Poppycock and Sunshine

The adventures of a crazy girl trying to live a quiet, slower Provincial lifestyle in an hectic, fast paced, American society.

Houstin, we have a problem July 13, 2008

Filed under: Chickens, organic gardening, and the like....,The Clan — May-May Golly @ 1:30 pm
Tags: , ,

PROBLEM:

Watch the following video and listen closely. You will see what I’m referring to.

What is a girl to do? I don’t think I can even have one within city limits! Oh dear. I shall keep you posted.

 

Brace yourself for YET ANOTHER CHICKEN STORY:

So monday night Daniel and I went down to the martini bar to meet Mitch, my friend recently returned from London. You remember Mitch, right? Anyways. Daniel and I had a few drinks, yada yada and then came home. We were pretty tired, so to bedfordshire we went. I remember thinking to myself that I really should put the chickens away, as I drifted off into an alcohol induced blissful sleep. I awoke at 5 am to screaming chickens. I bolted up, threw on my robe and ran for the door. Eva, errrr, MR. Gardner was running around with Fran-fran screaming his head off. And who do I see in the midst of the chaos? Charlie! Somehow in the midst of everything, we managed to FORGET Charlie and leave him outside all night!! I know! He’s such a quiet little guy, he’s hard to keep track of sometimes (in my defense). His muzzle and head was completely covered in burrs and he was having the time of his life chasing the chickens around. I had to check them, of course, to make sure he didn’t hurt them. This is the dog that went straight for the throat the first time he was introduced to them. He is a terrier, after all. At this point Daniel came out, roused by all the rucous that was taking place outside his home. At this point I also realized that Greta was NO WHERE to be found. Oh NO!!! Not Greta!! I run around the yard in my blue robe, calling and calling her. I looked for blood and feathers, fearing the worst. Nothing. No feathers, no blood around Charlie’s mouth. You can imagine my dismay. Finally Daniel insists that I come back to bed, since I had already secured the other two in the shed. He would “track” her in the morning. Don’t worry, he says, he’s really good at tracking animals. He’ll find her in the morning. You mean you’ll find her poor mutilated body, I lament loudly. Poooor poor Greta!!! I reluctantly return to my bed and the guilt washes over me. I cry and cry and through the tears I say “I never should have gotten chickens!! I am a BAAD chicken mommy!! Whhhyyy did he have to kill Greta?? *sob* If he was going to kill one of the chickens, why couldn’t it have been the rooster??” *wiping the snot that is now running from my nose* Daniel, as he hugs me tightly: “Babe, you are really the cutest thing on two legs.” Me, still sobbing: “I’m a baaad mommy!!” The need to sleep finally set in and the sobbing subsided. At 9, Daniel got up to let the puppies out. I heard him open the door, shue the dogs back, and go outside. I waited with bated breath, hoping that maybe Greta was out there, still alive!! I waited…. and I waited… and I waited. Finally Daniel came storming back in, came in to the room and proclaimed loudly “I am NOT going to chase that damn chicken around in my underwear anymore! *pointing outside* YOU go get her!!” Yay!!!! Greta wasn’t dead!! I ran outside to greet my sweet chicken, who I then chased around the yard in hopes of catching her. She was not wanting to be caught. And really, who can blame her, after such a traumatic evening. I finally caught her and held her tight, stroking her lovely feathers, whispering my apologies in her lovely little chicken ear. Daniel had earlier said something about dogs seeking out the weakest and dumbest of the bunch, and I couldn’t understand, for Greta is the SMARTEST of the bunch. Well wouldn’t you know, I was right. That darn little chicken ran into the bushes when Charlie went on his rampage and HID. She wasn’t going to come out for nothing and no one, not until she was absolutely sure the coast was clear. I have to tell you though, I still chuckle when I think of tall Daniel out there in his underwear, sleep mask still on his head, running around the yard making smoochy and clucking noises to the chicken! God, that man must love me. 

 

 

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6 Responses to “Houstin, we have a problem”

  1. pam Says:

    “YOUR neighbour” said my husband with disgust at 3 a.m.”is out in OUR garden, bending over in the herb patch, with no knickers on. You might want to deal with that. I feel ill” . “I’ll deal with it at a civilized hour I muttered”. Turns out the elderly woman’s cat had got into our guinea pig cage in the early hours, and she was trying to patch up a bit of havoc. She and I were both hen people, but we used to leave it to her sister to deal with the roosters.

  2. Victorea Says:

    I love that you include the bits about snot running down your face and other unlovliness that we all experience. It makes it real and more relatable. It makes me love you more (is that possible?).

  3. Brandy Says:

    Ohhhhhh Lordie–I am afraid that the cockscomb is quite obvious in retrospect, isn’t it. Whoo-boy. Well… time to write up an ad on craigslist, I guess, huh? That’s terrible, I’m so sorry one of them has the wrong bits, dearest! I hope it all turns out okay.

  4. Jennifer Says:

    So, I have to admit that I wondered in earlier pictures why the one chicken’s comb was so pronounced when the others weren’t. I’m afraid that dispite my chicken raising childhood, I chalked it up to them being different types of chickens…. “rooster” didn’t even cross my mind until I saw the title of your video. When I read, “LISTEN”, I said to myself, “she’s got a rooster.”
    Did Daniel tell you about Fluffy? (I think that was the name). Well, we had gotten our very first group of chickens, and I picked out one and named it Fluffy. Turned out to be a rooster and one of the nasty-mean ones to boot (I think he was pissed about his sissy name).

  5. edwina Says:

    Such a funny story! I am soon to get some chickens as part of my grand plan to eat from the garden (the eggs that is not the hens). Hopefully I will find a hen as smart as Greta.

    I will enjoy keeping watch on your Glogging!!

    best wishes

    Edwina from Tasmania

  6. Tink Says:

    Faith,
    I think when I was a kid there was a similar episode on Greenacres to what you describe here….well, maybe they did not slumber from too many martinis and you would need a buffont hair doo and perfect makeup…just recalling one of my favorite family shows of childhood via you and Dan’s great story. 🙂
    Hugs,
    Rhonda (Cindy’s bff)
    ps check out my new blog site….it’s all Cindy’s fault!


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