What do Poultry and Politicians have in common? Chicken Sh*t.....

Well, it has been a REALLY long time since I have posted, and for that I would apologize but I don’t have the time. Between the new chicks (poultry type, for Pete’s sake. Don’t be so quick to judge) and political hoo-hah, I nearly short circuit every time I try to write.  Current politics alone provide writing material that would tax a professional author, let alone a hack like me!

What a lot of fluff

 So we ordered a new batch of fifteen Gallus gallus domesticus (Them there’s chickens in smart folk talk) from Murray McMurray hatchery back in June and they were delivered to the Post Office two days after they hatched (see above). We had forgotten how cute the little critters were until we opened the box they were shipped in and saw a whole slew of peeping puffballs with legs.  I must say I am impressed with McMurray. They managed to send sixteen life forms through the US Postal Service and get all of them to us alive. Yes, I know I said we ordered fifteen, but McMurray sent us a “Surprise Rare Breed” (meaning  no one knows what kind of chicken this is, what gender it is, or what it’s job will be). My Beautiful Bride and I like to stick with what we know, so we bought more egg layers to rotate into our egg layering flock and two Buff Orpingtons for Mom and Dad to introduce into their flock(more on that later). We (meaning I talked for hours and finally convinced by Sweetheart that I knew what I was talking about) also ordered five Cornish Cross broilers. As a broiler, their only job is to eat, poop, grow, and be eaten. Little did we know how well they do their jobs; they are currently three times the size of the other chicks of the same age and constantly drip what can only be described as the most prodigious amounts of fertilizer known to man.  I mean really, these Cornish Cross birds are so lazy they sleep at the feeder so they can transform the feed into more poop. It’s like someone crossed a vacuum with a leaky sewage pipe. The surprise bird appears to be a Blue Andalusian, but we still don’t know if it is male or female, therefore his/her fate is completely dependent on its ability (or lack thereof) to crow or lay eggs. If it’s a male, he’d better learn to keep his beak shut, not crow, and steal someone else’s egg to sit one if he knows what’s good for him.

 

Cock-a-doodle-doo... I mean look, I laid an egg.... 

 

To explain the whole reason behind the order, our original flock went on strike; they all stopped laying eggs at the same time, dang union birds. I thought maybe threatening them with being eaten would help, but we still only got one to two eggs a day for about three months. I even took a carcass from a wonderful roasted chicken my Bride prepared for my supper and showed them what could be their future, but no dice. I called them lazy, I called them worthless, I even resorted to begging, but it did no good. Egg production slowed to the point I wasn’t able to keep up with the demand at the office, and we only had a half a dozen eggs in the fridge at any given time instead of 4-5 dozen. So I convinced my bride to let me order more, and in six months, when they start laying, we could butcher the older biddies and put them in the stew pot. She agreed, we ordered, the chicks arrived, and the old hens started laying six eggs every day again. Yep, as of yesterday we had seven dozen eggs in the fridge and today I have some very happy co-workers. Sheesh…

As I mentioned earlier, we bought two Buffs for my Darlin’s folks. They have been good to us (the folks, not the Buffs) and raising chickens is something we really enjoy doing as a family. It gives us all something else to talk about besides the governments’ abject failure and the utter joys of child rearing (insert sarcasm here) during our weekly visits. They started their flock a while back with the one Buff Orpington that survived in our original batch of birds (thanks to a carnivorous blood hound who “wouldn’t kill a fly”...) and was later joined by one sister and then another. Unfortunately the sisters fell victim to a serial killer (most likely some raccoon that discovered that chickens really are the other white meat) and Henny Penny (as she has come to be known) was left alone. As soon as the bullies in our coop got the chance, they turned their attention of one of the smaller Reds and pecked nearly all of her butt feathers out. (Naked chicken butt is NOT pretty, by the way, unless the whole chicken is nekkid and headed for the fryer) so we took that Red to the folk’s chicken rescue and she is doing just fine.  Since moving to Mom and Dad’s place, they have become what are likely the most spoiled hens in the history of domesticated fowl. (I have no proof, but I think they are fed by hand from a silver spoon and drink bottled water when we aren’t around to see it). Needless to say, the new chicks will be a welcome addition to their flock once they get big enough to be assimilated into the group, and learn to eat from a spoon…

As of yesterday, all of the new chicks have been moved from the brooder box in the warm and dry garage, to their new outdoor runs in the back yard where the “sweet” and “innocent” bloodhound lives. (to be fair, I never saw the hound kill any chickens, but the feathers in her jowls were a clue, and following clues is what I do best…). The egg layers are right next to the older hens so they can see the life of luxury they will lead in a few months, and the broilers are in a free-range pen on the other side. I thought about putting a stew pot in their pen so they could  also see what their future was like, but I wasn’t sure that would exactly encourage them to fatten up over the next four to six weeks of their life. They should be ready for butchering early November, provided the hound doesn’t beat us to it and enjoy herself some more chicken sushi…

 To be (dinner) ....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not to be (dinner)....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, to change pace:

Ah, the government….What other career can you consistently lie about what you are qualified to do, lie about what you did and when you did it (under oath even, Mr Clinton?), not do the job you were hired to do, and still keep that job for 20 years and retire. Not only do you get to retire, but you get your full salary until you die. Ever notice how long many of the politicians live after retirement? I bet if we only paid them when they actually accomplished something,  they would not only get something constructive done, but would also die sooner, leaving the oxygen to those of us who are productive in this society. Not that I’m wanting politicians to die (Pay attention NSA, I know you’re monitoring), I’m just saying that I wish they would stop wasting good air. Al Gore thinks that my full size, long wheelbase, gas guzzling Dodge Ram is the cause of the greenhouse gases and atmospheric changes? NO….it’s all the hot air out of Washington DC causing the polar ice caps to melt and leave countless endangered species homeless. The poor penguins and arctic foxes are dying by the thousands because the politicians spend days yammering about gun control and how to spend my money. Think about the foxes, Mr President. Think about the foxes.

Our government is currently shut down because they can’t get along. I remember as a child when me and my nephew couldn’t agree, Mom would tell us “Take it outside and don’t come back in until you’re done arguing”.  Warm or cold, rain or shine, that was the cure to any disagreement that managed to make its way onto her radar. Maybe We the People should do the same thing. Let’s take the entire Congress, Senate, and the President to the desert, pen them up in a large arena and tell them they can’t come back in until it’s settled. While they duke it out, we can sell tickets to the affair and make a killing off of concessions. I can see the marquee now “In a world class bout: The ‘Rasslin Republicans vs. The Dancin Democrats”.  Even if that didn’t solve the problem, it could be fun to watch and heck, who says we have to let them out if they don’t work it out? Imagine looking at a map one day and seeing a blank spot between California and Utah.

 “Where’s Nevada?”

“Who?”

“Nevada. You know, with all the casinos”?

“Hmm….I thought that was Louisiana.”

“No, Nevada. You know, Las Vegas?”

“Ah…THAT Nevada. Never heard of it. You must be talking about that new place where we send politicians who fail to do their jobs. We sold it to Iran so they could test the nukes they don’t have.”

 

Until next time,