New Chicken Knowledge

I have both new knowledge about chickens as well as knowledge about my new chickens, so the ambiguity in the post title is appropriate (otherwise, if my friend Bill read my blog, he would pick on me about it). Where am I?

Yes! I’ve learned a few things about chickens in the past couple of days. For one, did you know they enjoy wading? At least our littlest Ancona, Henley, likes to. She’s been bullied by Clarence recently. In fact, I thought he’d killed her Saturday night after I brought the flock in to roost. I got her out of the outside roost and set her inside, so she’d be safe, and he jumped all over her, finally making her yell in the far corner of the hen house.

I’m not dead, just weary.

I got all upset, because I thought he’d killed her, but when I saw she was still breathing, I crawled in there (not easy) and got her out. I laid her in the pine shavings where the two remaining new pullets were, and hoped for the best.

Star (left) and Sapphire (right) are doing great.

I was thrilled to see her up and around the next morning. That evening, my sister and I went out to see the new ones and give everyone some water (discovering water EVERYWHERE because the hose had come undone, oops). But, I put the larger water holder in there, one with two basins, originally intended to feed and water dogs. No sooner did I set it down than Henley marched over and plopped in one of the basins. She then started drinking from the shallow indentation in there. Star and Sapphire were so surprised they had to come check her out. We laughed a lot.

Ahh, this siitz bath is perfect for a sore cloacha.

Trying Again with the Butter Series

Today, I headed back to the chicken vendor to get a replacement for the late Butternut. There, I learned even more new chicken knowledge, and also got two new pullets. Gene got me the biggest Welsummers in the bunch, so I hope that helps out. I know it is also helpful that it’s ten degrees cooler today than it was on Saturday.

I have buttery feet and a buttery neck. I’ll be Butternut2.

I got there while he was giving the young hens their vaccinations. I asked how they do it, so he showed me. They give them a little shot of something blue in each wing. That protects from a whole lot of bad chicken things. I’m glad of that. Then they put Ivermectin on them topically; just a tiny bit. That’s a wormer; we use it on the horses.

Now I wonder if I should be worming the chickens. Hmm. Research time.

Butterscotch would not hold still for a portrait, so you just get to see her happily foraging, as Henley looks on. Gertie and Springsteen are saying hi.

In any case, I now have Butternut2 and Buttercup. I guess if I get another Welsummer, it will be Butterscotch. I can’t tell these two apart yet, but I’ll work on it. The new ones immediately started eating and interacting with Star, Sapphire, and Henley. And Bruce crowed his head off at them. He can’t get to them for quite some time, though. They are still delicate teens.

Behind Star, who says, “cluck,” is a metal rooster that fell down in the big wind last night. It blew in cool air.

My Poor Nails!

Just a quick funny story (to me). Historical background:

I bit my nails until I was 14. Nothing could stop me; I was an anxious child, and this was one of my soothing behaviors. I really had me some ugly hands.

But, a week before high school started, I got it in my head that I could have a new start, not be the outcast I was in 8th grade, and look a bit better. So I managed to not bite my nails. I can remember being so proud in Algebra I class, when I could see some white at the ends of my nails. The next week, I painted my nails red.

I interrupt this story with a picture of the lamp I had to bring into my dungeon office, because the ceiling light has gotten so dim I can’t see. Note bonus mask holder!

And, most weeks for the ensuing many decades, I’ve painted my nails. I had them really, really long in high school and painted them all sorts of interesting ways (this was LONG before nail salons and professionals; it was all me).

Once I got to college and had to type a lot, the nails got a little shorter, but other than a few brief hiatuses, my quest for great nail polish and perfect nails never ended. I always acknowledged the irony that other than a love of sparkly eye shadow and long nails, I was quite the gender neutral dresser.

Actual Story?

Fast forward, and I’m still an eccentric dresser, but also with weird hair color. I hardly ever had professional nail applications; I can remember one in San Francisco in 2005…and a few toenail polish bonding events.

But, I got a hankering for something that lasted longer, and started going to the salon here in Cameron, where I really like the people and had a lot of fun. This blog has plenty of photos of my fanciful dip nails. I miss them.

Ah, so pretty.

When the coronavirus stuff started, the salons all closed. I also noticed that the tools they used on my nails had made them paper thin. Well, I thought, a great chance to let them heal a bit.

The salon opened back up, but because of my very visible position at our personal assistance service, and my own desire to stay away from people who are less careful than me, I haven’t been back (and I am so sorry for the nail salon people!).

Golden toes. These should be fine.

I found some Essie products that are really strong and last over a week on my fingers, and have been using them. Except last time, I discovered you need to pay attention to what you’re doing.

I put the top coat on as my base coat, and the base coat on top. Hmm, I thought it didn’t come out very shiny. Then, two days later, all my fingernail polish peeled off in sheets. What? I did NOT take a picture.

Base coat left. Top coat right. Memorize. I am not compensated for this photo.

Yep, that shiny top coat doesn’t stick well to bare nails. And that grippy base coat isn’t shiny.

In fact, the base coat is so grippy that it would stick to my socks when I wore my boots. I kept the toenails for another week, but wow am I happy to have changed to the right polish in the right order.

Nice bronze nails, all my own. And a bonus donkey.

You’d think that after doing my own nails for so long, I’d learn to read the bottle of clear polish and put on the right one! Sheesh!

What have I learned here? Give me 15 minutes and I can write a long blog post about almost anything. Back to work.