Aside from the fact that I've been running around like a you-know-what, the girls are laying eggs like crazy as the amount of daylight increases--even as I disrupt their lives with frequent traveling duties as educational chickens for workshops and presentations. As usual, I managed to put Fern through the ordeal recently of being stuck in a dog crate for a presentation while desperately in need of the nest box and some privacy. By the end, she was complaining at the top of her lungs and racing back-and-forth in the crate frantically.
Once we got home and opened the crate, she was out of there like shot and headed directly for the coop. Five minutes later, I had this in my hands:
Now, that is a big honking egg! No wonder she was trumpeting her discomfort all over the Expo Hall!
Poor Fern. We need to figure out a better system.
Ethel has been a cause for concern lately, thanks to some nasty swelling in the scales on her feet. In order to see what was going on, we brought her inside a few weeks ago to stand in a few inches of warm water in the bathtub. The intent was to drown the mites that we think are the problem, and to clean her feet to make everything easier to examine.
Yes, a chicken in the bathtub. Until the day that I have a wonderful, awesome, glorious utility sink in the garage (are you listening, Universe?), this is the only chicken-bathing option available, so you are just going to have to get past the chicken/tub oddity! And if you think it might be difficult to get clear pictures of your gals normally, consider a photo shoot in the bathroom! This is as good as it gets:
...and blurry or not, it still cracks me up.
Let me tell you about a chicken in a bathtub: Not. One. Peep.
Apparently when you are a biddy with sore feet, entirely out of your comfort zone and standing in wet stuff up to your tummy, it behooves you to shut your trap and just keep a close eye out for possible escape routes. Poor little Ethel stood there in her Epsom-salted water (after immediately pooping when her legs hit the water--I mean, we all know that warm water is awfully, er, relaxing....) silently looking at me a bit forlornly.
Guess what is way more endearing than a loud, struggling chicken: a silent, pitiful one! After letting her soak for about ten (anxious) minutes, I got out a soft toothbrush, some gentle, homemade soap, and a rag. Kneeling by the tub, with the shower curtain pulled shut around me, I tried to scrub softly all over her feet and legs, being especially careful around and under the swollen areas. Some of her scales have fallen off, while others are sticking almost straight out. I am a bad chicken mama for letting this go so long.
Once done with some initial cleaning, I wrapped her in a towel, turned her onto her back, and laid her in my lap with her feet closest to me. One at a time, I soaped her feet and legs up again, this time trying to get the soap under the lifted scales, in an effort to get at any mites or eggs that might still be underneath. I rinsed each foot in the sink, dried them, and then excessively slathered my herbal healing salve all over them. The oil should smother any remaining critters, and I hoped the herbs would help soothe and heal the area.
As a final insult, I got out the hair dryer and fluffed the wettest areas on her tummy and derriere. Jason was giggling, and so was I.
To her credit, Ethel handled all of this with calm resignation. Only once did she really struggle, and so I picked her up from my lap and held her to my chest, intending to merely restrain her and keep her from flapping out of the towel. To my surprise, she snuggled in and extended her neck, so that her little head was resting on my shoulder and her face was cuddled into my neck. Having been pretty fiercly focused on the strange task at hand, I was startled for a second--and then immediately had to acknowledge a tug on the ol' heartstrings. Poor traumatized thing. I soothed and petted her for a few minutes, soaking up this brief bonding moment with one of my more aloof girls. Then I got back to business, and she was calm and quiet the rest of the time.
If that weren't enough chicken news for you...I was also a foster-mama for a few days for eight little day-old fluffs last week. With great restraint, I managed to keep from falling completely in love with my charges, but it was getting awfully risky by the end. There is just very little in this world as sweet as a tiny chick taking an impromptu nap in the palm of your hand. Then you multiply that sweetness times eight, factor in all sorts of different colors of fluff...and you end up with a load of temptation in a rubbermaid tub in the spare bedroom!
Happily, these little ladies were a birthday present for my young friend Teagan, and so they quickly made their final move to her house after all children were tucked into bed the night before the Big Day. Now they are twice as big and already requiring a larger brooder....
SO, things are going well at the little homestead in the city. My work is also going well, and my stress-level is improving for the most part. Since we've had the warmest March ever, I've been making a priority out of carving a little time away from my desk and meetings in order to spend a while in the yard each day, if only to sit in the sun, inhale the fragrant air, and glory in the springtime beauty all around us. I hope you are able to do the same!
Happy Spring!!
