Sometimes You Win One

"If it's any of these other things, there's no cure" said the vet. "But her symptoms could also, possibly, be toxoplasmosis, brought on by eating infected dead mice." [And good word, we've plenty of mice this year. More on that later.]

Twisty chicken head - eep!

Our smallest Ameraucana was no longer roosting. She could eat and drink, no problem. She gobbled down mealworm treats, and attacked pieces of fruit with gusto. She would, however, twist her head around to almost backwards whenever stressed in the slightest, and her equilibrium was off, making hopping up or down difficult. Off to the vet. Our regular guy was out of pocket, so we took her into the city, and were lucky enough to get a vet who not only knew avian medicine, but also had his own flock of hens. I decided to take the long-shot and work with the hen as if she had toxoplasmosis, and readied myself for days of force-fed antibiotics.

So, toxoplasmosis: most know it as something that can infect cats, and can pass in their feces. Toxoplasmosis infection can also pass through a human and harm a fetus, so that's why you see all the warnings about not letting people clean cat litter boxes while pregnant or immune-compromised. Toxoplasmosis is also carried & passed by other mammals, including raccoons and mice.

"Veronica" spent three long days in the recovery cage. She felt lonely, and let us know loudly and often. We'd move her from room to room to be with us, but far enough away that she wouldn't feel stressed by our movements. The fourth morning, she was showing some improvement, so I let her out into the general population. That evening, she was climbing up the roost ladder partway - still not getting up to the roost, but much better than before! I brought her in for evening meds, and put her in the recovery pen so I could easily nab her for morning meds the next day. She wasn't twisting her head so much this time, either. Gave her meds the next morning, let her out again. Last night, she was on the roost! She was having a bit of trouble due to two other hens trying to get her to move, but she was hanging on as best she could. Brought her in again for the evening meds, and back into the recovery pen until morning, when she'd get her next dose. She didn't twist her head around once during the carry into the house, nor when I took her out of the cage this morning.

It's a sad thing about modern, mass chicken breeding: they're not bred for longevity and health, so veterinary medicine is still catching up on how to manage complicated or long-term hen health issues for home flock owners. As we saw recently in the U.S. with the poultry bird flu, oftentimes the easiest way to solve the problem is to kill the entire flock, sanitize the housing, and start anew. Sometimes, however, you win one, and that's Veronica this time.

More on poultry and toxoplasmosis at this link. Since our birds have full run of our acreage, there's continued risk of toxoplasmosis, but less risk than if they were in an enclosed area. Think the mouse issue will be in the next post. It's been biblical around here.

Memorial Day Flood 2015

One never wants to be Weather Channel famous. The wall of river water - runoff from a huge & fast 10-inch deluge of a storm further upstream - hit our area (and others downstream) like the fist of G-d.

Witnessing the effects of the destruction will catch your breath in your lungs. Driving over the bridge south of town  (which was 30 feet above the water, and still not high enough), people slow down, and sometimes swerve, viewing the damage. One witness wrote an article in The Atlantic, called "Paradise Lost: What the Texas Floods Swept Away".

Spouse and I had recently toured a neighborhood that was settled on the banks of the river, idly considering a move to that gorgeous water. After all, our geese and ducks would enjoy it. What we do for our birds... Well, all those houses are gone now. They probably won't be rebuilt.

There's a huge effort to educate landowners, recommending they let nature start to heal itself, by leaving the downed trees and brush near the creek & river banks to act as nurseries for new trees and brush to grow (pdf - see second page).

The response of people to help was amazing: there were at least three different volunteer reception centers set up to handle the influx in the first few weeks. It's now six weeks post-flood. We're past the immediate emergency, and are now the midst of long-term efforts to help people clean up the damage, and make repairs where feasible. We're "down" to one volunteer reception center, but there's still folks coming in to help, and we are most grateful.

If you're interested in photos, check out this Google Search. Personally, I just didn't have the heart to take any photos, and was more than a little irked by all the out-of-town disaster p0rn oglers. My thanks to those locals, stout of spirit, who documented the damage in photos and arial/video shots.

Us? Our place is fine, we're up on a hillside, a fair bit away from the river. Those who were on the river proper, even if up on a hillside - that's another story. One of our friends said "I will never again complain about all the stair-steps we have to take to get down to the river" - they were on a cliff, over 40 feet above, and lucky. The only inconvenience for our little neighborhood was the seasonal creek-crossing flow-pipe got clogged with debris, and water was running over the road. I had originally thought it was silted up, but one of the neighbors driving through the low water observed it was mostly debris. He hopped into the creek and started clearing. As I drove by and saw him waist-deep in the water, I couldn't help but hop in to help. Got it done, and learned a great deal from him about the history of our community and the little road we're on.

To end this post on a lighter note, here's a pic of Gerdy at the vet, getting ready for laser treatment on his feet. One of the vet techs put the goggles on his eyes as a joke. The other snapped the photo. The rest is giggle history.

Spring has arrived, and boy-howdy are we happy

Winter felt like it would never leave. I can only imagine how folks in the Northeast feel, where some just now are seeing crocus and daffodils, and trees budding.

Here, we're experiencing daytime temps in the 70's. The trees have already leafed out. Viewing the hills shows a patchwork of green canopy ranging from bright to dark. The live oaks have shed & re-leafed, and their flowers have dropped. The first wave of wildflowers are starting to fade - bluebonnets and paintbrushes - and the second wave is coming into bloom: firewheel, "indian blanket", and coreopsis. Around the farm, we also have a couple varieties of native purple sage flowers, daisies, and verbenas.

The hens are laying eggs in abundance. Spring brings the best eggs, as the hens are eating fresh young greens and loads of newly hatched bugs.

The geese have finished their egg-laying season, and are much quieter. We can sleep through the night now without bolting awake due to noisy nest fights or woo-frenzy.

The ducks are thrilled with all the Spring rains we've had, making messes of puddles wherever they find them.

The dogs are no longer napping on the porch; their preferred spots are the grass or the kitchen doorstep (I'm guessing because that's where we store treats).

There's a truckbed full of compost waiting to dress the orchard trees and the veggie beds. Suppose I better get to it!

Dogs & Eggs

How do we manage our bountiful harvests of duck, chicken and goose eggs?

• Perfect eggs are sold through the on-line co-op directly to members who order them.

• Cosmetically "imperfect" eggs (stains, odd shapes, etc.) are saved and eaten by Spouse and I.

• "Sketchy" eggs (thin shell, hairline crack, found in sunshine, etc.) are saved, cooked hard, and fed to the dogs.

If there's ever been a time where our dogs have looked at me in utter adoration, it's been when I've topped their kibble with cooked eggs.

Dog Debacle & Redemption

It was all my fault.

It was easier to get Bandit into the cab of the truck instead of the bed, because the used utility truck we own was/is jacked up for bushwhacking. Though the truck bed tailgate is out of easy reach, Bandit can get her paws up to the cab floor. Once she's on her hind legs, all I need to do is lift her arthritic hips, and let her walk forward. Her sister Maggie can jump into the truck cab all by herself, so this should be easy, right?

Yeah. You know where this is going.

In the interests of efficiency and saving time, my keys, purse, phone, and full travel mug of coffee are placed in the cab's center console before getting Bandit inside. From there, as they say, "chaos ensues".

Center console with coffee and purse overturns as Bandit gets into the truck and decides she is going to drive. Bandit's paws and underbelly also happen to have soil all over from digging up a cool spot under the trees, so soon there is soil mixed with coffee mixed with nervous dog saliva all over the vinyl seats, floors, and dashboard. Swell. No time to do more than wipe the driver seat with a nearby towel, and off we go to the vet. Bandit continues to insist on driving, or at the very least sitting on my lap en route. I strong-arm her aside for the blessedly short 2.3 mile drive, while giving thanks for automatic transmission. Bandit is the poster-dog for pet-seat restraints.

We get to the vet. I step out of the cab and get ready to leash her when she leaps from the truck seat and starts a panicked run off the vet property. Gawds, this day is getting better & better. A vet tech witnesses the commotion, and makes an end-run before Bandit heads into the local subdivision. So glad she loves the vet techs. Bandit practically drags me into the vet office after capture, trailing the tech.

I pick Bandit up later that afternoon. The tech helps me lift Bandit into the truck bed instead of the cab, as I still don't want anyone but myself driving. I bungee Bandit's collar to a tie-down in the truck bed to deter a potential suicide leap while on the drive home. I was not looking forward to lifting her out of the truck bed by myself, but I'd rather get her home safe and deal with a torqued back from lifting than wrestling the wheel with her on the road. Party pooper, I know.

Photo: Bandit is unbungee'd at this point, I swear.

Here we get to the redemption part. Perhaps some rare moment in the past when I wasn't crabby, I made someone smile and accrued some positive vibes. Don't know how else to credit the idea that pops into my head on how to get Bandit out of (and in the future, into) the truck bed. Next to our driveway is a section of deep/high cutout on the hillside. I back the truck up to the cutout, and drop the tailgate. It lines up perfectly with a level patch of ground. Maggie, excited to see her sister, bounds up the gentler part of the slope and runs into the truck bed to get a good sniff of Bandit. I stand around feeling smug, admiring my handiwork, then wonder why Bandit isn't leaving the truck.

Oh, right. She is still bungee'd to the truck bed.

Bless the unconditional love that dogs give us. I'm not sure how Bandit survives our relationship.