The Farm House

Opening day

2012-01-28T15:52:00.000-08:00

One hundred ninety-nine years ago today a novel called Pride and Prejudice written "by a lady" was published.

But today is about the park inspired by Jasper, the Jack Russell terrier who needed a place to run.

This morning the entry path looked like this--

and the park looked like this.

Then people and dogs began checking in and getting their KDOG stickers.

They listened to speeches (some more interested than others.)

They waited.

The mayor cut the ribbon and everyone started filing in.

There would be four Airedales today plus that Wolfhound on the right.

People and dogs spread out, waiting for the signal to unleash.

And they're off!

The Airedales found each other. That's Miro in the middle. Being an elderly lady of much dignity and less enthusiasm about strangers, Alanis stayed home today.

Where's Miro?

Waiting for the next trip to the park.

Dog park opening day

2012-01-28T09:32:00.000-08:00

Today's the official opening for the first Kirkland off-leash dog park, called Jasper's Dog Park after the Jack Russell terrier who inspired the effort to begin work on the park. Photos coming later!

Not the fun kind of snow

2012-01-20T10:21:00.000-08:00

More than a quarter million people lost power during this week's snow and ice storms, mostly due to ice-covered trees and branches falling on power lines. It'll be days before all get their power back. I feel lucky not to be among them, especially given the number of trees around my house.

I took these photos today after the thaw started. That dark brown line at the bottom is my six-foot fence. Evergreen branches are designed to bend downwards under a load of snow. Then the snow slides off, unless it turns to ice. As temperatures fluctuated all week and we were bombarded with snow and balls of freezing rain, the layers of snow and ice alternated.

Those horizontal branches are the bamboo that normally stands straight.

Little chicken house on the prairie. Several times I dug pathways to get there without my boots' filling with snow.

Private freeway.

Private potty corner.

And in the middle of the storm--

--one hibiscus blossom on my eleven-and-a-half year old plant, named The Death Plant because it was given to me when my husband died.

Verbless Vendsday

2012-01-18T09:56:00.000-08:00

Not a day for chickens.

A day for dogs.

Some dogs.

And then...

2012-01-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

Winter doldrums

2012-01-14T10:46:00.000-08:00

News casts and newspapers were quite excited about a first winter snowfall this weekend, but all that's happening is rain and dark skies. There's only one thing to do.

We're being threatened with grooming, so we plan to stay as inert as possible.

Mom opened the door to the chicken pen but the chickens wouldn't go out to the yard because even the bugs will be napping. The girls stayed inside the hutch that they use as a day lounge. (They lack artistic sensibilities.)

Maewest stayed in the mini-barn.

Nobody wants to go outside today.

So what happened less than an hour later?

That's not snow so much as freezing rain and hail, so slick that a neighbor could barely get up the slight incline from our road to the main road.

We'll see if the slop turns into something dogs can play in.

Workout

2012-01-07T11:18:00.000-08:00

When you are doing calisthenics at home and a dog licks your bare feet and you collapse in laughter, does that count as part of the workout?

Happy new year

2011-12-31T12:25:00.000-08:00

We treasure the moment, don't worry about tomorrow, and know the best days are full of walks and treats.
Happy new year from Miro (l) and Alanis (r).

Building a dog park

2011-12-28T10:56:00.000-08:00

The city donated the land; KDOG provided the fundraising and labor.

Not open yet because...

We finally finished spreading the rest of Mt. Hog Fuel (ground cover) over the park. The backhoe dumped a large load of hog fuel over the fence. Volunteers spread it by hand with rakes and pitchforks. We were able to purchase the hog fuel with the help of a Petco Foundation grant.

We spread hog fuel over the large dog area.

And the small dog area.

The view.

The wetland outside the park. The park itself was choked with invasive blackberries.

The 5 stages of holiday baking

2011-12-22T18:16:00.000-08:00

1. Denial
I’ll just buzz around the kitchen and get this done in no time since I’m not baking anything complicated.

2. Anger
Miró, quit licking the counter! Alanis, get your nose out of the cupboard!

3. Bargaining
Here, take these chewies and go outside.

4. Depression
You're done already? Gurg.

5. Acceptance

You want to smear your nose all over the spice jars? Fine, they’re closed. If you get burned from hovering so close to the oven, I don’t care; it’s your own fault. Do what you want. I’m sure no one will notice a little dog hair in their cookies.

Resistance is futile.

Santa's reindeer found mauled

2011-12-19T11:11:00.000-08:00

The suspect feigns sleep.

The good, the bad and the yummy

2011-12-16T18:32:00.000-08:00

Good for you.

Pea vines with plum sauce. I got the camera too close to the steam, hence the foggy photo.

The bad.

Three dog beds dragged into the room; toys tossed randomly out of toy box.

The yummy. Duh.

Whole wheat bread with crunchy millet and sesame seeds. Oatmeal butterscotch cookies.

Steal cookies? Could dogs with these innocent faces steal cookies? (All we had to do was hang around--she drops things.)

Miro's latest work garners Smithsonian attention

2011-12-10T14:32:00.000-08:00

Above is a photo of one of Miró’s (Airecraft Carries Me Home) recent works. It's not surprising that art this innovative, yet classic should gain attention in a national forum. Reading the analysis below, you will be struck by how well the critic understands dog art when he writes of taking "color by the throat."

In the December issue of Smithsonian magazine, critic and painter Peter Plagens writes that the artist "took color by the throat, but his chroma is not French or perfumey, like that associated with Monet or Matisse. It's stark, harsh... but not unpleasant." He notes that the orange and blue colors found in the work "register not only as beautiful, but as awesome in the literal, looking-out-at-the-Grand-Canyon sense of the word." He compares the work to a three-act play: "There's an introduction, with that orange 'character' getting your attention; a white-on-gray transition to the black, meat-of-the-matter second act; then a white climax [the bone of the matter, so to speak] followed by a black [and blue] denouement."

Plagens concludes, "The effect is a stunning first notice, a rhythmic horizontal read and then a deep plunge into the [installation's] inner structure."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

The artist at work.

(Go to the embedded Smithsonian link for more--not to mention real--information.)

Support for the dog park

2011-12-03T17:55:00.000-08:00

Miro and I and fellow volunteer Wendy spent this morning at the Kirkland Petco store talking up the new dog park that will open in the new year. The Petco Foundation is the park's biggest donor, with the local store helping out by giving us table space. We were right next to a small-dog adoption event.

There were little dogs in pens, little dogs barking and squeaking, little dogs patrolling the aisles on leash....

Wendy volunteers for Greyhound Rescue and has two greyhounds but she likes little dogs, too.

She tried to put a Santa hat on Miro for a photo but he wriggled so much that this was as far as we got. He's just not a hat guy.

He did work hard to represent the kind of active dog that will enjoy an off-leash dog park.

Our table wasn't far from Creatures of Interest.

The ferrets tumbled over each other in play, then settled for a nap. Miro sniffed around their plexi-glass enclosure but seemed to know they were off-limits.

This is an adult guinea pig. The ears of the babies stand upright. They're the ultimate in cuteness at any age.

We raised a few dollars and gathered a few signatures for the KDOG mailing list. Funny thing, though. People didn't seem enthusiastic about coming out to help spread groundcover at the park next week.

Socializing is such hard work.

Slug attack!

2011-11-29T18:02:00.000-08:00

Even here in Slug Central, nobody expects to see slugs at the end of November and nobody expects to see them in the house, ever. But there one was this morning in the laundry room, far from the door, making its way quickly (for a slug) toward my feet. To protect your delicate sensibilities, I did not take a photo*. This was not a huge slug, a little wider than a pencil and about 4" long, but it was not one of the pill-sized infants that have been known to hitch a ride on an Airedale's fuzzy foot. How and when had it gotten in through the back door? Did it slip through a crack in search of warmer habitat? Had it been lurking for weeks, coming out during the night to feast on any morsels the parrots had dropped?

Since I always keep plastic newspaper sleeves beside the back door for easy poop-scooping on walks, I scooped up the slug and put it in the trash, feeling somewhat guilty at condemning it to a nasty death by suffocation. But it was a slug and it was on my territory.

*She didn't take a photo because she was hopping around going, "Eeeewwww, eewww, eeewww," and she had to get the poor, innocent slug out of sight asap.--Yr friend, Miro.

Some are thankful for leftovers

2011-11-25T10:22:00.000-08:00

2009.

2011

And I am thankful for dogs.

An uneasy houseguest

2011-11-20T11:57:00.000-08:00

A year or so ago my niece rescued an underweight, scraggly toy Poodle and named her Quinn. At a family gathering, Quinn impressed us with the confident and friendly way she moved among a new group of strangers in a new setting. Unfortunately, Quinn proved to have the worst case of separation anxiety any of us had ever encountered. The neighbors complained about Quinn's barking all day when my niece was at work and Quinn was licking he paws raw. My niece hired a behaviorist, tried medications, everything she could think of; but nothing helped.

My mother agreed to accept the dog into her home where she already had an elderly Great Dane. With a large dog to hero-worship and a person who was home most of the time, Quinn settled down as an affectionate companion until she decided that one of the basement rooms was her own, private bathroom. The basement had to be closed off and Quinn had to be watched.

Then my mother had knee surgery and had to spend some time convalescing away from home. The Great Dane, who has his own special needs, went to stay with a family he had boarded with before. I brought Quinn to my house. She threw up on the way over.

I know nothing about small dogs. She walked on a Flexi-lead, a thing any Airedale would simply laugh at. She wore a tiny pink jacket. She could not be thumped on the shoulder like an Airedale. Her kibble was tiny! How much was she supposed to eat? She was accustomed to free-feeding but no dog can do that in my house. What about trimming those bangs so that she could see?

When Miro first met her at my mother's house last summer, the two had run in joyful circles around and around the yard. Here, she didn't want to run or play, though she did follow Miro outside. It turned out, however, that Quinn does not like girls. Every time Alanis approached, she growled in her little-dog falsetto voice. If Alanis got closer than Quinn wanted, she snapped and even tried to bite. Fortunately Alanis reacted with a "what the heck is that?" expression while I was able to pick Quinn up and carry her away.

In the house I had to keep Quinn in an exercise pen when I couldn't watch her. She and Alanis might eventually settle but they would need to be supervised until that happened. Quinn could not be trusted not to pee somewhere. (That was another thing about a small dog: she could pee and I might not find the spot until the smell grew ripe.) Yet when Quinn was in the pen downstairs while I worked in my office upstairs, she barked incessantly.

This was not going to be a good situation. So Quinn went off to board near my niece where she'd be with people all day and my niece could check on her.

A small dog is definitely more portable than an Airedale. You can carry a little one everywhere in a sling or pack. Some, you can even stick in your purse and smuggle into a restaurant if it will be quiet. A dog ranging from 40 to 65 lbs. brings more dirt into the house than a small one. It eats more. If it's an Airedale, it has BIG teeth that shred toys. While not massive, their poop is large enough to find easily in the yard. If they pee on the carpet, you'll see the spot. My kind of dog.

Miró attends the theatre and flirts with a lady

2011-11-14T19:42:00.000-08:00

Sunday was Dogs' Night Out at the Seattle Repertory Theatre for a performance of Sylvia, a comedy about a stray dog who turns out to be everything a man wants but nothing his wife wants. The woman who plays Sylvia is bark-perfect, right down to the kick-spot. You can see a video of her preparation for the part here.

Miro and I entered the lobby in a hurry because he is always in a hurry. Despite close quarters and mass confusion, every dog behaved excellently.

At the entry.

A rare clear space.

We found our aisle seats in the fifth row and immediately bounced up again because I spotted a familiar black and tan shape three rows ahead. We had to greet them.

Ever been to a children's theatre production? This audience was quieter and better behaved, though there was one white fluff-ball going eeeeeee through half the first act and again in the second. Most dogs settled down to be petted and have a nap. Except for the terriers.

How to watch a play. Rub head on person’s thighs. Get the darn halter off. Stand in aisle to be scratched behind the ears. Lie down to chew on dental rawhide chew. Sit up. Why is the lab in row 2 wagging his tail? Head rub. Back to the chew. Lie down across the aisle. Sit up. Hey, chairs are moving across the stage. But they’re not coming over here. Watch people walk onto the stage. Boooring. They’re paying no attention to Me. Saunter up the aisle. Get pulled back. Sit. Eye the lady across the aisle. She eyes back and smiles. Hey! Hey! Pet me. Did somebody say, “Shush?” Spoil sport. Sigh. Lie down for more chewing. Sprawl diagonally across the aisle. Roll onto back and grin, waiting for the laugh.

Outside for intermission.

Seattle icon. I had to take all photos one-handed in the dark.

Refreshment bar. Miro refuses to drink out of bowls other dogs have used.

Meeting the biggest theatre fan.

Miro's big moment. Toward the end of the 2^nd act, during the serious penultimate scene that will decide Sylvia's fate, she talks about the nature of love and ends by saying, “But what do I know? I’m only a dog.” Without a pause, Miró let out a groan. The audience cracked up.

Good-bye to the Western Black Rhino

2011-11-11T09:15:00.000-08:00

For their prehistoric look, huge bodies, and tiny minds, I have always been interested in rhinoceroses. A long time ago, long before Google, I read up on rhinoceroses for a series of poems that later appeared in my book A Fall Out the Door. Headlines about rhinoceroses catch my eye, especially this one: Western Black Rhino Declared Extinct.

Probably everyone involved with any aspect of conservation has heard of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) and its Red List of Threatened Species. All varieties of rhino have long been on that list. This year's report lists the Western Black as extinct and the Northern White of central Africa possibly extinct in the wild. The last member of a subspecies in Vietnam was killed in 2010. The report sums up the reasons this way: "A lack of political support and will power for conservation efforts in many rhino habitats, international organized crime groups targeting rhinos and increasing illegal demand for rhino horns and commercial poaching are the main threats faced by rhinos."

The IUCN doesn't make hasty decisions: as far back as 2006 no members of the Western Black were found in the wild. Yesterday marked only the official declaration. Despite a lifetime of effort by conservation organizations, crime and laxity won out.

You can find photos here.

Rhinoceroses are gray and muddy from wallowing. The blacks have a prehensile upper lip used for browsing on trees and bushes while the whites have a flatter lip for grazing. They have excellent hearing and sense of smell but poor eyesight. The babies are as cute and friendly as all babies, becoming grumpy as adults. I can identify with that.

Taciturn Thursday

2011-11-10T22:03:00.000-08:00

First frost. Good-bye nasturtiums.

I missed Wordless Wednesday. Later: I've got True Colors Thursday--yellow!

A pain in the repository of irritations

2011-11-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

Note: due to the sensitive nature of this topic, no photos are posted.
When walking around the neighborhood, most dogs slow and sniff several locations before deciding on the optimum point of deposit. Not Alanis. She freezes mid-step in order to contemplate the state of her bowels.

I walk my dogs for exercise; we do not stroll. Alanis has different ideas. At some point during every walk, she wants to poop. The problem is that she has trouble making up her mind—or other body parts—about when and where she wants to do it. We trot along briskly and she’ll suddenly stop, looking bewildered, as if experiencing a new sensation she can't identify.

I say, “Well, if you’re going to do it, do it.” I wait. She waits. Finally I drag the dogs along because Alanis has decided she's not read to rumble. She’ll stop five times before she finally tucks her legs under and poops. Then the dogs want to move on and I’m saying, “Wait just a minute” because I have to pick the stuff up.

You might say that Alanis is zen-like, in tune with her body, with all this contemplation. I wish, however, she'd do her contemplating in the back yard.

Smoke tree

2011-10-27T17:29:00.000-07:00

Wyatt and Stanzie's mom, who can identify any plant you throw at her, told me this tree in the front yard is called a smoke tree (Cotinus). Some years the leaves are brighter than other years, depending on the weather; but one thing I can always count on is a multitude of shades on the one tree.

This tree branches out in all sorts of directions instead of growing up like a regular tree. Come to think of it, I have several trees in my yard that grow in individual, undisciplined ways.

I'm afraid I just gravitate toward that sort of thing.

A visit from the evil fairy

2011-10-25T15:26:00.000-07:00

I've about had it with the tooth fairy. Not only did she steal two of Alanis' teeth but she also took a huge bite of my money. In the old days, you'd leave a tooth under your pillow and she'd buy the little fang for half a dollar. Now she has increased her prices about 800% and reversed the charges, just because the teeth were still in Alanis' mouth. If you're thinking the exchange deal only works with baby teeth, then I say you've got an age discrimination suit on your hands. Or the tooth fairy does. If I could find her.

Not a happy camper.

Not long after I brought Alanis home a few years ago, I had her teeth cleaned; and the vet had to remove a back molar. A year ago at her check-up, her teeth were fine; but despite bones and chewies, she developed so much tartar in the past year that the other back molar had to be removed along with a tiny tooth behind the left canine. When the tartar gets up into the gum line, the tooth has to go in order to prevent gum disease. The vet suggested that Alanis just has one of those mouths that manufactures a lot of tartar.

Although she's a tiny Airedale, barely 43 lbs, I can't brush her teeth. Just trying to look into her mouth involves a wrestling match requiring two hands, with none left over for the brushing. Miro is the opposite. I've been brushing his teeth several times a week since he was a pup and he enjoys the process, even if he doesn't exactly sit still. Do you know how strong an Airedale's tongue is when you're trying to get the brush up against his teeth while he's trying to lick off all the toothpaste?

I have seen dogs sit passively while getting their teeth brushed. Passive and still, however, are not in the Airedale's vocabulary.

Damp, dark and dreary

2011-10-22T17:37:00.000-07:00

That's fall around here. Some people think brisk, crisp days, slanting light, flaming leaves; we have gray skies and drizzle. Fortunately, we also have Halloween demon-dogs.

This variety is often found in a dark corner of the yard half-concealed under the branches of evergreen trees.

Far more dangerous, this variety of demon-dog roams closer to the house, often hovering at the tops of steps from which vantage point he can view the lower yard and whatever prey is to be found down there, unsuspecting. When he sees an innocent squirrel, he flys down the stairs. By the time he lands, the squirrel is in the next yard.

How much Airedale is that?

2011-10-16T18:33:00.000-07:00

Not much. Thirty years of Airedales and I'm still very inefficient at stripping them.

Animal rights vs. welfare

2011-10-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

Animal rights and welfare should be the same thing, but they're not. Last Wednesday, activists shoved about 1,000 minks out of their cages at a mink farm in Spokane, WA. A news report is here.

I'm so irked by the continued stupidity of so-called "animal rights" groups that I had to comment. Raids on fur farms have been reported at least since the 1990's. If these groups care so much about animals, they should have figured out by now that if you release a domestically bred animal into the wild, it will die because it does not know how to hunt or fend for itself in the wild. That's not death with dignity; that's torture by pain, illness and starvation.

With utterly no grasp of the irony and stunning ignorance of their statement, the activist group wrote in a press release: "We chose to do this not because we believe that humans wearing fur is inherently wrong. Rather we think that the callous disrespect with which the fur industry treats the animals is despicable."

In this particular case, the minks didn't go far from home and most were recaptured. Sometimes after these "releases," the minks turn against each other and fight to the death because none has established its own territory. Some of the Spokane minks were hit by cars and killed. Are trauma, terror and pain less despicable than life in a cage and a quick death?

Verbless Vendsday

2011-10-12T18:59:00.001-07:00

Words: 10 cents per dozen.

Tired of tomatoes

2011-10-08T11:24:00.000-07:00

Summer was short and tomato season was short, along with the tomatoes themselves. The successful plants in my garden were all cherry and grape tomatoes that came up from last year's seeds. I ate them in salads, gave the split ones to chickens and a few to the dogs--but not many because the high acid content can upset even iron-lined Airedale tummies--and added them to recipes from my new cookbook.

That's Tuscan bean stew from the book. Some of the green stuff is organic kale from the grocery store because I didn't have time to get to the market. Never again. A handful of leaves from the neighbor's poplar trees could not have been more tough and chewy.
I think even the chickens are tired of tomatoes because when I threw a handful into the pen this morning, they cocked their heads instead of rushing to eat, going, "What, those again? How about some leftover parrot food instead?"

I also turned Alanis into Fuzzdog by brushing her out. After you get an Airedale all brushed and fluffed, the first thing she does is go to the water bowl and drench her face so that she can walk away dripping from chin dreadlocks and ruining the photo op. In dog language, that's a relaxed dog, tail and ears neither high nor low, muscles loose. Standing or lying on the grooming table while a person brushes, plucks, trims and--horrors!--Dremels the toenails must be hard work.

Ginormous!

2011-09-29T09:38:00.000-07:00

Tear your attention from the new Kindles for a moment and contemplate a book, a real book, a very big book of 890 pages. It’s full of proven recipes and explanations of why the recipes work, not just a bunch of professional photos of results that, however attractive, are unrealistic. I wouldn't have known about this book if I hadn't won it on Sherri B's blog, Little House in Paradise. Her contest was simple and generous--just share a recipe and she'd draw the winning one out of a hat. No demands to follow on Twitter or "like" on Facebook or sign up for this or that. It was a gesture of community and sharing instead of publicity and commerce. And my plum sauce recipe won the book!

It's a book for browsing while sitting on the couch or propping on the kitchen counter while you cook. You drool over a description of roasted sweet potatoes: “We wanted a method that gave us potatoes with a nicely caramelized exterior, a smooth, creamy interior, and an earthy sweetness.” That trumps sweet potato fries in both quality and lower calories.

I’ve been roasting lots of vegetables lately with a touch of healthy olive oil for moisture, finding that roasting results in more texture, flavor and sweetness. This book has the definitive directions and oven temperatures for the different types of veggies.

I didn’t really turn to the dessert chapter. The book just sort of fell open to “Fallen chocolate cake, or molten chocolate cake, is an undercooked-in-the-center mound of intense, buttery chocolate cake….We were after individual portions of intensely flavored chocolate cake that had a light texture and an irresistibly runny center.”
“We throw out the rulebook on conventional cooking wisdom and accept nothing at face value….” My kind of place. Thank you, Sherri!

Book with kitchen floor cleaner. No, he didn't drool on it.

Serving beer to under-aged drinkers--

2011-09-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

--and hoping they won't live to feel the hangover in the morning.

I didn't have much of a slug problem this year until I planted microgreens for a fall crop. You'd think I'd planted the greens for the slimers alone.

That shows only a bit of the damage. Ordinarily I wouldn't waste good ale on slugs, but my son left a glass unfinished last night (20-something male? Unfinished glass of beer? Rare but it can happen). He was going to pour it down the drain. "No! Stop!" I pleaded, throwing myself at his feet. "Give it to the slugs; they haven't had a drink in years."

Actually, my attitude is more like Sleeping Beauty's stepmother with the apple. I dug the plastic bowl into the ground so that the lip is level with the dirt. Those mollusks will slip right in while going, "What is that heavenly and intoxicating smell? I must investigate." I expect to find some drowned slugs tomorrow but will spare you the graphics. Slugs are gross at any time and even worse when swimming in beer. But I will have my revenge!

Note: I came across this film, made in Oregon, of racing slugs. Especially enjoyable if you're into aliens and slime.

In celebration of plum sauce

2011-09-23T21:01:00.000-07:00

Table-surf? Moi? Nu-uh, no way.

Last two weeks before the Airedale quilt raffle

2011-09-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

Below is a picture of the 2011 Airedale Rescue drool-worthy quilt. Today I went to the Airedale Quilting Bee website to snag some raffle tickets.

The Bee began in 1999, inspired by the success of the fundraising book Houses Full of Laughter (with yrs truly as editor). Since then, clever and talented quilters have worked together every year to make and raffle off a quilt, raising over $125,000 over that time. I hope you'll go here to donate for a chance at this year's quilt and, best of all, to help Airedales in need of forever homes.

Here's what the site says: "The Airedale Quilting Bee creates beautiful art quilts and then has an on-line fundraising campaign for donations to the Airedale Terrier Club of America's Rescue Committee. This committee oversees all funds donated to rescue and helps regional and state Airedale rescue groups defray the costs of rescuing countless aged, injured, neglected and newborn Airedales Terriers."

Go to the Quilting Bee website for more great photos!

What happens while you are canning plum sauce

2011-09-19T22:43:00.000-07:00

He was happily chewing on his squeaky ball as I started work in the kitchen, having been demonically possessed with the idea of making several jars of Asian-style plum sauce right now. Plum sauce has to cook down for quite some time. I was mesmerized by the stirring, not to mention the plum tomatoes drying in the oven that needed occasional sampling. Obsessed by plums.

Meanwhile, the general air of concentration wafting through the house must have influenced Miro, who quietly went to work on his own artistic project.

That photo shows only part of the room. The overall impression was of an exploded pillow. After I picked up the mess, vacuumed the living room, washed the cooking utensils, cleaned up the kitchen, and made a cup of tea, I heard the happy "ping" of the lid of one of the canning jars cooling into a tight seal. The sound provoked thunderous barking and much rushing around the house, followed by another ping and more barking and rushing around. (That was the dog, not me.) Fortunately, there were only four jars.

I've just noticed that the number of this blog's followers has reached 100! Thank you! I've been so busy that I missed my usual Friday./Saturday posting. Logging in to find 100 today is a wonderful gift.

Yard art

2011-09-10T19:56:00.000-07:00

With only a couple of weeks free between summer and fall quarter teaching, I've been working on the long list of end-of-summer tasks. Naturally, when walls need painting, the carpets need cleaning, the car desperately needs washing, and so on, I find something different to do. I decided it was time to restore the crumbling cement lawn burro and cart before they turned to a pile of sand. What was going to be a super-quick job with leftover deck stain became a little more complex.

The burro was in a corner of the back yard when I moved here; now he's in front, standing guard as my version of a lawn gnome. His front hooves point outwards like Miro's feet. I was sorely tempted to paint the burro with Airedale markings but he probably looks better as hoofed stock.

The other lawn burro.

winterizing the coop

2011-09-04T11:59:00.000-07:00

Every fall I add a coat of waterproofing stain to the coop. By now I think the stain is what holds it together. I dug around the old cans of paint in the garage and am slowly transforming the coop from redwood stain to multi-color scrap lumber with a chicken painted on the door.

Squirrels are like peas

2011-08-31T18:51:00.000-07:00

There's a spring crop and a fall crop. As the baby bird nursery is closing down, the wildlife center is feeding the fall crop of squirrels, bins and boxes of them all over the place. I don't know where they come from or who brings them in. Some are so young that their eyes haven't yet opened.

After watching the frustratingly slow job of feeding the very young ones, I learned how to feed the older squirrels, the ones who are--in a word--squirrely. All are fed formula with the same kind of 1 ml syringes used for baby birds. Unlike with birds, the amount of food squirrels get is strictly regulated. The incentive to follow the rules is simple: too much food and they get diarrhea. If I understood correctly, they're fed from syringes rather than baby bottles in order to control the rate at which the food goes into their gullets. Some are reluctant to eat; others want to inhale the food. Literally. If the rate of consumption is too fast, they'll aspirate the formula and can get pneumonia, which would be quite a waste after all the work of trying to get them to survive.

It may seem strange for an organization to spend so much of its resources on common animals like gray squirrels and crows but this center has made a decision to value all living things. Once they're released, let nature sort them out.

The squirrels I fed today were close to being weaned. Group #20 is a litter of five, ear tags on the right for girls and on the left for boys--or the other way around. You reach into the bin, grab a squirrel, set it on a towel and insert the tip of the syringe into its mouth. Some are smart enough to remember, "Oh yeah, this is where the food comes from." With others, you have to cram that syringe in and start fueling up (no gag reflex, like birds). The little light bulb goes on and the squirrel stretches out its back legs and grabs the syring with its hands while going, "Whoo-eee, gimme more of that stuff."

Except for the one who insisted on acting like a teenager. I gladly gave her to the woman who was teaching me. This squirrel wanted to run, jump and dance, none of which she could do because she was being restrained. So she confined herself to wriggling and scrambling, taking a bit of food, then wriggling and scrambling again. After half her feeding, we put her in a box to reflect on her behavior while we finished feeding the others. On the second attempt, her manners were a little better, but not by much.

The experienced volunteer who had been teaching me how to feed squirrels said, "Well, that blows my theory that girls learn faster than boys." I think she meant squirrels.

Do not laugh at the squirrel

2011-08-28T14:22:00.000-07:00

But I did.
From my study window, I look out over part of the roof and the ugly but useful white fiberglass sheltering part of the deck. (Shown through the window screen, which I won't take off because it'll take me an hour and much swearing to put back on.)

I saw a squirrel walk casually across the roof and out of sight. A little later when I was away from my desk I heard scrabble, scrabble, scrabble, thud like a cartoon.
By the time I ran down the stairs and out to the deck, there was no squirrel in sight. It must have fallen from the fiberglass to the deck here:

while the dogs were inside. Otherwise I would have heard ga-thud, ga-thud, woo woo woo as the dogs gave chase.

Another reason to clean up promptly after your dog

2011-08-20T09:44:00.000-07:00

Set aside the "ewww" factor and consider this story from Science Daily* . In an air quality study done in Cleveland and Detroit during the winter, the dominant form of bacteria found in the air came from dog feces. Because this was only one study done in the Great Lakes region, no one can say how the bacterial count in these cities compares to others.

Ephemeral sculpture

People notice the smell of dog poop, especially if they take a walk and find someone else's dog's poop on their shoes, but who considers what the smell means? Then take super-dog cities like Seattle and Portland where we outnumber the national average of one dog for every three people and, well, we're lucky to have air blowing in off rivers and oceans--I think.

The scientists intend to study the microbe populations in more cities. Imagine a bacterial atlas of the United States, adjusted seasonally, to help you decide where to take your next vacation and what areas to avoid in your search for clean air.

I see this bacteria count as one more justification for wacking non-scoopers upside the head with my plastic bag of poop. Instead, at those rare times when I see someone not picking up, I cheerfully offer them a bag because I carry extras.

Always prepared

*R. M. Bowers, A. P. Sullivan, E. K. Costello, J. L. Collett, R. Knight, N. Fierer. Sources of bacteria in outdoor air across cities in the midwestern United States. Applied and Environmental Microbiology, 2011; DOI: 10.1128/AEM.05498-11

Cute critters and chicken hiccups

2011-08-15T15:03:00.000-07:00

Last week at the wildlife center's daily meeting, I heard about some tiny new animals who had just come in. I didn't realize until today, though, that there's a video and blog post about them right here.

Can chickens get hiccups? It seemed so the other day when Bran made sing-song wheezy noises punctuated by the occasional sneezy sound.

Alanis' Saturday Snooze

2011-08-06T09:44:00.000-07:00

First check the lower yard and chickens.

Then find the right grassy spot.

Just keep The Pest away so that I can sleep while the rest of you go blog hopping.

Sock monkey

2011-08-04T16:51:00.000-07:00

Where do running socks go when they get big holes in them?

Surprisingly, Miro seemed not to notice.

I wore a spotted towhee

2011-07-29T20:12:00.000-07:00

In the baby bird nursery at the wildlife center, the littlest songbirds live in an incubator before graduating to a laundry basket with mesh on the sides and a stretchy mesh top. Light comes in but they can't see us very well. They do know, however, when a shadowy, lumpy shape signals a person is approaching. The extroverts in the group, particularly robins, start chattering excitedly because they know it's feeding time.

As I've mentioned before, we offer the birds "dish food"-- lumps of moist food and mealworms in a dish-- with a hemostat before they can have their milkshake, which is a powder mixed with water and fed with a syringe. Some are eager to grow up and eat like adult birds and others want to linger in babyhood being fed liquid. It isn't easy to pick up the right sized piece of food and get it to the bird's gullet without dropping half of it. As a result, feeding anybody smaller than a robin can be a time-consuming challenge.

One day I lifted the mesh fabric stretched across the top of a basket and up popped a fledgling spotted towhee like a piece of popcorn onto my tee shirt. Another hopped onto my hand and yet another onto the hemostat which I was extending into the basket. The fourth sat in the middle of the food dish, preventing me from picking up any food, all of them chirping excitedly. Since I was using my other hand to hold up the mesh top, it took some time to get everybody disentangled and back in the basket where I could start the process of transferring food to bird.

The spotted towhee (go see the Cornell Lab photo!) is one of my local favorites because it's one of the few that isn't yet another little brown bird, known in birdwatching circles as LBB's. In addition to their vivid orange, white and black coloring, they have red eyes with a black pupil. The males look as if they're wearing velvet black hoods with the bright eyes peeking out. They like to forage in leaf litter. The leaf litter in my yard is under the arbor vitae, Alanis' favorite lounging spot. If there are any towhees in my neighborhood, they're not in my yard. I think they don't want to share space with an Airedale.

At the lake

2011-07-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

Checking the perimeter.

Setting out for Seattle.

Deciding not to go to Seattle.

Shaking off.

The result of Miro's shaking off was spots on the camera lense and a blurry photo of Mt. Rainier, which looks like a cloud. Can you tell which is the mountain?

Spring chick laying

2011-07-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

Bazooka started laying eggs last week, a month or so earlier than I expected.

Hers is the brownish-pinkish egg in the middle.

All black feathers I've seen on chickens have that green iridescence. Unfortunately, it takes a much more sophisticated camera than mine to capture the full effect.

Miro the beauty contestant

2011-07-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

On Sunday Miro entered a contest. I think the winner appears on next winter's cover of City Dog magazine. We (meaning I) braved the rain mostly to promote KDOG's bark for the park contest to get an off-leash dog park in the city.

We waited in line, growing bored and wet because we couldn't see the dogs on stage--

--until we got quite close.

I do not, of course, have a photo of Miro parading across the stage because I had to be up there with him. After our two seconds of fame, we walked over to the dock.

We looked across the lake toward Seattle.

The rain stopped but it was still gray and misty out. Reading about the heat wave in other parts of the country, though, I'm OK with a cold summer. The dogs like cool weather.

Vote for a Kirkland Dog Park

2011-07-13T08:46:00.000-07:00

My city of Kirkland, Washington (pop. 80,000) has 45 parks for people but not one off-leash park for dogs. I've been volunteering for Kirkland Off-Leash Dog Group to get a park. The latest project needs daily votes.

Each person needs to vote once daily through August 3rd at the PetSafe barkforyourpark.com contest site and the PetSafe Facebook page (both sites). You'll need to "like" the PetSafe Facebook page before you can vote there. Go to: http://www.barkforyourpark.com/ (click on Kirkland in the leaderboard) and the PetSafe Facebook voting page (click on Kirkland in list of cities) and BARK (VOTE)! Please note that the contest rules do not allow compensation for votes, including “vote swapping.” We need to follow PetSafe’s Contest Rules to ensure that Kirkland stays in the contest and WINS the $100,000 cash prize!

Go viral! Get your family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, even acquaintances, to vote too, and ask them to solicit votes for Kirkland's dog park (e.g., include a plea to vote for Kirkland's dog park and above links to contest websites) on their Facebook pages and websites.

What's this?

2011-07-09T08:58:00.000-07:00

What's this for?

Nice and shady in here.

Comin' through! Outta the way, Alanis.

And back again.

The bee tree

2011-07-07T18:06:00.000-07:00

Although the honeybee population has suffered a dangerous drop everywhere, you wouldn't know it when this tree is blooming. The entire tree buzzes and wafts a sweet perfume all over the yard, a smell I love even though it makes me sneeze the moment I step outside. I walk under the tree every time I go down to visit the chickens.

I'd say it smells like honeysuckle except that honeysuckle blossoms point up instead of down.

The blossoms have been withering and falling in the past few days, making a nice mess all over. In fact, whoever planted the trees in my back yard seemed to have an affinity for interesting trees that drop bits and pieces three seasons of the year.

holiday weekend blog hop

2011-07-02T07:59:00.001-07:00

Neighborhood farmers' market

2011-07-01T19:57:00.000-07:00

That's about what I get per day from the everbearing strawberry plants in my front garden. The peas are not ready, everything being late this year due to the cold weather, so a trip to the neighborhood farmers' market was in order.

I bought some:

and shared them with

They didn't like the camera.

I shared some:

with:

Food critic.

Saturday in the park

2011-06-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

Miro wishes for a longer leash.

Today's fave

2011-06-22T18:40:00.000-07:00

Today at the wildlife center the most fun birds were two tiny bushtits, feathered fluffballs with beady eyes and big mouths. As soon as I lifted the cover off their basket, they looked up and opened their beaks wide, going, "Eeep eep eep." Food, food, food!

Here's a photo of an adult bushtit by Dennis Paulson. It's from the Seattle Audubon's Birdweb where you can hear their call and read more about them. Bushtits are sometimes described as drab gray birds. Gray, yes, but I wouldn't describe today's fluttering, hopping youngsters as drab.

Stinky crows

2011-06-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

In the temperate rainforest that is Seattle, crows occupy the niche that parrots occupy in tropical rainforests. They’re the smarter guys in the room, the mischief-makers. They learn to recognize people they see regularly and they know who’s a potential threat and who isn’t. Knowing I’ll leave them alone, they’re untroubled when they hop on the roof of the main floor of the house and I appear at the window of my second floor study that overlooks part of that roof. They simply go, “Oh, her again,” and get back to throwing twigs out of the gutter. If only they’d dig more thoroughly at the gutters, I wouldn’t have to clean them at all.

Last week, hearing scratching, clattering, and muttering in the bathroom next to my study, I walked over to see two crows on the skylight right above my head. It’s a flat, glass skylight with no special reflective coating; but apparently the crows couldn’t see me standing below them because they kept slipping around and pecking at bits of whatever stuff flies off trees in the spring and sticks to skylights. They were helpful about cleaning up the skylight and not pooping on it while I watched. When you stand right under a crow, you can see how large and pointy their beaks really are. They can’t bite like a parrot but I don’t think I’d want an argument with an adult crow.

We get a lot of young crows at the wildlife center. I suspect that’s partly because their size makes them easily visible, as compared to a young nuthatch as small as a marble. Some of the crows are injured; some are brought in because they’re too young to survive on their own. Along with baby bird formula squirted down their throats, they get a special corvid mix consisting of seeds, chopped fruit, balls of soft food, and chopped smelt.

At feeding time, I open the covered door to their cage and unleash a gust of ripe fish. I look at the dish of jumbled food and see a silvery eye gleaming in the mess. I look up at the crying crow whose blue eyes are focused on the hemostat (forceps) in my hand. I pick up the food with the hemostat and either offer it to the crow or shove it down the bird’s throat, depending on the crow’s stage of development--a clump of the soft stuff with tiny sunflower seeds stuck on like cookie decorations, a bit of apple, a smelt head that looks back at me. If the crow is screaming at me, it means his beak is open and he’s willing to eat. The crows around my house don’t know what they’re missing.

You can read more about crows at Crows.net.

Grooming Alanis

2011-06-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

Before.

The "please don't do this to me" look.

The "partly done but this is all we can stand" look.

inspiration award

2011-06-15T09:52:00.000-07:00

We received an inspiration award from What Dogs Do, a London-based blog about two greyhounds, their behavior and training. It's very timely because my son is about to go visit a friend in London. Thank you for including the farm house and its critters.

I get to pass it along to others. These are the rules:
If you are here to pick up your award, there are a few simple rules that go with accepting this award.

1. Thank and link back to the person who awarded this to you.

2. Link posts by you and ten fellow bloggers that you find inspirational.

3. Forward the award to those ten fellow bloggers.

In no particular order:

1. I admire The Teacher's Pets for the energy and variety of her blogging. With her huge number of followers, she unites a large community of animal lovers. It's the blog to see for a chuckle on Saturdays where she runs the Silly Saturday photo caption contest.

2. Then there's The Japanese Redneck. You know she's got a sense of humor with a blog name like that. She writes about living in the countryside in Mississippi. She's also a competitive rider; and if you keep checking the blog, you'll find photos of her clever, creative crafts.

3. A special thanks goes to Maggie and Mitch Airedales. When I first started blogging and didn't know anything about the pet blog community, they found my blog and invited me to join in. That was truly an inspiration. You just never know what those Airedales will be up to, from building to gardening to eating ice cream (the ice cream inspires Miro and Alanis).

4. Baby Rocket Dog and Hootie inspire by being an Airedale and Welsh terrier united in total cuteness. And who could resist names like that?

5. An important blog is The Beak Whisperer. Michelle is just down the road in Portland and is slowly and patiently socializing a rescued Timneh African Gray parrot. She makes toys for parrots, does beautiful crafts and is a brave cancer survivor who never gave up. But it's Timmy the Gray who makes the blog special because Michelle truly understands what a slow process it is to befriend the intelligent, high-strung creature that is a Timneh Gray. Each tiny increment of progress is a celebration.

That's all I have time for today--must go feed baby birds at the wildlife center. More to come!

Great expectations

2011-06-14T22:32:00.000-07:00

Ever since the mad rat scramble (June 4), Miro hopes to find another prize in the same place.

The view from inside.

Hamster news of the world

2011-06-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

I haven't thought seriously about hamsters since I was a kid. Hamsters don't provoke serious thought while stuffing their cheeks with food; running on their squeaky exercise wheels; and above all, sleeping all day.

Your ordinary pet store hamster, descended from a hamster found in Syria, according to the Lousiana Veterinary Medical Association.

The Court of Justice in Luxembourg has brought serious news about hamsters to the world's attention. First of all, who, other than hamster fanciers, knew there were native French hamsters? These are not ordinary hamsters. Called the Great Hamster of Alsace, they can grow up to 10 inches long. Very classy-looking critters, their faces are marked with white and reddish-brown and they have striking black bellies, as if they've been running through soot.

The Court of Justice ruled that France has not protected this endangered hamster, of which there are only 800 left alive in the wild. Considering that hamsters breed like mice, that's not many. Also like mice, they're mostly considered as a pest in the farm areas where they munch on grass and hay. Instead of obligingly planting fields with hay or leaving plenty of grassy areas, the farmers have been planting corn, resulting in very hungry hamsters ranging far from home--and getting killed-- in search of food.

Here's a video of a pet European hamster; she doesn't appear to be fond of meal worms. And here is the place to read the full story.

The mad rat scramble

2011-06-04T08:51:00.000-07:00

Last week a teenaged rat went on a shopping spree in the chicken coop. When not stealing food, he snugged up beneath the nest box next to the feeder where I discovered him when I lifted the box, actually a remodeled plastic tub. The rat dashed out the entrance, through the chicken pen and, with Miró in pursuit, across the yard and out a gap in the fence to the neighbors’ yard—like Peter Rabbit but not as cute.

nest box and feeder

Knowing he’d be back, I lifted the nest box daily to peer underneath, something I can do while standing outside the house and lifting up the hinged roof. The other day, there he was, peering up at me with startled, rounded eyes as I peered down at him with the same expression.

This time, I ran around the side of the coop and into the pen where I blocked the coop door. Out again and around to the side of the coop where there are cute little doors that slide up for you to stick in your hand and steal eggs right from under the chickens—if you put in the right kind of nest box in the right place, which I have not. Sliding open one door is useful, however, for giving a rat only one exit where a terrier awaits with big, black nose snuffling in the coop. If Miró had just stood there with his mouth open, events might have been simpler.

hiding place (bottom)

The rat scurried along the side of the coop and into the cinderblock on which the feeder rests. I lifted the feeder out of the coop and jiggled the cinderblock. The rat ran to the other side of the coop, only a few feet away but I was not about to reach in with my bare hands to catch him. I ran around to the other side of the coop and lifted the roof by way of a threat—he wouldn’t know I didn’t want to touch him—and he ran back to the cinderblock. After some more scrambling back and forth, poking, and swearing, he finally ran out the door and past the dog to the play area covered in wood chips.

signs of the chase

A person would stand there a moment thinking, “The expletive rat got past me;” but a dog simply acts. Miró and the rat ran in merry circles around the play area, throwing up wood chips as they skidded like a couple of cars in a movie chase. When Miró caught the rat by its head, I thought he’d break its neck the way terriers are supposed to do. No, he has having fun. He tossed it and caught the tail. The rat wriggled free, got caught, tossed, escaped.

feeder top/planter

By this time, Alanis noticed something was happening. She joined in and both dogs chased the rat across the yard to the line of arbor vitae near the fence. When the rat bit Miro’s lip and hung there for a moment, I thought unprintable things, directed at myself for getting us into this. I grabbed top cover of the chicken feeder (a bowl-shaped planter with holes) and popped it over the rat, holding the cover down while dogs circled like sharks and dug at the ground around the plastic top, which sharks can’t do.

I squatted there a while trying to figure out what to do. If I lifted my hand, the rat could squirm out and/or the dog, who was unconcernedly dripping blood over the feeder top, would get the rat again. I pointed toward the trees and yelled, “Go get it!” While the dogs ran in one direction, I ran in the other to fetch the nearest heavy objects: the waterer from the chicken pen and a brick.

For unknown reasons, I felt it necessary to clean off the plastic planter. That, I explained to my son later, is how the rat got wet; it wasn’t all dog slobber. I decided to lift the edge of the planter and, if I got lucky, whack the rat with the brick. If the rat got away, fine.

size 12 boot

The rat was not as smart as I thought. It ran toward the fence, chased by two Airedales. At the last moment, it veered away toward the house, taking shelter beside my son’s black rubber size 12 gardening boots. Never leave your boots lying sideways; anything might crawl in.

I popped a boot, sole side up, over the rat and we all stood there a moment, panting. When I tipped the boot, I didn’t see anything underneath; but when I picked it up to peer inside, there was a tail sticking out from the toe of the boot. It was time for reinforcements, which had been indoors all this time talking on the phone to a friend in London, as I discovered when I carried rat and boot, followed by two muddy-pawed dogs, one dripping blood, around the side of the house and into the kitchen. I held up the boot and mouthed, “Rat.”

Choking a bit, my son said, “I’ll have to call you back. My mom caught a rat in my boot.”
He put the rat into a plastic storage bin in the garage while I fetched peroxide to swab around Miró’s mouth. The bleeding had stopped and I could barely see where he’d been bitten. Marty reported back that rat was still alive but wet. “I can explain that,” I said.
We discussed rat disposal. Marty said too bad it wasn’t a fish. You can kill a fish quickly by whacking its head on the dock. I wondered about carbon monoxide.

“In the lab, we put mice in a plastic box and ran carbon dioxide through it,” Marty said. “I don’t think it’s safe to mess with car exhaust.”

“I could drive it to the park and let it go,” I offered.

Marty said the rat seemed injured and it would be cruel to leave it. I said something would surely eat it quickly. Finally we had to agree on the whack-it-with-a-brick idea, except with the sledgehammer.

Fetching the hammer, he said, “I’m not going to wear that boot again.”

“Sure you can; I’ll disinfect it with bleach,” I said.

“It won’t be the same.”

“In the Southwest, people have to shake out their boots every morning because scorpions and all kinds of stuff crawl inside.”

He just shook his head and politely invited me to leave the garage while he dispatched the rat. He was only thirteen when his father died, but I guess that was old enough to imbibe the lesson that killing and disposing of vermin is a man’s job. Gratefully, I left him to it and went to feed the dogs. I wrestled Miró into a headlock while I searched his lip; there was only a tiny mark to show the skin had been broken.

When Marty came back inside a while later, the dogs were happily snoozing off their adventure and the laundry room reeked of bleach as proof that the boot was now perfectly clean. “Well, I said briskly, “what would you like for dinner?”

“Not meat,” he said.

the final resting place

rat catcher

Class clown

2011-05-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

Anybody with an Airedale is going, "Well, duh; that's what we expect." We expect the little unexpected antic, the touch of creativity. In our monthly fun/training class, Miro has been taking his job of class clown to a new low. The class is an informal one where the trainer teaches a new topic each month. We've done nose work, agility, off-leash work and more. Different people and dogs come and go.

When we pause for the trainer to explain the next step, most dogs sit attentively beside their people or lie down in a relaxed, yet alert attitude. Miro is the only one--in this class or any other that I've seen--who does this:

He flops onto his back and grins, first at me, and then around the room because he knows everyone will chuckle. I swore to myself before class last night that I would not react, I would not so much as smile; in fact I would look down at him disapprovingly and then look away.

Didn't work. Note to self: do not attempt to bluff at poker.

"I never met a man half so true as a dog. Treat a dog right and he'll treat you right--he'll keep you company, be your friend, never ask you no questions. Cats is different, but I never held that against them."
From "An Animal Lover" in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.

p.s. Problems with Blogger this week have prevented me from leaving comments on other blogs. I'll keep trying.

Chicken dramas

2011-05-24T16:36:00.000-07:00

Any day with a little bit of sun is called a sunny day, despite the "partly cloudy" and "partly sunny" announcements delivered by weather stations. Today was a sunny day and the chickens came out. They wandered a bit, tearing at dandelion leaves. Then Maewest spotted me, having not noticed that I was the one who opened the gate to the pen or having forgotten. She ran to the tall food dispenser (me).

Muffin saw and immediately ran to chase her away from me just in case I was indeed carrying food.

Running chicken: a blur of action. Maewest and Bazooka dashed off together.

They went to the edge of the yard and chased each other in circles, which of course I did not capture in a video though it is the absolute truth.

Muffin went off to have a dust bath with Brangelina.

That's what passes for the afternoon soaps when you have chickens.

Do not talk to the birdies

2011-05-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

I started volunteering in the baby bird nursery at PAWS wildlife center where all the little birds who can't yet feed themselves are kept. Birds are grouped according to species and stage of growth and each stage has its feeding schedule. Some of the birds have been injured, like the baby robin I thought of as "Paddlefoot" because his broken foot was bandaged onto a paddle-shaped brace. The most common cause of injury is cat attack (one reason why I advocate the Audubon Society's mission to keep cats indoors).

These are wild animals whose exposure to people needs to be kept to a minimum so they don't become habituated to us, the goal being to get them to the point where they self-feed and can be released back to the area where they were found. The birds are housed in baskets or cages covered in mesh to block their view of us. Only when it's feeding time or when a technician is checking them do the birds see people nearby.

Hard part #1 is resisting the very human impulse to talk to the birds. After all, they're talking, even screaming when I first lift the mesh and they know it's time to eat. I can understand why the one with the loudest voice gets the most food--the parent birds would want them to just shut up, like whining kids. Fortunately we people with our ideas about fairness and equality try to make sure each bird gets the amount of food it needs. But there's no encouraging the reluctant ones with a "Come on, open up" or telling the aggressive ones to cool it. This is not at all like hand feeding baby cockatiels where you want them to get used to a human voice.

Hard part #2 is getting reluctant birds to eat. Finches are easy and will eat until their crops burst. A group of robins I was feeding the other day began with beaks wide open but would suddenly flop over, sound asleep, after getting a bit of food. I learned to wake them by tapping their nest. The movement suggests the shaking of the nest when a parent bird lands. Nest shakes, eyes and beaks open, food goes in (more on that another time), sleep.

When a bird is awake but reluctant, you open and close your hand, tapping the thumb against the fingers in imitation of a beak opening and closing. Instead of looking at your hand and thinking, "Yeah, like that's gonna remind me of Mom," the babies automatically react to the movement by opening their beaks. Another trick I learned is to swoop my hand through the air above the nest in imitation of the parent bird coming in to land. Happy meal comin' in!

Babies: it's all about the food. For us, it's about the food and the poop.

Unfortunately, I can't take photos in the baby bird room, making this a photo-free post. Here's a link, though, to a blog post where someone recorded the progress of a robin's nest right outside her window:
The Robin's Nest.

Chickens are 8th graders

2011-05-14T09:06:00.000-07:00

I speak of hens and eighth grade girls, the ones who hang out in cliques and are very slow to let in newcomers. They huddle together and giggle while the outsiders stand forlornly in their corner, wondering if they're the ones being giggled about.

Are we wearing the wrong outfits?

What did they just say?

Eventually the most self-assured girl wanders over to the newcomers, as if she doesn't really notice them even while she's checking them out.

Hmmm, they look dorky but might improve with time.

The other girls talk it over. Shall we let them join us?

We'll let them hang out nearby for a while so we can rate their coolness factor.

When it's time to groom Alanis

2011-05-09T13:18:00.000-07:00

I see this

and this.

She's a tiny girl at 43 lbs and hasn't figured out passive resistance (which didn't work for Miro, anyway). I haven't clipped her yet, just raked out lots of undercoat while she looked at me reproachfully.

It's time to get up on the grooming table

2011-04-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

Who, me?

Can't hear you.

Still can't hear you.

Surely you jest.

So, pick me up; I'm only 55 lbs of spaghetti.

The completely makeshift, almost operational chicken barrier

2011-04-22T15:23:00.000-07:00

Although we're having the coldest April on record, it was time to put the chicks outside during the day. To introduce new chickens into an existing flock, you let the two groups live for a while where they can see each other but not interact. Since I have only one chicken run, I made a barrier across one end and put the food and water dishes inside an old bird cage so that Bazooka and Maewest could feel more secure. (The pink thing is a food dish left in to give the chicks something to look at.)
They liked their new feeding station in the corner, protected by a tarp. In the evening, I brought them back to their box, now in the garage.

The older hens kept to their side for several days.

Until one day--

-- they couldn't resist finding out what was on the other side. They all hopped over to the little chicks' side and then, in the way of chickens, couldn't figure out how to get back to where they'd started. I had to take down part of the barrier and now they all play chicken, with the big ones chasing the little ones out because the little ones' food must be tastier--though it's the same stuff-- and then the little ones rushing back in when the big ones exit.

I hope they get used to each other soon.

What chickens say

2011-04-16T15:45:00.000-07:00

What? What?

That's what.

Miro considers offering cooking tips

2011-04-14T09:34:00.000-07:00

There must be lots of ways to spiff up those vegetables.

Outdoor decor

2011-04-13T20:03:00.000-07:00

While walking the dogs between rain drops this morning, I passed a nearby corner house with two or three dozen plastic Easter eggs strewn around the base of a large tree in the center of the front yard. You'll have to imagine the bright jelly bean colors--pink, blue, yellow--against the dark green lawn below the evergreen branches because I don't carry the camera on walks and somehow it didn't seem right to photograph someone else's house for my blog. It was a cheerful sight on a gray morning.

Then I saw the additional decoration. Around the perimeter of the yard, nestling in the grass, were at least six large doggie poop piles left by the household's Laborador.

Several questions arise. Were the poops left there to prevent people from walking in and stealing the eggs? Was the dog just clever for confining her poops to the perimeter? Or maybe the people were not so clever for not cleaning up?

Miró’s home decorating tips

2011-04-09T10:33:00.001-07:00

Always put your favorite toy where the human is about to step.

Look pathetic when it's empty and joyful when it's full of food.

Create attractive fringes and de-stuff those "indestructible" toys.

Some thoughtful arranging will make an eviscerated toy resemble roadkill but with no blood to mar the carpet (blood on the carpet gets you yelled at).

When it's time to freshen up the decor, rip off those old bed covers to induce the human to make new ones.

These are just a few, simple ways to keep your home looking dog-friendly for Naughty Terrier Day.

Small space chicken football

2011-04-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

I've always called it chicken football when one chicken finds an especially delicious morsel and takes off running, blocking the other chickens with her body, switching back and forth as the others try to snatch the food away. She can't stop and eat it until she finds a safe corner. The official, scientific term for this activity is "worm running."

Continuing with the indoor entertainment theme because it's miserably wet and cold outside, I offered the chicks meal worms today. Some people think snakes are gross? Take a look at meal worms. They have segments and bunches of wriggly legs and are just plain yuck, much worse than garden worms. To chickens they are filet mignon, carrot cake, potato chips--name your sinfully delicious fave and you'll get the idea.

Please take a moment to appreciate my heroism when I tell you I offered those horrid things in my bare hand.

Only people who are dotty about chickens make wild claims about their intelligence. Chickens operate on hard-wired instinct and they are as smart as they need to be in order to learn to live a chicken's life. Some, I'm afraid, are slow. Like a normal chicken, Bazooka pecked at that object in my hand and ran with it while Maewest took a while to figure out (1) there was a food object (2) Bazooka got it and (3) she should try to get it. The next time I offered a meal worm to Maewest, Bazooka ran over and gobbled it while Mae was still considering what to do. After Bazooka ate three, she slowed down a little and Maewest got her treat.
So here's chicken football in the guest bathroom.

Happy as a pig in---

2011-04-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

With days of nonstop rain, the little dittlers seemed bored. Some mental and physical enrichment was in order.

Birds can't go outdoors? Bring the outdoors to them.

You may know that puppies, children and other critters go through a critical period when they're highly receptive to certain kinds of learning. For instance, puppies who aren't socialized to other animals and situations never truly make up for the lack of early experience. So why not chickens? With Maewest and Bazooka showing signs of being ready for adventure--hopping onto my hands instead of running away shrieking--I figured it's the critical time for developing their teeny, tiny minds. Every youngster likes a pile of dirt!

Blog Hop and First Day Out

2011-03-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

Friday was sunny and warm enough for the chicks' first day outside. An old cockatiel cage is now a mini chicken tractor. They can be moved to fresh areas after they eat the tenderest grass buds and mini-fertilize the area.

At three weeks old they're scruffy with a mix of old fluff and new feathers. When offered some small worms, Bazooka quickly snatched one up and ate it. Maewest eyed hers with great suspicion. Bazooka must have regretted eating the one, for she declined a second offering.

Thinking about making a break for freedom?

What friends think about when they think about me

2011-03-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

A friend in Kentucky saw this and knew it was for me.

The package reads, "Grandpa says, 'If ya got dry lips, put chicken poop on 'em so you won't lick 'em!'"
I'm glad my grandpa never said that.

Interesting tip on dog food quality

2011-03-21T09:42:00.000-07:00

Dr. Kelly Swanson, an Animal Sciences professor at the University of Illinois College of Veterinary Medicine, explains why dogs can get the same amount of nutrition from both lower cost and premium dog foods.

"The main difference among the myriad options lies in the ingredients used. Specific diets, such as 'lamb and rice,' indicate that a primary protein source is lamb and a major carbohydrate source is rice.

But what constitutes quality? That may be a matter of opinion. There is a difference between lower cost foods and the 'premium' or 'super premium' diets. Premium and super premium tend to be more nutrient dense and have better digestibility. Better digestibility can mean fewer 'restroom' trips and possibly less gas. Yet that still doesn't mean that your pet cannot get all the needed nutrients from a lower cost diet." I take that to mean there's some advantage to buying the best you can afford; but your dog will be fine on ordinary food.

She also explains that the term "natural" can mean just about anything and natural foods are not regulated, while organic foods must meet USDA standards.

Here's the part that will make many Airedale owners laugh: the important thing is that your dog likes the food. I've heard of the rare Airedale who is picky but about the only food my Airedales have ever refused is iceberg lettuce. I don't consider iceberg lettuce as food, either.

Source: An article from the University of Illinois College of Agricultural, Consumer, and Environmental Sciences (ACES) Thoughts On What to Feed Your Dog.

First flight

2011-03-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

Bazooka decided it's time to perch. She flapped her wings and popped up to the side of the box. Being larger and heavier, the Buff Orpington (Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Maewest) is not a flyer--yet.

That's why the wire mesh goes on as a lid. Both birds are entering the homely adolescent stage where tufts of fluff stick out among small feathers. Like typical adolescents, they're starting to test what they can do.

Saturday blog hop

2011-03-19T07:54:00.000-07:00

Shhhh, it's Saturday and we're sleeping in late!

I'll have a wee bit more

2011-03-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

And I'll have nothing to do with it.

Bird watching

2011-03-14T13:29:00.003-07:00

What to do when it's pouring rain?

2011-03-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

People in today's St. Patrick's Day Parade in downtown Seattle will have to hide their green costumes under waterproof gear because rain is pounding down. Alanis and Miro went to the back door a few minutes ago, looked outside when I opened it, then looked up at me as if to say, "Well, do something about that!"

Fortunately we've been rescued by the generosity of Baby Rocket Dog and Hootie. We were amazed and thrilled to discover that our honorable mention in the costume contest netted us a prize. Prizes are a Big Deal; they don't happen often!

This fetch toy bears an amazing resemblance to somebody else in the house.

Now named Fetcher.

The English Buff Orpington turned Irish for the week.Miro is not allowed to play with this one.

Today we play throw, fetch and run-around-like-crazy in the living room.

There's also this Ruff & Tuff ball. With a plastic outer shell, it's good for rain or the lake. Miro will have to improve his retrieving before we try it in the lake next summer!

Alanis checks out her personal favorite. We'll need these treats to teach Miro to give back Fetcher. He understands the part about running after the toy and bringing it back (rare enough in Airedales) but giving it back is something else. Then there's the part about leaving my fingers intact. These particular treats seem to have an intoxicating effect that makes a dog forget himself.
Thank you Baby Rocket Dog, Hootie and your people!

Saturday Blog Hop

2011-03-12T10:16:00.001-08:00

We're Irish!

2011-03-11T16:30:00.000-08:00

New residents!

2011-03-06T21:28:00.000-08:00

First, find a small room

and clear the decks.

Chicken Salad and friends have relocated to a new home and here's what appears instead:

What is it?

Something is in that room!

I hear noises! Let me in!

Ah, now I see what's taken up residence in the guest bathroom. Let me just get my nose in there to check 'em out.

Two chicks are occupying the guest bathroom for the next couple of weeks. This is what guest bathrooms are really all about. They're small, easy to keep warm, free of drafts; and you can shut the door to keep chick dust in and big doggie noses out. When Miro tried to get his head right down into the box, I was afraid the heat lamp would burn him; but in typical Airedale fashion, he didn't notice the risk.

The chicks are a Buff Orpington and a Black Sex Link. That name is so weird that they're also dubbed Black Stars. Only a few days old, they require a temperature of 90 degrees F. for the next week.

What will my name be? Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Maewest?

She's talking about calling me Bazooka.

Saturday blog hop and Miro's guide to the game of tug

2011-03-04T23:37:00.000-08:00

Wait and look innocent.

Leap for it.

The grab. Use those jaws!

Pull hard and don't let go.

It's easy to get distracted.

A change of perspective

2011-03-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

You know how you recognize people by their dogs, whether in training class or on the street: the lady with two Airedales; the couple with the really big, red Golden Retrievers; the rarely seen lady with two Corgis (in an area of less than 6 sq. blocks, there are three pairs of Corgis); the extremely slow-walking guy with the excitable white mop-dog. And so on. Shocking as it sounds, this morning I was thinking that dogs are not the only way to recognize people.

Even though they sometimes bring a dog to work, the guys from the athletic shoe store a few miles down the road might see differently. Think of them driving to work, glancing at the walkers, runners and bicyclists along the way. "There go the Brooks Defyance, size 8, nice and stable. Ah, that's my neutral Asics, size 9.5. Look at those Nikes! You hardly ever see ones that old still walking around, poor things. And there's tiny Pearl Izumi flying through the mud."

As for any dogs riding by with noses out the car window, their thoughts are much more complex.

Gods of Frolic

2011-02-26T08:44:00.000-08:00

The dog is the god of frolic.--Henry Ward Beecher

Because he grew up in a household that didn't allow such frivolity as birthday parties, dancing or theatre, it's easy to see why Beecher admired dogs' ability to play. Unless he disapproved of frolicking even as an adult.

Hmmm, I'm thinking "Gods of Frolic" makes a better blog name than "The Farm House," which I never liked but tacked on when I began this blog because I couldn't think of anything else. The name has to encompass all the animals, even Matilda the cornsnake who has spent most of the winter sleeping in her box.

I guess you can't accuse Matilda of frolic, though she is endorsing a famous sport-shoe maker. Will have to keep cogitating on the name thing.

2011-02-26T07:49:00.001-08:00

I don't know why we watch this stuff

2011-02-25T22:35:00.000-08:00

But we do. Then we record it and watch again and we watch other people's dogs doing the same nonsense.

And we smile.
Correction: or maybe we don't because the darn thing is too dark!

A dog's work

2011-02-19T09:12:00.000-08:00

When the human is working at her desk, she thinks dogs just lie around; but I assure you that I'm working, too. I hold the bedspread down.

I do some stretches to keep my spine limber.

I clean those dust-hippos off the floor.

OK, sometimes I rest.

Editor's note: I have a pin of an Airedale with super-long legs. I didn't believe it was accurate until now.

I end the day with a little reading in bed.

Saturday Blog Hop

2011-02-19T09:01:00.000-08:00

Announcing--

2011-02-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

--the first egg of the season, courtesy of Muffin.

I didn't install extra light this winter so that the hens could rest up for spring and summer laying. Now that they're in their second or third--I can't keep track--season of laying, there won't be as many eggs. With the two Polish chickens off cavorting with a rooster at a new home, my only layers are Muffin and Brangelina. Little Edna might lay an egg or two, if she feels like it. Modern Game chickens are mostly decorative, as you can see below.

This magazine cover is pictured on the website of the Modern Game Bantam Club of America. Since it's dated 1932, I assume it's out of copyright.
I plan to add a couple of chicks to the flock this spring but finding another Modern Game Bantam is unlikely. This variety doesn't show up in the feed stores and, so far, I haven't found any local breeders. I'll just have to keep searching.

What dogs really want on Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

Alanis and Miro wish everyone a treat-filled day.

Quoting myself

2011-02-13T18:15:00.000-08:00

"Miro, leave my clean laundry alone! Here--you have plenty of dirty laundry to play with!"

Miro does some remodeling for blog hop day

2011-02-11T22:05:00.000-08:00

Silly Saturday Award

2011-02-11T09:16:00.000-08:00

Guess what's in the lower left corner.

For an Airedale person, possibly for any dog person, it’s an honor to win an award for being silly. Isn’t uninhibited silly one reason for enjoying dogs? Sometimes dogs bring uninhibited embarrassment—nosepoking the parents of your kid’s friends, for instance, when they’ve come to see if your household is safe for their child—but you laugh about it later.

I was thrilled when The Teacher's Pets selected my photo caption for her first Silly Award. The photo was of a dog in a car, yawning. Yawn, car, latte—the connection is a no-brainer for a person from the Coffee Center of the Universe from which espresso has slithered across the world like a many-tentacled alien, even usurping the ancient coffee-houses of Europe. But I digress.

Thank you, Teacher’s Pets, for rewarding a dog’s daily dose of silly.

Who's there?

2011-02-04T23:46:00.000-08:00

Something's next door.

There's a nose poking under the fence.

Maybe I can dig right here.

A new neighbor!

100 sled dogs slaughtered

2011-02-01T13:01:00.000-08:00

100 sled dogs slaughtered

The cruelty and callousness of the people involved is rivaled only by their stupidity. According to some commentaries I read, everyone is scrambling to deny responsibility: the dogs' caretaker who claimed compensation for post-traumatic stress (Why did he "just follow orders," to use that infamous phrase?), WorkSafeBC that granted his request for compensation, Outdoor Adventures which owned the dogs. Tourism Whistler, the marketing and sales organization for Whistler Resort where this happened, surely didn't know anything about the slaughter. As a promotional company, they would know what a public relations nightmare would result. Yet they still bear responsibility. The phrase "on their watch" comes to mind.

Household help

2011-01-29T09:26:00.000-08:00

Miro enjoys helping around the house. He sorts laundry, whether it's clean or dirty, though he prefers dirty.

Inhale!

He likes to select seasonings for whatever I'm cooking for dinner.

And, of course, cleaning up after dinner is the best part.

Blog Hop

2011-01-29T00:44:00.001-08:00

What season is this?

2011-01-28T12:41:00.000-08:00

Indoors it looks like this season:

While outdoors, the hydrangea is doing this:

The bulbs are way behind other yards. Last week I saw daffodils in the city just about ready to bloom. The heat island effect (heat trapped by all those cars and buildings) of a city gets the flowers growing faster.

Happy birthday to Miró

2011-01-26T17:21:00.000-08:00

Miró is two years old today. He was one of a litter of twelve I dubbed the Dirty Dozen. Almost ten weeks after his birthday I went to Ohio to fetch him home on my birthday. What could be a better gift to oneself? At the time he weighted about 12 lbs. He barely fit into the carrier I'd brought--one more day and he would have been too big to fly in the airplane cabin. As it was, he spent most of the flight sleeping on my lap. He was merely resting up for nonstop movement from that time on, interrupted by occasional naps.

He's from the Airecraft kennel. During the flight I wondered what kennel name to give him. Six months before, both my previous Airedales had died within a few weeks of each other. (Keeper and The So-Perfect Darwin.) Four months before, calm and sweet-tempered Alanis had come to live with me. With the addition of Miró, I would have the right number of Airedales again. The name fell into place: Airecraft Carries Me Home.

Now Miro is a tall, lean 56.8 lbs. He sits nicely.

For a little while.

Tonight we're going to a doggie get-together for some canine freestyle training. The treats are ready to go. The dog is always ready to go.