Our Little Foghorn is Growing Up!

We're so proud of him!!! Our little Foghorn had his first grown-up cock-a-doodle-doo yesterday morning!!!

Of course, it was at 6am.

Chicken or Fish?

The chickens are constant entertainment. They peep, more than cluck. They run around their outdoor pen eating bugs and grubs. They cuddle together in one nesting box at night. They generally have a great time. But don't be fooled, these are not your normal, every day, run-of-the-mill chickens. They're actually piranhas.

You see, they love to eat fruits and veggies. Especially rotten or slightly bad fruits and veggies. But their all-time favourite is  honey-dew melons. They go insane for these things. The first time we gave them one, they ate it quickly. The second time we gave them one, they almost mugged Drew at the door of the coop. He opened the door and leaned in with the melon. Foghorn made a run for the rind and started to peck at it as soon as Drew had it within Foghorn's reach. Lucy was right behind him. Drew dropped down the rind and ran for cover. They were pecking and eating before it even hit the ground.

He came back the next day, and the fruit was completely gone. They had eaten it down to the bare end. So, when it comes to honeydew melons, our chickens are really fish.

Doggie training.

So, we've progressed with the training to the point that Sabine was allowed to sniff Dinah's bum. Sabine thought it was the BEST DAY EVER.....Dinah thought she had died and gone to hell.

More training tonight. This consists of me holding the cat and watching the hockey game while Drew watches the dog. I live a tough life. GO HABS!

:)

The dog can't mountain bike, but she loves single-track!

I went for a ride with the dog tonight. We take her with us when we ride off-road. She really loves to be out in the forest more than anything else in the world (well, maybe less than chasing the cats, but only marginally). Unfortunately, she isn't very fast or able to run for very long. So rides with her are more like toodles to look at the leaves.

Except when we get to singletrack.

It's the funniest thing. Imagine this....a dog trotting along, tongue hanging down to her knees, head hanging down, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. And then we turn into the next piece of singletrack. She perks up. She raises her head. She picks up her pace, her tongue rolls back into her mouth (well, mostly)....we're moving!

The best, though, is when we come to corners. She corners "like she's on rails". She takes off and gallops around corners, through S-turns, and out the other side! And then she stops, panting, exhausted, and back to her slow, lazy self. We continue, plodding along, until the next exciting piece of singletrack filled with corners.

Pasta Sauce

Now that you've been introduced to our "farm-ily" we get to the fun stuff....the stories!

My first story is my personal favourite. One day earlier this spring, I got a call at work from Andrew. "Hi," he said "can you stop at Pet Smart and get some skunk shampoo".

Oh no.

Apparently, what had happened was that he and Sabine had been out for a walk in Simcoe forest, which is about 300 metres to the north of us. Sabine, as she normally does, was running like a maniac through the forest, sniffing everything. Eventually, Drew noticed that she had been gone for an unusual amount of time. So he called, and he saw a head pop up in the distance, look at him, then disappear behind a hill. Then he saw it....she was shaking and rolling in something....something that was already dead...something that was black and white and dead all over....something that looked and smelled like a dead skunk.

Oh no.

So Drew called her and she eventually came running, trailing a streak of stink behind her that would have stopped a freight train. He plugged his nose, leashed her up, and took her home where he tied her to the telephone post and went to work. Step 1: dish soap, no dice. Step 2: dog soap, no dice. Step 3: what else...tomato juice, tomato juice was supposed to take out the skunk smell! He ran into the house...no tomato juice. Shoot. What else? And then, like manna from heaven, he saw it. A bottle with 2 litres of pasta sauce. Full. He grabbed it and ran outside and dumped it on the dog. While he worked it into her fur, she happily chomped on mushrooms (we like the extra chunky kind).

I wish I had pictures to share with you.

The pasta sauce actually worked, though I have subsequently learned that tomatoes (in any format) contain something that is really bad for dogs. So, no more pasta sauce or tomato juice......but we are making sure that we stay well stocked on skunk shampoo (which is also quite effective).

Until next time...

Foghorn and his Ladies

And, last but not least, is an introduction to our chickens. The rooster is Foghorn Leghorn and the hens are Miss Prissy, Princess Leia, Leila and one other name that sounds like "lay"......'cuz they lay eggs, right? Drew thinks this is HILARIOUS! I'll see if it sticks. They're young yet, so won't start laying until September, so I figure we have until then to decide on names.

I don't have any pictures yet because the camera is broken, but as soon as I do, I'll put them up. Miss Prissy and Leia are black with white specks. Leila and the other one are brown. Foghorn is white. Apparently, according to Drew, they're the stupidest animals we have yet. They go to sleep every night in the outdoor part of their coop, COMPLETELY exposed to predators. Drew has to shoo them inside every night when he goes out to close the door to the outdoor part of the coop. Apparently Foghorn isn't doing his job. We'll have to see if he matures into it.

Cass and Dinah

And finally....Cass and Dinah are my two cats. Cass is a short haired cat. I think he's a mix between a Russian Blue and a Siamese. He's about 11, and VERY talkative. Cass was a gift from my good friend Erica. When I first moved to Toronto, she came to visit. I had always wanted a cat of my own, so we went to the pound. We met Cass and he was perfect. She had to stand guard over him so another family didn't adopt him while I went to get the correct ID. It's a good thing, too, as he almsot got adopted by a family that wanted to name him "Smokey", relegating him to a life of boring suburban existence.

Dinah, on the other hand, is a CHUBBY orange tabby. She's a princess, a very clumsy princess, built a little like the Buddha. She enjoys rolling around and having her tummy rubbed. Unfortunately, she will often roll onto her back on something high, like a counter, and wriggle around while her tummy is being rubbed. Sometimes, she will wriggle right off the side. Of course, after she drops off the edge of whatever she was on, she'll get back to her feet, look at you with disdain (as if to say "of course, I MEANT to do that") and toddle off to find some food.

Food is the main source of Cass and Dinah's excitement, these days (well, other than staying away fromt he Dog). Dinah has a three alarm system for food. Alarm stage 1: there is less than an inch deep of food in their dish (a good 6" x 6" square), where it might be possible that they could run out of food in about 5 days. This requires a lot of meowing and twining around of feet. Alarm stage 2: there is less than 1cm deep of food in their dish, where it might be possible that they could run out of food in about 3 days. This requires more meowing and ensuring she's in your shadow constantly. Alarm stage 3: you can see a little bit of the bottom of the dish.This is pretty serious and requires her chasing us down the hallway every time we go towards the back of the house, where her dish is. In fact, you can tell how close Dinah is to total starvation by how fast and heavily she chases you down the hallway. There have been a few close calls, but I would not say that Dinah and Cass have ever gone hungry. Of course, if you listen to Dinah, there is always that possibility tomorrow.

RIP

Tonight, I should tell you about Molson. Molson was Drew's cat. He got her when he was in his early 20s, living in a house with a bunch of other guys. You can describe those years this way "there was a turtle pool in the sun room and a weekly bus trip to bars in Kingston". That's why the cat's name was Molson.

Molson was about 9 or so when Drew adopted her from the pound (all of our animals have been rescue animals). Drew decided he wanted a cat, went to the Quinte Humane Society and asked for the cat that had been there the longest. He was introduced to Molson, who had been there just over 3 years. She came home with him that night, and they became inseparable. She slept between his ankles every night from that one to the evening she passed away, 10 years later.

Molson was a holy terror. When Drew and I moved in together, she chased my two cats behind the fridge, even though she was significantly older than them. She ruled the roost, and they knew it. In fact, she would even growl at me if I was sitting in her chair. Of course, I just didn't listen. Molson's favourite things to do were to lie, prostrate, in the sun in the summer or to sleep on the warm slate floor, about 6 inches from the wood stove in the winter, as above. But don't be lulled into complacency by her looks....she was evil. The only living being that she loved was Drew, and she loved him very very much.

One night just over a year ago, Drew and I were almost asleep when I heard a commotion in the kitchen. I got out of bed to see her having a grand mal seisure on the floor. Though we raced her to the hospital, there was nothing we could do. Molson is buried in one of the sunniest patches of the earliest thawing gardens on the northern border of our property. We both miss her. Her grumpiness was endearing and she'll always have a big part of our hearts.

Chompie McChomperton

Sabine, our dog, is better known around our house as Chompie McChomperton.

Wait, before we go any further it's "sa-BEE-nah". Sabine is a black Lab cross. We're not sure exactly what the cross is. Some days we think it's a Newfie, some days we think it's a Border Collie, and some days we think it's a Tasmanian Devil.

Most of the comic relief (other than my messing up of common sayings like "all up in my jaw") starts with Sabine and her overwhelming urge to put her mouth on everything, and usually also roll in it. Especially if these things are dead. In fact, Sabine will wander around the house with her tongue half hanging out and her mouth half open, with her lower jaw pumping away, like she's already chewing something. She even does this in her sleep.

Now, Sabine is not an indescriminate chomper.....she has standards. If an item is currently, or once was breathing, it qualifies. If it's inannimate, she has no interest. Some of her favourites include her paws, our feet or elbows (though hastily discouraged) or her own tail....she truly has a gourmet tail. Her favourite pass-time is to chase her tail, catch it, and keep turning around in circles until she's so dizzy that she almost falls over. I've been trying to catch film of this for weeks, but my camera is broken. So, I'll just ask you to imagine a 60 pound Lab-like mutt, spinning herself dizzy trying to eat herself. Trust me, it's pretty funny.

Until next time!

It Just Got to be Too Much

OK, I've GOT to start this blog. I don't really have a choice. I just can't keep it in any longer.

I live with my "soon-to-be-husband," Drew, on about an acre of land just north of where "normal people" live, according to all of my friends in Toronto. We enjoy living in the country, where we have no cable (3G connectivity and satellite is how we stay connected), no municipal water, and no natural gas. We live across the road from a beef farm with about 150 cows and a bunch of crazy border collies. We've been here about 2 years and have amassed a bit of a zoo, here.....5 chickens, 2 cats, 2 humans, 1 dog. So far. Every morning I come to work and my colleagues ask what new stories I have about the animals....they are rarely disappointed.

Tonight, I came home to discover a tree frog sitting on our back porch steps (yes, I spent some time petting it; I was shocked it didn't jump away) and it struck me.....there are a lot of condo dwellers in the big smoke down south who don't get to experience this. So, I'm taking my family's comedy routine on the road.

I won't promise to write frequently, and I won't promise to write well, but I will promise that everything on this blog will be true, and will be hilarious to me. You get to make up your own mind. You're welcome along for the ride.