Field of Gold

Nearly the same photo.  The flash clicked on the second one.  I like the way the coreopsis in the first photo seems to be opening itself to the sky.  Reaching up for...more rays?

Everyone knows that the flowers are appearing early this year.  This field of gold magically emerged in the past week.

It's spectacular at dawn and dusk, when the low sun rays catch the petals without brightening the sky.  Normally the coreopsis last weeks; this season your guess is as good as mine!

The long view, from the flowers, across the chain link fence to the "back yard" and beyond into the crop field, ending at the heron's creek.

And guess what?  These flowers are atop my septic mound!  When I discovered I'd have to have a raised bed, I did some research and saw that many county extensions recommend planting prairie plants on septic mounds in order to reduce erosion and to use up the moisture there.  So I contacted J.F. New and ordered a sack of low grasses and forbs (the flowers).  Now it's a delight!  I even enjoy some of the weeds that have offered themselves up, though I try to eliminate most of them.

This purple flower is cow vetch, a pea relative.  I absolutely love it, although it is a weed.  I always keep it!

Don't you agree that my field of gold is better than a plain, green septic field?

Curiosity...

Before we moved to the country my cats had never been outdoors to wander.  They showed no interest, and it was certainly not safe in the city or on our busy suburban road.

Once we moved to Busy Solitude Farm, I watched them for signs that they wanted to be out.  It took about four years before Luke or Abe even attempted to follow me or the dogs out the door.  So I decided it was time to allow them some supervised freedom.  Over the past year I have allowed them out when I am at home.   Luke is very good about coming in when he's called; Abe predictably sits in one place where I can retrieve him.

Until Sunday.  The gallery where I work had a big art fair over Memorial Day weekend and I was working long days.  Exhausted but preparing to leave for one more day, I called the cats in but they did not come.  I had to make a choice -- be late for work and spend time looking for them, or trust that on a beautiful early summer day they would be fine outside for the day.  I filled the water bowl and drove off.

Sunday evening they were waiting for me when I got home.  Everyone had supper and I spilled myself into bed, not really seeing anything.

In the morning I discovered that Abe has three or four "holes" in his face.  Animal bite?  They certainly seem spaced appropriately.  Mosquitoes?  God knows they eat me alive.  We are practicing "watchful waiting" right now.  Luke once bit him on the face and it got infected.  Needed to be lanced, and Abe was on antibiotics for ten days.  So far he does not show signs of infection on these.

I sat him down and told him about cats and curiosity.  He yawned, and asked me to open the door.

Addendum:  Last night Luke (my other cat) was acting odd outside, looked like he was stalking something.  I brought him inside and then caught a glimpse of a black and white cat on the driveway.  Abe has been staying close to the house.  I think he probably was in a fight.

Autopsy report

Note:  As I mentioned in the post about Dolly Part-hen's demise, my friend Beth and her kids Ellie and Sam agreed to perform a necropsy to see what they could find.  I have edited their reports into this one post.  There are some photos that you might make you a little queasy (especially if you work at a major metropolitan newspaper).  Unfortunately Blogger's jump break feature is not working, so I can't hide them.  It's your choice whether to continue!  --JH

SAM:  We laid the chicken out on its back with its legs sticking straight up. Of course, my sister Ellie had to get a picture of the irresistible feet.

ELLIE:  So here we go. Razor sharp scalpel glinting viciously, raised a hair’s breadth or should I say feather’s breadth above the chicken’s throat. I really don’t like beginnings. They’re hard, and ultimately, are scary. Well, here it’s gruesome/scary and I have a queasy feeling in my stomach at this suspenseful moment. Snap! Moment’s gone, scalpel is slicing through the soft, thin skin with an unpleasant sound. But no blood flows out because the chicken’s already dead and has been for 2 days. Kinda gotcha there, didn’t I? Well, back to business….   

BETH:  The crop was obviously huge -- it was amazing the amount of food that was being stored in there. If I had been thinking correctly, I would have dissected another chicken that had just died from our flock to compare them, but I was tired and only later thought of it.

At any rate, there was something odd about the crop. I immediately noticed that the muscle tone was not good. I dissected other parts of her and found nice, pink "bouncy" muscle tone, even after she had been dead for a couple of days. The crop was not that way at all.

The insides of the crop were grayish with white splotches on it -- kind of like the coating on my tongue (whitish, prickly, and pasty) when I'm sick.

So you're probably asking, What the heck is a crop?  Well, for a chicken it's pretty essential as all body parts are and is a storage place for the chicken's meals.  This crop was evidently huge and bulbous, the size of a softball which I assure you is not normal.  A healthy crop, when full, should be the size of a normal 9 year old's fist.

The crop is supposed to be sort of a broadening of the esophagus -- her's was way out of line. It had stretched so much that the pressure of it was making her lose her feathers in that area. The skin there could not be separated from the crop lining -- they sort of melted into one.    

We cut the skin away from around it then slit the film that holds everything in. You see three meals all lined up. On the bottom, the oldest I mean, there is a ton of long, stringy grass and green fibers. On top of that, kernels of corn and seed. The top is nothing that falls into the food category and is very surprising, if a bit horrifying. This was her last and most recent meal before her death – grit, pebbles, and stones. Not little stones, but big rocks. Rocks that should never have gone down her throat, they were so large. She even swallowed a piece of sharp flint that could’ve cut her throat.  

Some of these rocks were big! Seriously big!! I think she was feeling a bit desperate to get things moving.

After emptying the contents of the crop, I explored a little further into the digestive tract. The proventriculus comes just after the crop and is sort of the first real stomach. Although I'm no chicken anatomy expert, there was something wrong here. There should have been more of a narrowing of the tissue after the crop at the proventriculus, but there wasn't. The tissue seemed limp and lax. The muscle tone being that way may have meant that she couldn't easily push food through from the crop as is normal. 

To complicate matters, when food becomes compacted in the crop (which does happen occasionally) bacteria and fungus can begin to grow which is what I think was happening. The color was not pink like surrounding tissue, but was dull and ruddy, grayish/whitish. And I'm told the smell was quite horrific, tho that kind of thing doesn't really affect me much. Sam, my sensitive nosed boy, couldn't stop saying, "Oh -- OHHH. That smell. OHHHH." He plugged his nose incessantly and wondered how I couldn't smell it. I think the food was really beginning to rot in there.

As the three of us leaned over all this and examined the contents, the smells wafted up to my brother Sam’s nose. These smells hit him like a punch and he fell backward, making distressed sounds and plugging his nose. It smelled like very rotten cheddar cheese. I was not affected by any of this because my nose was born for dissecting and is always stuffed up. 

Lastly, she was emaciated. Very thin. Since this had been going on since birth off and on, I think it probably took its toll on her ultimately.  Upon further research, I learned that it is indeed the case with pendulous crop problems that the misshapen, lax muscle cannot move food along. This problem starts as a chick and there doesn't seem to be consensus on what causes this to happen – genetics or too much heat -- who knows?

I'm sure she had as good a life as she could have had, though. You're such a conscientious, caring person. If I was a chicken, I'd want YOU for an owner!

Guest poster (partially): Ulani: BISCUIT!

I don't see what anyone's interest is in the cruel teasing I endure in order to "earn" my food.  Please do not watch this video.  It only encourages Johanna.

Sincerely,

Ulani

PS -- if you watch it, it will drive your dogs crazy.  Serves you right.

Snake in the...!

After hurriedly filling the duck pool this morning, I raced into the barn to let the chickens and duck out for their daily romp.  And then I let out a gasp because I was met by this:

Actually, the snake was curled up in front of the coop door when I walked into the barn.  But I truly did gasp aloud.  Yikes-o-matic!  What to do now?

First I spoke to it.  I said "Snakey, could you move over so I can let the birds out?"  Then the snake curled itself up tighter.  When I moved a bit closer, it struck out at me!  Yikes-o-matic again!

I retrieved a snow shovel and attempted to encourage Snakey to run away.  I felt a bit safer behind the wide blue shovel end of this implement.  And good thing, too, because Snakey hissed and struck out at me again.

The forecast was 85 degrees today.  I did not want the birds to be stuck in the barn all day, but I sure as sh#t was not walking past that snake!  Not when it was clearly unhappy with me!

 So I spoke to it again.  I said "Snakey, you are welcome to all the barn mice you would like.  In fact, I encourage you to hang around and have a feast.  However I must admit that you make me seriously uncomfortable, and so I respectfully request that you move your snake ass over so I can get in the coop and let the chickens out.  What do you say?"

Snakey thought it over.  I moved in a bit with the snow shovel, approaching his personal space.  A very effective method of dog training, put pressure on the personal space until you get what you want, then back off.  And guess what?

Snakey ran off!  "Yes!" I exclaimed!

And the chickens and duck were able to run out and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air.

The end.

PS, I truly would welcome the snake to hang around if it eats rodents, because there are plenty of those in the barn.  You might remember a couple of years ago I was greeted by a snake in the zinnias.  That snake eventually met its maker under the lawn mower.  I cried when that happened -- felt terrible to have killed it.  And figured I'd eliminated a very valuable pest-eater, too.  And my sister reminded me of the snake-toad incident just this spring!  I don't think of toads as pests, so I was unhappy with that snake then.  Was it the same guy?!

But snakes do creep me out, and I'd rather it not show its slithery face to me!  Is that so much to ask?