd like to blame the "Grands" for Jelly's spoiling, I can't completely. "Ohhhh, such a cute bunny," I'd say as he tossed around a dish nearly as big as himself. You'd think I'd know better, wouldn't you?