Dominion

At my previous home I had a neighbor-over-the-fence who took genuine offense the day I told her I was a vegetarian. "You should eat meat. God gave us dominion over the animals!" she exclaimed. I had no reply, and from that day forward we no longer discussed dinner menus.

But the notion of man's supposed dominion nagged at me. Surely people don't believe in a divine handout of burgers and wings?

Today I read a brief interpretation of Judaic thought on the subject on the website JewishVeg.com. It defines "dominion" to mean guardianship or stewardship. I feel more comfortable with this idea.

Which leads me to the difficult decision I have had to make in my flock. As noted in my previous post, Tweedledum's adolescence has developed into a full-grown adult desire to be the A#1 cock-of-the-walk. His aggression for Egglebert led to full-time restriction to a large dog kennel. Even inmates get time for hygiene and exercise, but with the exception of an occasional five minute excursion around the pen when I am able to close off the rest of the chickens behind a rickety door and stay to supervise, Tweedledum's free-ranging days are over. The flock is terrified of him. And I am weary of his aggression towards me, which has resulted in a number of bruises and scabs.

I told my friend Farm Girl Beth today that I would take her up on her kind offer to use Tweedledum for soup stock. Today I inched closer to becoming a real farmer. Man's dominion over the animals implies not only providing food and shelter, but tackling those deeper moral conflicts, applying Mills' "greatest happiness principle" to create a coop where the greatest good comes to the greatest number. Certainly in this instance removing Tweedledum, "culling" as it is called in the trade, will result in the greatest peace and calm for the chickens. Ultimately this will result in better laying (production dropped dramatically since the incident last week), more egg income, and happier hens.

Facing this decision has weighed on me the past few days. I procrastinated, hoping some other solution would appear. Then today, as I mulled it over, Beth literally walked right in, and in this moment of synchronicity I knew what was right. She is a kind person and will treat Tweedledum with respect.

Life in the country is not often simple.


Addendum, March 6. Today was Tweedledum's final day. I arrived home and noticed the gate was latched differently than I normally do it. Farm Girl Beth had been here. In the hen pen, all activity revolved around the cracked corn I scattered for the girls. No one raced to the dog kennel in alarm, cackling "he's gone! He's gone!" But I paused a moment to cry just a little.

Storm in the Coop

The atmosphere can change in a heartbeat. Just when all is calm, a storm breaks through.

This morning all was fine in the chicken pen. Around lunchtime I went out to gather eggs and noticed that Egglebert was alone in the dog kennel. Sometimes a hen will go in there for privacy, but I never saw him go there alone before. Still, he seemed ok from what I could see, and so I did not pursue it.

Around 2:00 I went to sit outside in the sunshine with the dogs. The Dutch door to the barn is open to let some sun and air inside, and so we can hear the chicken sounds in the yard. Suddenly an unusual cackle rose up from the chickens, one that brought both dogs racing to the door. I decided to investigate.

The chickens' pen is a former 10 x 10 box stall. I built the door from an old piece of plank fence, and the way it closes leaves about a 1-1/2 inch gap along the latch side. When I looked at the door, Egglebert had jammed his head through the gap and appeared to be stuck. His comb bled.

At first I couldn't get the hook unfastened. Normally I give the bottom of the gate a hard shove and that loosens the hook, but in this instance that was not an option. When I did get it opened, Eggy allowed me to pick him up without problem. He'd clearly been fiercely pecked on his comb by Tweedledum (who has blood on his chin). What to do?



I returned him to the dog kennel and closed its door. Then I brought hot water, washcloths, and antibiotic ointment from the house. He did not resist at all as I gently sponged away the blood until he was mostly clean, and applied the ointment. In fact, he leaned his head into me as if he was comforted by my care. Once I finished, he seemed to stand with more strength. I let him look around for a minute before closing him back in the kennel. He'll stay in the kennel for a day or two until his wounds are reliably closed.

But the question is, what happened? I know he had frostbite on his comb that was close to falling off. Maybe it did and bled some on its own, attracting Tweedledum's interest and aggression? I would rather that were the case than to think that Tweedledum has snapped and become like his evil alter-ego, Tweedledee (remember him?).

Nature so quickly altered my peaceful afternoon, focusing my attention and emotions on the flock. I guess it has many ways of making you sit up and take notice.

This is it! The very Snowy Owl living on Kruger Road! I did not take the photograph, it is by Josh Haas and you can see his blog entry about finding the owl and view more of his wonderful photographs here.

Over the weekend I had the wonderful experience of seeing the owl three times. The best was on Valentine's Day morning. En route to breakfast with friends, I drove slowly across Kruger Road, scanning the now snow-less fields for a blog of white. I read that Snowy Owls prefer to stay close to the ground, so every lingering pile of ice appeared a likely candidate. I came over the top of the hill, looking to the right where I had seen people with binoculars searching across the field into a large stand of pine trees in the distance a few days earlier. No flash of white.

My eyes came across the road (I was still driving, after all, had to stay safe!) and I realized that the owl was perched atop an electric pole maybe 50 feet from me. Slammed on the brakes and the car stopped just across the street from the pole, so I was peering straight up at the owl, peering down at me. We shared our amazement for what felt like a full minute before another car approached and the owl dove off the pole, swooping across the fields to put distance between us. What a Valentine!

I caught him again on Saturday late afternoon in the same place, and so Sunday morning I took my camera and sure enough, he was there. Apparently he's grown tired of celebrity, though, because as soon as my car slowed he flew off. Luckily I had opened the window and turned on the camera before coming over the hill, so I caught a view of him flying away. What a magnificent sight!

XO-XO-XO

Please won't you be my Valentine?
Our friendship makes life oh-so fine!
I've made you a cookie
in place of some nookie...
But you must enjoy it online!

Roses are red, cookies are crumby,
you can't eat this so I will...yummy!

Have a very sweet Valentine's Day!
xo, Johanna et al

The Price of Fifties in February

That's the main door into the barn. Every day I go back and forth to feed the chickens, collect eggs, check water (plenty of that!).

Now I have to stand about a yard away from the door, stretch to pull it open, and then jump to the concrete threshhold to avoid the big splash.

This spring, I believe I will dig out some of the dirt and fill with pea gravel so that at least it won't be such a muddy mess.

And speaking of muddy messes, look at the flooding around the vegetable garden. This is the reason for the raised beds. The winter after my first, terrific vegetable garden here, this plot stood under a couple of inches of water for a few weeks. The soil stratified and in the spring the top layer was like cement.

I found a guy to till it with his old Farmall. Last summer I only got half of the raised beds built before I put my back out. This year I am very eager to put all ten raised beds to work. I might even move my gardening tools into the old rabbit hutch so that it gets some use.

If April showers bring May flowers, what do February floods bring?