Higher Power Intervention or Coincidence?

Yes, I know it's been a while since I blogged.  I have alot to blog about actually.  And my comeback to blogging was not going to feature what I'm about to cover.  Instead I wanted to talk about summer vacation.  I'll still do that.  But not today.

I haven't had the best week.  I've thought about going into a church and dousing myself with Holy Water.  My grandmother used to say this was a cure for anything.  In fact, she had a bottle of it stored in her kitchen cabinet and if you were sick or troubled, that stuff came out and you were doused.

To start out, I somehow, in a fit of Darwinian-stupid-human-tricks, backed my car into a pole.  Now, when people say they backed their car into a pole, normally you think:  back bumper gone, back lights done in, etc.  No no...not me.  I made a big sweeping turn out of a parking lot that had a pole inopportunely situated in the middle of it, and crunched that pole right into my driver's-side door.  I did a really good job of it too.  Perfect crunching.  I had my mom in the car at the time and at first thought I was hit by another car.  Then I looked to the left and saw the pole glaring at me through the window on my side of the car.  My question was:  "Who put that pole there?"

My insurance company is great, and fast, and probably still laughing about this.

The day after this occurred, I went to ride one of my horses in the morning.  I had a nice ride.  It was a bit blustery that day, and colder than it's been, and a slight drizzle was still hanging around.  Nevertheless, I was in good spirits despite the car incident.  When I was finished I went to the car and put my combination into the driver's side door, then remembered....it didn't matter that the combination would open my locked door, because the HANDLE DID NOT WORK ON THE BASHED SIDE, so I wouldn't be able to get in.  The secret of getting in the car now, until it is repaired, is to crawl onto the passenger seat and lift the handle on the driver's side door and pop it open from the inside.  I forgot this when I LOCKED THE CAR DOORS and LEFT MY KEYS IN THE CAR.  I always leave my keys in the car because I use the combination to get in my vehicle.

Okay, so I resigned myself to the fact that I was walking home.  That would be an over 4-mile walk, in MUCK BOOTS.  Here's a photo of MUCK BOOTS to show you how really stupid a 4-mile walk can be while you are wearing them.  (I leave my riding boots at the stable, and they would even be more uncomfortable to walk home in.)

Lucky for me, the gentleman who does the barn clean up in the morning, was still there and offered me a ride, as he was going that way to deliver round bales to a farm near me.  I didn't want him to go out of his way, nor did I want him to try to turn his vehicle around with the round bales attached, so I had him drop me off at a farm about 1.5 miles from my house, and I walked from there.  Just as I got out of his truck and began my walk down the road, it started to drizzle.  Yep.....I wasn't suprised.  I was starting to think about where the nearest church was so I could bathe in that water.

Later in the day, my husband came home from work and we took the extra key and went to retrieve my car.  He took me to Starbucks first for a coffee.  I must have looked pathetic and he felt sorry for me.  Nothing like some caffeine to get rid of that whole "can't believe I did that" feeling.

Today, the sun came out and I decided the safest place for me was in the house.  However, I did need to take our dog, Moe, to his allergy vet for a check up.  This vet's office is in a city South of us, and about 50 minutes from our house on a good traffic day.  So I piled Moe into the car in the early afternoon, after, of course, crawling over the passenger seat to pop the door on the driver's side, buckled myself in and headed for the vet's office.

I am happy to report this was an uneventful trip, but one that took me to a point where I would be heading home in end-of-day work traffic once the appointment was over.  The problem is this:  we have plenty of interstates, but most of them are PACKED with cars and crazy drivers and I was already having a pretty bad week, so I carefully planned the route in my head that I would take.  It was NOT a route I would EVER take under normal circumstances, but more of a back road alternative which would eventually put me on the Turnpike and headed home.  Our Turnpike is not heavily traveled during normal days, but during holidays and weekends in the summer, it can also be an option to avoid.



Moe.  This is about as excited as he gets.

 I also normally do not STAY at the vet's office.  My husband works in that area, so we do a pass off, he stays with Moe and Moe gets his check up, and I head back home or to the store to food shop or elsewhere.  But today I stayed.  AND, I usually have my husband drive Moe home, but today, I took Moe with me for the return trip.

I don't know how many of you believe in divine intervention.  I have believed in a higher power of intervention for a long time.  I call my higher power God.  But many people have different names for their higher power.  Some things, yes, are simply coincidence.  But some are clearly not.  And what I'm about to describe to you, in my book, is clearly not coincidence.

I drove off of Market Street onto Wyoming Avenue in Kingston (those of you who live near me will know this area, so I'm giving you a visual).  Following Wyoming Avenue through Forty Fort and into Wyoming, you eventually come to a light at the Eighth Street Bridge area.  Once you cross over that main thoroughfare, the road goes from a two lane to a one lane, and there are houses and side roads to the right that all lead down to the Susquehanna River.  It was right here, where the lane begins to go from two lanes to one, that I spotted, out of the corner of my left eye, a dog bounding into the road with a leash dragging to his attached collar.  At about the same time, I noticed a woman off to my right, standing with her hands up to her mouth clearly upset and somewhat in shock.  And quickly the scene played out in my head that this dog was going to die on this road because this area at work traffic time is a non-stop thoroughfare of fast moving vehicles.  Luckly, there wasn't a single car coming from the opposite direction and the dog ran back to a lawn on the left side of the road, all the time bouncing around.  He looked young....like a lanky, growing puppy.  And, yes folks, he was an orange belton setter.  You don't see many setters in my area, but I knew immediately what he was.

It was right at this time that I stopped my car right in the middle of the two lanes coming to one to halt the multitude of traffic vehicles behind me.  I know some of the cars behind me saw the dog because no one honked.  Again, this is most unusual for Northeastern Pennsylvania at rush hour.  And within about four seconds of my totally stopping my car, the dog ran directly in front of my wheels so that I could not see him and off down a street on the right.  If I had been moving, I would have been the one to hit him.

Without even thinking about it, I turned right down that street, parked my car on the corner and got out.  The woman, by this time, was headed down the street too, and I called out to her "Is that your dog?" To which she quietly replied, "Yes, it is."  She was still very upset.

I went around to the passenger side and got Moe out of the car.  You see my line of thinking here?  What dog can pass up the opportunity to meet another dog, especially a puppy that was bounding in happiness at having slipped its owner's grasp in heavy traffic.  Another car on the side street had stopped and two women got out, clearly as concerned about the dog as I was.  I shouted to the owner, "I have my dog with me...maybe your dog will come to him."  No sooner had the words come out of my mouth and the puppy spotted Moe and ran right to him.  I let them sniff each other and quietly leaned down and grabbed the leash.

The owner was clearly relieved and kept saying "Oh, bless you, bless you, God bless you."  I handed her the leash and said, "Hang on tight," and Moe and I headed back to the car.  Moe does not understand what a hero he was to this woman, nor that we were playing out a plan that was well laid out for us to follow.  I know it was waiting for us, because there was no hesitation, no second guessing, no question "should we stop?" "should we turn here and wait?" "should we get involved?"  Nope.  None.  It was played out like we had practiced it for weeks, and a young orange belton happy-go-lucky puppy was saved.

In the light of what could have occurred, my week wasn't really that bad.  I'll save the Holy Water bath for another time.  God has already blessed me.

Aaarrrroooooo!!!

Ike - One Most Extraordinary Dog

Ike
June 2000 - September 9, 2011

We lost our dog Ike yesterday.  We lost him to cancer.  Cancer is a disease that affects certain breeds in a high rate of occurrence.  Labs are one of those breeds.  Ike had been in hospice/palliative care with us for the last almost-a-year.  Dogs and people share the same kinds of cancer in certain instances.  Some of the protocols are even the same for treatment.

Ike wasn’t expected to have made it this long by his oncologist.  We always expected him to make it this long.  We know Ike, who has always been able to overcome whatever disaster has been thrown his way, whatever health issue, whatever prognosis of doom.  Ike can be compared to a person who might have a cloud hanging over them.  This has never daunted him.  It has never daunted us.  We tried to stay positive and tried to keep our days happy.

As a catharsis for myself, and in loving memory of this fine dog, I’d like to tell you his story.

In April of 2000 we acquired Ollie, our golden retriever, for $200 from a gentleman who was an over-the-road truck driver.  He had two goldens at the time.  Ollie and his brother.  We would have taken them both, but he had a family interested in Oggie, and they did end up taking him.  So we purchased Ollie.  After a considerable wait, we decided we were going to look for a companion dog for Ollie.  Ollie was only a bit over a year old when we got him, and we always had two dogs, so we began our search.  A friend of mine, knowing we were looking, contacted me about Ike, who was a stray found along a roadway in Maryland.  He was at the Caroline County Humane Society.

When Ike came in he was limping and missing much of his tail.  His limp was caused by an unknown source (possibly hit by a car) which injured his hip area so that the ball and socket were no longer functional.  He would need an operation.  The femoral head would have to be removed.  He was also found to be heartworm positive.  These things, under normal circumstances, would have made Ike a candidate for euthanasia.  I still have the email from the Humane Society.  Here is what they wrote me:

“Even though Ike had two strikes against him (heartworms and his injury), we just couldn’t let him be euthanized.  He is a special boy.”

I put in my application, and contacted his foster home.  Here are some of the things Ike’s foster mom (who volunteered at the shelter at the time) wrote me about him:

“Ike really came to my attention when we needed to load up dogs for a trip to the vet for rabies shots as they would be going out to adoption.  We really noticed there was more to his limp, so we had the vet check him.  We let Ike hang out in the office with us, where he stole our hearts laying his head in our laps, following me wherever I went and walking into a crate that was set up for another dog and settling in.  We looked at each other and smiled—what a good dog!  We knew at that point that surgery was a must but before fighting that battle (funds are always short) we decided half-heartedly to have him tested for heartworms.  We also knew that if he had two strikes against him that a different decision would need to be made.  The smear came back positive.  We cried, but looked at his face and said 'oh well—not for this dog.'  Understand we are not bleeding hearts, but have a true love for the animals and what we can do to make things better for them.  He just grabbed us.”

After countless correspondences between the shelter, foster mom and myself, we adopted Ike on my son’s birthday, September 2, 2001.  We were traveling back from a vacation at Rehoboth Beach and picked him up on the way home.  The shelter had raised funds through a grant--and a local woman donated $200 after hearing of his plight--for one half of Ike’s surgery.   A local vet donated the other half.  A local newspaper columnist did a story on Ike for the newspaper, which appeared on August 21, 2001.  This brought in an additional $100 in donations.  I still have the article, which the shelter was kind enough to send to me.  It reads:

HUMANE SOCIETY LOOKS TO HELP IKE GET BETTER

                Ike wags what is left of his chocolate brown tail as he limps across the room to play with a volunteer who is also one of his foster parents.  The Caroline County Humane Society rescued the 1-year-old Labrador Retriever in June after finding him abandoned and still hurt from being hit by a car.  The accident dislocated Ike’s hipm which was never able to fully heal.  Ike also was recently diagnosed with heartworm.

                Unfortunately for Ike, the Humane Society does not have the funding to pay for his surgery, so they are asking for donations.  Traci Higdon, executive director of the Caroline County Humane Society, said the Veterinary Medical Center of Easton agreed to treat Ike for half price, but at least $300 is still needed to treat him.  The surgery would replace the ball in Ike’s hip so that he can walk and sit properly.

                “He’s very friendly, very gentle and loves popcorn,” says foster parent and Humane Society Board Member Melinda.  “He’s just an extremely loving dog.”

                Ike now is patiently awaiting his surgery and looking for a good family to adopt him.  Ike’s case is not all that uncommon, according to the Humane Society.  “There are a lot of very nice dogs at the shelter,” Higdon said.  “To us, we can’t justify euthanizing them.”

                Anyone interested in helping out Ike or adopting a needy pet can contact the Caroline County Humane Society.

There is a photo of Ike along with this article.

In November we traveled back to Maryland with Ike for his surgery to repair his hip, officially called a Femoral Head Ostectomy.  He was neutered at this time as well.  He needed to wait until one month after his heartworm treatments were completed to have any surgery at all and/or be put under anesthesia.  We paid for the remainder ($207.15) of his surgery costs, opting for laser surgery which would allow the wound to heal faster.  Then Ike was free to come home and enjoy the rest of his life.



Ike and Ollie
Taken in 2002



Ike and Ollie became fast friends.  Neither of them left the property.  We did not have a physical fence at the time.  Both were excellent recall dogs.  It was easy for us to see how Ike warmed the hearts of his rescuers.  He was always a calm and very gentle dog with piercing eyes that looked right through you.  In his initial years with us he had a penchant for electronic objects like remotes and nintendos—and he chewed these with great gusto if he could get his paws on them.  But, in all the years we owned Ike, this was his only vice.  (Well, if you don't count the one or two times he brought pieces of deer carcasses from the woods...LOL!)  He soon overcame even that, and could be trusted laying with a remote all day and never chewing it once.



Ike with our older cat Cleo.  He got along with our
cats very well and often was a sleeping buddy.



After his recuperation period from his operation, he moved normally.  We could tell which side was the side of his problem, but most visitors never knew once his scars healed with new fur.  We went on many adventures, including vacationing in Maine with both Ollie and Ike (where Paul was too trusting with the dogs off leash and I would yell…LOL).  They enjoyed lounging on the screened in porch on those summer days, and going for leash walks on Maine roads and over the rocky beaches.  They even swam in the water pool that was very near where we stayed.

We lost Ollie to a cancerous tumor of his heart in October of 2006.  Ike's best buddy was now gone in body, but I'm convinced lives on at the farm in spirit.  Goldens, as it turns out, are also extremely prone to cancer.



Ike sharing a bed with Harry.



We had added Daisy to our group in 2003, as well as Bethy in 2005 and Moe in 2006.  Moe loved Ollie.  We have many photos of Moe laying with Ollie.  When Ollie passed on, Moe transferred his love to Ike.  Ike loved romping with Bethy the most, and she would often have to hide on him under the bushes in their game of "catch me if you can."



Ike loved stuffy toys and stuffy play nights!



One day, in the winter of 2008, when Ike was 8 years old, I noticed a foul smell coming from his mouth.  I thought he might need dental care, so we took him to our vet for a check.  Our vet found a tumor growing in Ike’s upper palate, and immediately made an appointment for us with a local specialist.  Ike’s diagnosis was osteosarcoma cancer.  He needed an operation to remove 1/2 of his upper palate so that the cancerous tumor could be excised.  We went ahead with the operation and Ike's follow up care.  He would require six month check ups, with bloodwork and monitoring after the surgery, but his surgeon felt that he had gotten all the margins and Ike would be cancer free.  There wasn't enough skin in the upper palate to fully close the hole that was there, so Ike's mouth healed with a hole in it, and it never bothered him one day.  He learned to eat and drink carefully so that food would stay out of the crevice...again, another testiment to Ike's adaptability to adversity.

For two solid years Ike was back to "normal" and enjoying life on the farm.  Then at the end of August, 2010, I noticed Ike was drooling and thought I smelled that familiar putrid smell coming from his breath.  We had an early September appointment to take him back to the specialist.  There our worst fears were realized.  Another tumor was growing on the opposite side of Ike's upper palate.  They could not perform surgery.  He might be a candidate for chemotherapy.  We needed to have x-rays done of his chest.  We met with the oncologist and the x-rays were taken.  The prognosis was grim.  Ike's cancer had metastisized to his lungs.  His lungs were full of tumors.  He was not a candidate for chemotherapy.  They gave him up to three months to live.

I remember coming home feeling so dejected.  I was depressed.  How could this be happening to such a good dog?  I know now it happens to good dogs everywhere, and that we need more funding to rid both dogs and humans from this menace.  I began to investigate alternative medicine.  I joined a cancer dogs group on line.  I found, one day in a particularly depressive state, a lovely Facebook site called Positive Posts for Riley.  Riley was a dog who also had cancer.  I read the site completely.  The premise:  STAY POSITIVE.  Don't dwell on the fact you are going to lose your dog!  Live everyday to the fullest.



This is one of the last photos I took of Ike.  He
loved to be outside and lay in the grass.



From that day forward I never acted like Ike was going to do anything but live.  We put Ike on an alternative treatment involving K9 Immunity Plus and a no grain diet.  When he didn't eat over the Christmas holidays, I cooked him anything he would eat...ground beef, chicken, tuna casserole, cheese dishes, and Paul and I fed them to him by hand.  I could always get him to eat, even if he wasn't quite feeling like it that day.  After the holidays, he went back on his own to eating normal dog food and relished his meals.  I never thought of the prognosis or the months he had.  I just kept moving forward as if that prognosis didn't exist.

Ike went on as he always did.  He played, until these last few months when he slowed down quite a bit.  This of course was due to his breathing issues, which came on if he got too excited or walked or ran too much.  In the last two months, the cough began.  It's a very dry cough that doesn't bring up anything.  Besides the K9 Immunity Plus, we had Ike on a course of Prednisone.  This aided in his breathing and to keep any swelling that might occur within his body in check.

I prayed for Ike every day.  Mostly my prayer also asked that when it was time for him to go, that he show me in a big way.  I didn't want to make the mistake of taking him too soon.  I had read alot on palliative care and talked to alot of people about the signs to expect.  I had also read up alot on cancer, both the human and canine versions.  To be sure, I contacted my very trusted animal communicator.  Some people do not believe in animal communicators, and I have to honestly tell you I didn't, until I met the woman I use.  She is, without a doubt, a woman with a gift.  I simply wanted to ask her how I would know when it was time.  She told me it would be a big sign...there would be no second-guessing.  I would know.  I shouldn't worry anymore.  And, I didn't.

Even though you know that the result of palliative care is very final, you still aren't quite prepared for it when it arrives.  The day before yesterday I had noticed Ike's breathing had changed.  He also was coughing more, and his cough sounded different.  When you have gotten used to watching and listening to your dog's every sound and movement, you can immediately discern fine points...fine changes.  Ike ate his dinner the night before, but for the previous few days, had seemed uninterested in food.  He showed up for treats at treat time, but didn't take them with much gusto.

On the day that Ike left us, he refused his breakfast that morning.  His breaths became shallow and many small breaths in the course of where a single breath might be.  He groaned when he lay down and when he got up.  I took him outside after making him some ground beef.  He liked it outside.  I tried to hand feed him.  He refused it.  I tried his favorite cheese, his favorite treat.  He refused them.  He walked slowly to the fence line to relieve himself and then laid in the grass.  He couldn't make it back to me.  I dropped the bowl of food on the table outside and went in to get my husband.  Tears were coming down my cheeks, but I knew.  It was time.

We made the appointment.  I got my nail clippers and grooming comb and got a dog bed out on the patio.  I encouraged Ikey to join me there and I groomed him.  He liked to be fussed over.  We talked.  In the place of his clear golden eyes I saw pain.  This was the right decision. 

I don't want to say that Ike was the best dog we ever owned.  We have lots of best dogs.  Each bring their own game to the table.  But I can tell you he was the most extraordinary dog we ever owned.  Kind and understanding beyond belief.  Adaptable and willing to go on no matter what.  He fooled even his vets when it came to timeframes.  He cheated the humane society rules when it came to euthanasia.  He embedded himself in our hearts forever.

Every once in a while, God graces us with a spirit that is indomitable.  Such was Ike's spirit.



Ike rolling in the winter grass.

Run free Ike.  We know we will see you again, and I, for one, will be so happy to stroke your sweet head once more.

I Am A Dog Owner...

This is going to be a wee bit of a rant.  I apologize in advance.

I live in a very rural area (perhaps you have figured this out already).  Yet, I live at the top of a housing development in a very rural area.  There are a small number of houses in this development, with most home owners owning 2 - 8 acres of land.  So we are not close to each other.  In fact, I can see only one other neighbor from where I live.  I can't see the rest of them until I drive down my access road and out into the development.

There are neighbors that live on the access road and neighbors who live down below in the main part of the development.  We are mostly friendly with the neighbors who live off of the access road and know very little about the rest of the neighbors down below, except that one time we found a dog that belonged to the son of one of our neighbors down below.  We didn't know it was their dog, but eventually, through my husband driving around and asking people, we found out that their son was visiting and the dog got away, so we were glad to be able to reunite them.  They brought us a lovely fruit basket as a thank you, which was unexpected.  We were just glad the dog was back home.

I know....I haven't ranted yet, but I have to set this up properly.  Give me a minute.

We have some neighbors who live on a dirt road behind our development.  One house in particular I always admire when I drive past.  It is picture perfect.  A redone farmhouse with a large wrap around porch, pool in the sideyard and well manicured lawn.  There was always a dog asleep on the porch in the shade of this house.  It was like a Norman Rockwell photo.

In fact, of the neighbors we have in and around our development, all but two that I know of, are dog owners in the sense that they have dogs.  Some of them are dog owners in the sense that they are responsible for the dogs and others just "have" them.  It's the latter that are a featured part of my rant.

Let's start with that Norman Rockwell photo.  One day last year, not unlike the heat we are experiencing now, we had a three day stint of high heat indeces and temps in the upper 90's.  I was driving out of our development, and had just made the turn from our main road to the rural route that adjoins it, when walking down the middle of the road I see a very haggard looking dog.  I look at the temp gauge in my car.  It is 94 degrees.  That asphalt had to be extremely hot.  The dog looked disoriented.  I stopped my car, got out, loaded the dog into the back seat and drove home.  I opened my garage, put the dog inside on the cold floor, got a small small water bowl and put some water in it, and dipped my fingers in the water and wet the dog's muzzle.  This dog looked elderly, but familiar.

My husband wasn't home and I had to be somewhere, so I called him on his cell and explained the situation.  I also said that the dog looked familiar and I was going to think on it as to where I'd seen this dog before, but in the meantime, when he got home, he was to check her and if she was no longer panting and quiet, he could give her a full bowl of water and some treats.

I went to my appointment.  On the way home it occurred to me that this dog looked alot like the Norman Rockwell dog on the picture perfect porch.  So I drove to the house, parked, and knocked on the door.  Nothing.  I saw a neighbor's door open across the way, so I walked over and asked if they knew if the folks were home.  "No," the neighbor replied, "They are on vacation."

"Well, you see," I said.  "I've found this dog that looks alot like the dog that I've seen on their porch."

"Oh MY GOD! Thank GOD!  You've found Holly???????????" screamed the neighbor.  Now I was really confused.

"Well, I don't know that I've found Holly, but I found a dog that reminds me of the dog I saw on this porch." I replied.

"They lost Holly the day they were leaving on vacation," the neighbor went on to say.   "She just wandered away from their house.  We told them we would try to find her and we've been looking for her."

"Well," I said.  "She was in plain view this morning, walking down the middle of the hot road, tongue to the ground, disoriented and already showing signs of heat exhaustion."  Pffft....I think that went right over the neighbor's head....you could almost see it whizzing off into the distance.

"Can I come and get her?" asked the neighbor.
"You can come and verify it's her," I said.  "And if it is, you can bring her back.  Would you be keeping her in your house?"
"Oh good, because they are coming home tomorrow and they will be so relieved.  Yes, she can stay in our house until they get home."

Turns out the dog WAS Holly.  Holly was 19 years old....19 YEARS OLD!!!!!  Maybe it's me, but I don't think I would have headed on vacation if my 19 year old dog was missing.  I don't think I'd leave my 19 year old dog laying on the porch day after day, because disorientation occurs in older dogs and they can wander, not knowing where they are.

Holly went home, and I saw her on the porch for another year.  Then I never saw her again, so I assumed she had passed on.  A younger dog was soon on the porch, and I realized something.  These folks never let the dog in.  No wonder their house was picture perfect.  I am a dog owner and that means when I get a dog, it can come into my house and live with me.



Dog owners who use these should be made
to sleep in them for a week and
experience first hand igloo living.

 Next scenario...neighbors down the road in our development had two dogs who inhabited two igloos in the back section of their yard.  I never saw them walk the dogs, but then again, I was not around all day watching to see if it would happen.  The woman would often tell folks she "rescued" both dogs.  Uh huh....so that's why they are living in igloos....because they are "rescued."  Soon, they moved the igloos from behind their house to the front area of their driveway, one under each of two shade trees.  I cooked up schemes in my head about throwing the dogs treats until they recognized me and spiriting them away...but these were just pipe dreams because I'm really a law abiding citizen.  Instead I contacted Animal Friends and had them send them one of their letters about dogs chained outside.  I know they must have received the letter, because for about a week after that I understand they allowed the dogs to live in their garage.  But then they were back outside again.  Then the igloos disappeared and so did the dogs.  I am a dog owner and my dogs will never have to live in igloos because I know that when I rescue a dog, I am rescuing them from a life of loneliness and solitude and I want them to be a part of my life.  A dog in an igloo is not rescued.  It needs to be rescued.



Horses can become very angry and agitated by dogs
and ultimately will go after them.  The horse will
always win this battle.

 Finally, there are my favorite neighbors.  The ones whose house I can see.  They have three dogs.  One is a bird dog, two are small yappy dogs.  All are very cute.  Their dogs live with them in their house and share in their lives.  The smaller yappy dogs are happily ensconsed in hair bows.  One of them has been known to actually come into our horse pasture and have a bark fest at our horse Parker, who looks unperturbed and munches his hay.  Horses can kill dogs.  One mighty uplift of that front hoof or kick with a back hoof, and a dog's back can be broken.  We alerted our neighbor's to this fact.  It seemed for a while the small yappy dog did not appear, but then the bird dog started to invade.  We turned our electric fence on in the lower pasture--where the bird dog gained access--and listened for the first howl.  We hated to do it, but it was for the dog's safety.  That first howl came.  A few days went by, and then a second howl.  Since then the bird dog has learned not to enter the horse field.  It normally only takes one shock.  Our own loving dog, Ollie, our Golden Retriever, was shocked by the fence early in his life with us.  It only took one time and he gave it a wide berth.  Same with our lab, Ike.  Since then our physical fence has saved any of our other dogs from experiencing the shock.

We love dogs, but we don't let ours run wild.  Even when we didn't have a physical fence, we didn't let our dogs run.  We walked them on leashes.  Ollie and Ike were the only two dogs we allowed off leash because they stayed within range and came on call.  Daisy, Moe and Bethy were walked on leash.  When Burton came, our first deaf dog, the physical fence went in.  Yes, it cost alot of money to put that fence in.  But I'm a dog owner and I'm responsible for the lives of my dogs.  I don't want them infringing on anyone else's property, especially if they may be harmed.

I take owning dogs very seriously. 



Too bad this dog doesn't live next door.

 I may not be winning any hospitality awards soon, because I may have to go have some talks with some neighbors.  A week ago, the igloo people put their igloos back out and they have two new dogs inhabiting them.  This past week I caught the bird dog going to attack our chickens (who stay diligently in their 100 yards of farm near the barn).  Even after my husband had a serious talk with the owner, the dog was running wild tonight again down our access road.  Some people need to come with a warning label.

Aaarrrrooooo!

Snippets of Life in the Not-So-Fast Lane

It's been the kind of week where I know 168 hours went by but I have no real knowledge of what occurred because so much occurred I couldn't keep track.  During the week several times I had things pop into my brain about certain happenings or whatever I was doing at the time, and thought "I should blog about this for sure."  Unfortunately, my brain has a time stamp on it.  Like a piece of liverwurst left in the sun, it goes bad after just an hour.  So I've mostly forgotten the things I wanted to tell you about.  I didn't take that course you see on television that improves your memory or uses association to guide you through remembering 265 names of people you just met in a room.

However, I do remember some things that happened, and my feelings about them at the time, so I thought I'd drudge those snippets forward and see if I could salvage at least some of my thoughts.

First, while driving to the grocery store the other day, I marveled at the fact that some of the roads I was driving on were actually being held together by a string of tar that the road crew had poured over the cracks and erosion over the course of the last 7 months.  I'm not quite sure what our township does, but I can tell you unabashedly, it isn't road work.  Some of our roads are governed by PennDot and some are handled by the local township crew.  If you ask or complain about a certain road at the township building, you'll get "oh, that's a PennDot road."  If you complain to PennDot they will tell you "oh, that's the township's responsibility."  I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but this sounds fishy to me.



Typical road repair in my area.

 Recently our own development road was repaved completely.  This came after numerous complaints by neighbors and dwellers on the road that the crevices finally had to be filled because they were swallowing trees, cars and people.  Prior to the mass phone calling campaign, the township would send a road crew which involved one truck with that crumbly black road asphalt and one man with a shovel.  He simply drove to a crevice, threw the crumbly black road asphalt into it and drove to the next kink in the armour.  He didn't even drive over the crumbly black road asphalt stuff himself.  He left it for us....unsuspecting people coming home from shopping at the grocery store who suddenly heard the bottom of the car explode in little popping sounds, which was all the crumbly black road asphalt jumping out of the hole and sticking to the bottom of the car. 

As long as I'm talking about roads, let me jump right into my next thought--how bad the drivers are in our area.  Relative to Florida, Pennsylvania may be the next largest state with a proportionately large older population.  Now, I don't want to pick on older folks, because I'm one of them, but I'm going to tell you, I get stuck behind at least 2 to 4 elderly, slow drivers on every trip I make from my house.  Directly opposite this factoid is the unfortunate reality that we also have alot of young people--new drivers--on the road who feel it necessary to "peel out," as they say, from red lights, stop signs and parking lots.  They like to make and see those "cool" black marks on the road.  We had a pair of teenagers doing wheelies with their car in our cul-de-sac once.  I remember finding them and they told me some sad excuse of a story that they couldn't get their car to stop so they just kept going round and round (they actually shouted this out of their window while going round and round).  My head was going round and round with that story, and I informed them that a state trooper lived on our road and I would go get him to help them, and suddenly their car was fixed and it went straight and right down the hill and out of our development.  I wasn't lying.  We have a neighbor who is a state trooper.  I've never seen them on our hill again.

Drivers aside and back to shopping, I visited the K-Mart from Hell this past week to buy a plastic pool for our dogs to swim in since we are going to have the heatwave of the century this entire week coming up.  This K-Mart is in an obscure little burg that I don't visit very often, but happened to be taking my mother somewhere and needed to buy her some Elmer's Glue.  (I know...my life is so exciting...)

First, I would have expected the Elmer's Glue to be in a spot where paper supplies are located.  Pens, pencils, paper, glue, you know, the regular stuff.  So I went there.  Nothing.  I looked for someone to ask, but I do believe that every single employee of this K-Mart is trained to hide from anyone who looks like they might want to ask something.  I finally cornered a person, literally, who was emptying HTH pool chemicals in a corner near the restroom signs.  "Sir," I started, "Can you tell me where I might find glue?"  One deer-in-headlights expression later, he responded "try paper supplies in aisle blah blah."  Been there done that...nothing.

So I almost gave up, except that as I was giving up and going to exit the store, there sat the Elmer's Glue in a small counter near the check out line.  Ooookkkkkkaaaayyyyy then, let's NOT make this logical.  I grabbed a container and then realized that there were only two lines, and both had every consumer in this burg in them, and they didn't seem to be rushing to open any more check out counters.  Back to the end of line number one.

Approximately 15 minutes later I had the glue paid for and then needed to pull my car to the outside garden center location to buy the plastic pool.  Thankfully, they have a checker outside and you don't have to wait in one of the two lines with 100 other people.  I walked up to the young man working this section and said, "If that pool fits in the back of my Ford Explorer, and you help me put it in there, I will buy it."  He obliged and helped me fit it into my Explorer.  I then went back to pay.

Remember the Florida/Pennyslvania comparison?  Well, it kicks in again NOW.  There at the counter is an older woman buying a plant.  "How much is this?" she asks.  The young man is about to sputter that he is helping me and will be with her in a minute, but I knew that he was making a grievous error in judgement here and that he would never win any battle he started. "Ninety-nine cents," he replies.  She plops a dollar on the counter and he then turns to me again.  I give him the "I feel sorry for you and please help this woman first" look and so he rings her up.  He hands her a receipt.  She queries, "Did you not give me my change?" (That would be ONE cent folks.)  He responds, "no Maam, I didn't, because the purchase is really $1.05 with tax, but you don't have to worry about the $.05."  Nice young man.  You would think the woman would have thanked him and called it a day.  OHHHHH NOOOOOOOO, this is Northeastern Pennsylvania, at a K-Mart in an obscure burg, and me in a hurry. 

"Oh no," she says.  I have the rest.  I wouldn't want anyone to say I don't pay my bills." And with that she pulls out a nickel and he takes it because by this time he knows MUCH more about this situation than he did in the beginning and KNOWS he won't ever win this battle no matter what he does.  "Okay, thank you Maam," is all he replies.



"Do you always throw trees at people's hair?"

 In the meantime, an elderly gentleman is carrying a large hibiscus bush to the counter and he, without looking or thinking, lifts it up and plops it on the counter.  In the process a branch snatches the older woman's hair.  (Listen, you can't make this stuff up!)  Can you see where this is going?  I could, and all I wanted to do was pay the $12.00 for my plastic pool and get the heck out of dodge before the gun fight.  I think the clerk saw the panic in my eyes because he hurridly rang me up and threw the receipt at me, and I ran as fast as I could back to my car but not without first hearing the older woman say to the man in a loud voice, "Do you always throw trees at people's hair?"  My guess is the police were called and they had to open up another line to handle the buyers after the crowd dispersed into that K-Mart to shop....and that the older woman won.

Finally, I'm happy to report that all of the recent hen acquistions we made have now settled in and are getting along with our other chickens.  Again, such excitement may be too much for some readers, and I probably should have put a warning on this.  In an effort to acclimate everyone to our flock, I actually made a video the other day.  If you made it this far, you may want to bug out now.....unless you truly are interested in piranhas and the Blair Witch video photography aspects of this film.

Aaarrrooooo!

Android Phones Need Age Limit Warnings

You've got to admit...these
are sleek pieces of equipment!

For years I was content and happy to use an outdated cell phone.  It was a Samsung.  You know the kind...you just flip it up to answer and you can text, but not much else.  You could phone folks, have a list of contacts, say hello and goodbye...this is all I really needed to do. 

I'm not by nature a "phone" person.  I don't like to talk for long periods of time on the phone.  I come from a long line and deep deep history of "talkers" who LOVED to spend countless moments talking to family and friends via any mode of phone they could find.  As far back as when your phone number started with GL7 (yes this really dates me) my grandmother would spend over an hour sometimes on the phone with her Polish friends, spouting loads of Polish phrases that I'm sure were peppered with obsceneties that she didn't want us kids to hear.

Even as a teenager, I'd rather see my friends in person and talk to them, than speak with them for long periods over the phone.  Quite frankly, holding that phone up to my ear beyond 10 minutes is just a chore, and my ear starts to hurt.  I know we are in speaker mode option status now, but I still have an aversion to "phone talk."

Despite this, I thought that I would finally come out of the dark ages and get a new phone.  When my contract was up with my company, as I retired in January, I took on my own contract from the same phone provider, and my chance to change my phone came looming in front of me, dangling some kind of invisible phone carrot.

I read up on and checked into nearly 20 phones before finally deciding to go the Android route and get an LG Vortex.  I read all the complaints, all the reviews, all the obscure people-mad-at-the-world and people-happy-with-life-in-general notes to be found on-line.  You know the type...it's such a wide disparity in the comments and reviews section.  You will have a post with "I ABSOLUTELY HATE THIS PHONE!  I THREW IT UP AGAINST A WALL YESTERDAY!" and in the very next post in the queue you'll see "WHAT A LOVELY PIECE OF EQUIPMENT THIS IS! SO EASY TO USE AND I JUST LOVE IT TO DEATH!! FIVE STARS!!!!"  So helpful...

So in the end I relied on my decision making capacity and a piece of paper with the names of cell phones on it which I poked with my index finger after closing my eyes and spinning it three times.  My finger landed on LG Vortex.  So be it.  Sometimes fate is better than knowledge anyway.



My recommendation for a new
warning label on android phones.



I've now spent almost six months with my Vortex and I have to tell you that I really think there should be age warnings on android phones.  You figure they just upped the warning levels on a number of products we see on the market, most notably the visuals on cigarette packages.  I think I'd like to recommend a few photos they can use for people over 50 who decide to buy an android phone.  The photo to the right could be one.

It's not that I don't like my phone.  I do like it.  It's just that no one really seems to know how to write a user-friendly, over-50 instruction manual to go with these things.  Believe me, I do have some reading comprehension skills.  I do understand the written word.  But techno-lingo written for people who have a degree in electronics is beyond my knowledge base.

There is another problem.  Let me give you an example.  Here are the instructions for how to delete a message, from a list of messages on the phone, taken directly from the instruction manual. (Music playing....on hold....music playing....on hold....music playing.....on hold.)  Sorry for the delay.  THERE ARE NO INSTRUCTIONS IN THE MANUAL FOR DELETING A MESSAGE FROM YOUR PHONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So how does one figure this out?  Well, how I figured it out was purely accidental.  I happened to be looking at a message that was in the list and held my finger on it too long and up popped a menu that actually had the word DELETE on it!

For the other 90% of my problems, I google my question and find 50 million other people asking the same question and find some techno-speak person who understands the instruction manual who has explained the answer.  Or some 12 year old.  I find that if you have access to a young person, someone between the ages of 12 and 16, that has an android, they are a vast and infinite source of knowledge on how to use these phones.

So here is my recommendation for warning label verbage on android phones.  "STOP!  IF YOU ARE 50 YEARS OF AGE OR OLDER, YOU MAY WANT TO THINK ABOUT BUYING THIS PHONE.  IT COULD CAUSE AN INCREASE IN BLOOD PRESSURE, HEART PALPITATIONS, AND STRESS.  IF YOUR EYE SIGHT IS NOT 20-20 DO NOT EXPECT TO READ ANYTHING YOU SEE ON THIS PHONE!"

And, recently I found that Finland has a wonderful way to take out your anger on cell phones in general.  This could be my next vacation!

Aaarrroooooooo!!!!

Please Help Solve This Mystery

I'd like to get deadly serious for a moment.  I've been following a case that involves a starved-to-near-death pit bull named Patrick.  If you are on Facebook and an animal advocate, chances are you've seen and heard all about this particular case.  If not, I'm going to try to sum up in as few paragraphs as possible the background notes for you.

In one corner, we have the Associated Humane Societies and Popcorn Park Zoo (hereafter known as AHS).  In the other we have the Garden State Veterinary Specialists (GSVS).  In the middle, we have Patrick, a dog that was neglected and eventually thrown in the garbage in a plastic bag by his owner.

I cannot post photos of Patrick in this blog because everyone involved seems to "own" them and there is all kinds of verbage about how they must not be posted anywhere.  But you can see photos of him, if you have the stomach to view them, upon arriving at AHS by following this link.  I'm going to warn you, the photos are GRAPHIC.  I also want you to know that I have seen his updated photos and he looks nothing like this anymore.  He is a viable, healthy little pup who seems well adjusted despite his nightmarish experience.  Isn't that just like a dog?

The two groups have gone to court over custody of this little guy.  While AHS first brought him in, they transferred him to GSVS for the intensive care he would require to be, essentially, brought back to life.  This was not an easy process and has been ongoing over a number of months.  GSVS actually has someone who can and would adopt him, someone who works there and has participated in his care.  AHS says, no, this can't happen.  They would like Patrick to be a part of their Zoo.

Let me repeat that, just in case you thought you weren't seeing this correctly.  THEY WOULD LIKE PATRICK TO BE A PART OF THEIR ZOO!

Hmmmmm...let's see.  Adoptive home on one side where this little man can stay the rest of his life living under relatively normal circumstances, or a Zoo.

I'm writing this blog to prove that some animal rescue people are certifiably nuts.  I've met some first hand in my own rescue experiences, which is not limited to dog rescue, but also horse rescue.  I think I've actually found more very nutty people on the horse rescue side, but this particular case may shift me into a different gear on that thought.

Who could POSSIBLY want this dog to not have a normal life with what has proven to be a very qualified home in terms of his adoption?  Who?  Why would AHS continue to spend so much money in the court system when it has animals in need and continues to fundraise for them?  Helllllllooooooooooooo....is anyone in there?

I have, admittedly, not been a part of every nuance of this case.  I don't know every tiny detail.  But as a human being, aren't animal advocates supposed to look out for the welfare of the animals?  Wouldn't part of that welfare mean that a dog who has been abused and offered a good home, be allowed to live out his life in that home?  Am I missing something?  I don't even have to know everything about this case to know that I would choose the home over the Zoo.

But then again, maybe it's not just about the dog, or his welfare.  Maybe it's about something that is green with numbers on it.  I just hope not.  I hope not.  I really hope not.

It's too bad humans have egos.  We need to learn from our animals.

Aaaarrrrooooooo!

If you would like to follow The Patrick Miracle, please go to this link on Facebook. You will find updated photos and videos here.

There is No Fire Here....I'm Just Cooking Something

The members of my family will be the first to tell you that I haven't spent alot of time in the kitchen in my recent past as a full-time employee.  It's not that I don't LIKE to cook, it's just that I've had a horrendous schedule and getting in the house at 8:00 at night doesn't lend itself to much besides a bowl of cereal or twizzlers and Nilla wafers.

Now that I'm retired, and into organic gardening, raising chickens and healthy food, I've made time to come back into my element when it comes to cooking up a good meal.



Dried pasta

 I come from a long line of very very good cooks.  My grandmother bought only staples at the store.  She made everything from scratch, including pasta.  I can remember Saturday nights where all the kitchen chairs in her house would be draped with cheese cloth over which she had noodles hanging to dry for Sunday's pasta feast.  Every Sunday, ALL of the members of the very large family we had at the time, would be REQUIRED to appear for pasta.  It didn't matter when they came in terms of time of day, but they had to come.  And, whatever the pasta du jour, it was served pleasantly by my grandmother and grandfather--who was responsible for the sauce--in heaping bowls with large meatballs as an accompaniment.

As kids we often helped make the pasta.  I don't really know how much we helped, but let's just say we did.  We'd get our own little rolls of dough and a dull cutting knife and we'd be able to cut our own pasta designs.  They would ultimately become part of the precisely cut noodles hanging to dry.

Years later, my grandmother would give me, written in her own handwriting, her recipes for various dishes, including meat pie, homemade pasta and other Polish and Italian delicacies.  The problem was that I was never sure what a "handful of flour" was as a measurement, or what "stir until you think it looks good" meant.  I still have most of the recipes stored away in my recipe holder in my kitchen.



Vanilla Bean ice cream with fresh picked cherry sauce.

 This past Sunday was Father's Day and we had a little get together at our house with our kids and their kids, and it reminded me so much of the required pasta Sunday's.  It also reminded me that I CAN INDEED cook, as everyone went away happy.  My menu was simple:  steaks on the grill, accompanied by quinoa-wildrice-fresh tomato salad, dilled redskinned potato salad, buttered corn on-the-cob with paprika, salt and pepper seasoning, and a very easy broccoli-mushroom-green onion and cheddar quiche (made with our farm fresh eggs from our lovely hens--thank you ladies!).  For dessert we had vanilla bean ice cream with a cherry sauce that I made by picking the cherries from our own tree (which is ABUNDANT this year).



Broccoli, mushroom, onion and cheddar quiche.

 I always know when I've hit a home run when our one son, who is an award-winning Chef says things like:  "this is really good,"  "I would have never thought to put these together," and "can I have the recipe for this."

But it wasn't always so.  There were very dark dark cooking years, where I had no idea how long or even how to cook a piece of meat.  One time I tried to make liver and onions.  I think you could have used that piece of liver as a frisbee and it would have outlasted any made on the market today.

There were plenty of burned pot bottoms long before "teflon" was an ingredient in pots, but I had been known to even burn through teflon.  I felt like a failure.  I shied away from making food or contributing food to various occasions.  I'd cop out and buy store bought instead, or pay someone to make it for me.  Then I realized a few things.  I had forgotten my heritage and all the fine foods I had tasted growing up as a child.  My Italian, Polish and German background brought with it an array of possibilities when it came to spicing and cooking up a good meal.  I had just been trying too hard and not allowing myself to channel my grandmother and grandfather.

So I threw all the measuring materials aside and began to cook based on sight, feel and taste (which is basically what my grandmother's recipes were telling me to do).  AND, I bought and looked for only fresh ingredients.  My grandparents raised their own chickens and ducks.  They had a grape arbor, and their own vegetable garden.  My grandfather caught all of our fish in a stream.  He hunted rabbits, squirrel and deer, as well as doves, and incorporated them into dishes long before it became fashionable or cost an arm and a leg in a fine dining establishment.  If I wanted to repeat the process, I needed to go back to the roots of cooking...finding good, basic ingredients. 

The key:  buy items that themselves are only ONE ingredient, which means, of course, NO PROCESSED FOODS.  A potato is a potato.  A piece of sockeye salmon is a piece of sockeye salmon.  Rice-A-Roni has umpteen ingredients on the side of the box, one of which just happens to be RICE.  ONE INGREDIENT.  Then add what I needed that was also fresh to make it taste good.



A Chef Rudy creation: blueberry pork chops with
rice and braised vegetables.

 My son caught the calling long before I ever noticed.  I guess I never really asked why our television was always on the FOOD channel.  He was drawn to the food industry like a moth to a light bulb, learning all he could (while still in high school and his early years trying out college) from top chefs, some of which graduated from Le Cordon Bleu and the Culinary Institute of America.  He worked his way up in one kitchen, then another, from kitchen helper to sous chef to executive chef.  It's from him that I have learned the art of "sauces, simple and spice."

1. A good sauce can make the dish, but use it only if it fits.
2. Keep the idea simple and neat in both creation and presentation.


Chef Rudy's maple mashed potatoes.


3. Use the proper spices well to bring out the full flavor.

It's a long way from family calling the fire department because there is smoke coming out of the microwave!

We now buy our pork from a local farmer.  When he butchers the pigs, we buy 1/4 which lasts us quite a long time.  It lends itself to some of the best tasting bacon you will ever eat.  We grow our own "salad" garden in the summers, and I try to buy up root vegetables just before the fall to store for use later on.  I was so into beets last year that my son actually asked if I would please stop making everything with beets.  Sometimes I get carried away.  But I found a good deal on them at the end of the season from another local farmer, and, well, I LOVE BEETS!

Because no one should ever write about food without leaving readers with a recipe, here's my version of the easy quiche I've been talking about, along with a photo of how I like to serve it...very simply with sliced tomatoes on a bed of your favorite leaf lettuce.

Easy Broccoli Quiche (I add green onions, mushrooms and cheddar cheese, but you can add anything you like.  Sometimes I put in some cooked and crumbled bacon.)

1 bunch fresh broccoli (cut heads only into small pieces)
sliced mushrooms (as many as you like...I use 1/2 of the mushroom container)
green onions (scallions)...I cut up about 3 and include all of the green stalk
2 Tbsp unsalted butter
salt/pepper

Saute above ingredients in saucepan until broccoli turns bright green and begins to soften.  Add a pinch of salt and a sprinkle of pepper or to taste.  Set aside.

4 eggs
1 and 1/2 cups milk (use whole or 2%, nothing less)
pinch of salt, sprinkle of pepper
1 Tbsp unsalted butter melted

Beat together above ingredients with a wire whisk until well blended.

Use one 9" pie dish.  I like to use a china dish that is heat resistant.  I feel the consistency is better and the crust comes out evenly baked, as opposed to burning on a metal pie pan.

I use Pillsbury roll out pie dough.  It's easy and saves time.

Carefully place one Pillsbury roll out pie dough into china pie dish, pressing bottom into dish and sides along edge of dish.  Spoon the broccoli mixture from your saucepan directly into the pie dough base, being sure to evenly disburse the ingredients.  Use your favorite cheese, either shredding it or buying it already shredded.  I like a rich cheddar.  If I'm in a hurry I will buy it shredded, but normally I will buy it and shred it ahead of time and keep it in a ziploc bag in the fridge.  Sprinkle two hand fulls of cheese over the broccoli mixture you just placed in the pie shell.  Now pour the egg mixture carefully over everything.

Place in a preheated 350 degree oven for 30 minutes.  Let stand for at least 10 minutes once removed from oven and before slicing.  I actually like to serve my quiche at room temperature.  It absorbs all the flavors and tastes much better to me than it does steaming hot.

Enjoy!

Aarrooooooo!

No Pledge Required In Chicken Dusting

As I noted in my last blog, we are about a year into owning chickens, and we are learning as we go from a mentor who raises free-range chickens.  I belong to a few chicken keeping forums and I learn alot from them as well.  It was in one of these forums that a discussion ensued about "dusting" chickens.

Dusting chickens? Does that require a cloth?



A chicken giving itself a dust bath.

 In fact, chickens dust themselves often as part of their daily ritual.  Our chickens find a great spot in our barn that has loads of sawdust on the floor (leaving gaping "a-chicken-has-been-here" holes we later have to refill with our shovel), or they will just climb into our sawdust pile, and throw dust on themselves.  Dusting provides many benefits.  Mostly, it smothers parasites.  So in a way, chickens are cleaning themselves. 

However, it is important to make sure chickens are parasite free.  They do get chicken lice (which are different from the regular lice you and I know) and mites (those little red spidery things).  In order to do this you have to pick up a chicken and examine it by pulling back some feathers in various spots.

Diatomaceous Earth is a natural and non-toxic way of getting rid of almost any parasite predators.  DE is something I already use in my garden to dust my plants (as I do not want to use any pesticides on my fruits or vegetables) and the FOOD GRADE (this is important...there is a commercial grade and a food grade...you want the food grade) version can be used as a horse dewormer feed-through, and, now, for chicken dusting as well.  I also use DE in the coop by dusting the sawdust there and along the floor boards and edges where bugs can hide.  DE breaks down the outside shell of insects and ultimately kills them.  No insect is exempt.  This is why DE can be a real help to organic garden growth.



So easy a child can do it!

 We don't normally pick up our chickens.  My grandson was visiting last summer and he  had obtained loads of experience in chicken pick up by helping his Dad, who at the time worked for The Lands at Hillside, a non-profit reconstruction of a natural farm habitat in Dallas, PA.  So Andrew simply went up to one of our hens, grabbed it and held it and then asked "Do you guys pick up your chickens?"  We stood there aghast because it was so easy that even a 10 year old could do it and we really hadn't been lifting them.  We told ourselves we were establishing a "trust" relationship with our chickens, one where they could be assured that when we approached they had nothing to be afraid of.  Hmmmmm.....

To be honest, it is apparent we have been negligent in teaching our chickens to be held.  That was never so apparent as the night I decided to dust them.

First I watched this video on YouTube.  It is a great video.  I hope you will watch it.  You will see how CALM the hen is that is being dusted.  You will see towards the end the rooster is somewhat agitated by the fact that his hen is being bothered, but is simply cluck clucking around and walking back and forth.  These are all very important to note.  I also noted the hen's flaying leg get caught in the woman's shirt at one point and I chastised her silently for not keeping a good hold, thinking all the while that I would not have let that happen.

Then I watched this video.  In this version the British gentleman holds his chickens upside down by their feet to dust them.  I love the name "How To Powder A Chicken" and how he quite calmly in his british accent says "sometimes they struggle."  It's like "ho hum...are there scones with that tea?"  Same tone of voice.

I just want to note here that it is amazing how many videos of chicken legs being covered in bread crumbs and herbs you will find when you query "dusting chickens."  Hellllllooooooo!  Some of us are raising them for eggs ya' know!

Okay, so two videos under my belt, I felt, how hard could this be?

I'm about to tell you.

First, I wisely put on a light flannel shirt that was sitting on top of our dryer since January.  It is Paul's.  Although it was a relatively warm day, I was doing this in the early evening, and I wanted to be protected.  This was probably the wisest thing I did.

When  you read the DE labels it talks about things like not inhaling the dust, not getting the dust in your eyes.  I've always been careful when handling it even though it is non-toxic.  But, as you have seen in viewing the videos, the folks featured took no precautions against handling or breathing in the dust.  And, since the chickens ultimately would be, in my mind, as calm as they were in that video, I would be able to just dig in with my hands and rub that dust on them without incident.  They say God protects fools and drunks.  This is probably very true.

Out to the barn, where I get my "operation" set up. DE readily at hand, I go for my first chicken.  This is Jenny.  Jenny has had an injured wing since our neighbor's dog took it upon herself to come up and chase our chickens.  She was an easy catch and really didn't put up much of a struggle.  I held her wings and held her close to me just as you saw in the video.  I rubbed the DE over her.  We have her separated in a dog crate right now so that the other chickens do not pick on her until her wing fully heals, so back in the crate she went and I felt encouraged by how easy that was.



A chicken running at full tilt!

 Then I had to dust Screech, our rooster, and Henny, our other hen.  They had been walking about the barn, so Paul helped me "corral" them.  First Henny was captured in our feed room where she desperately tried to hide behind every container we own.  Chickens can really move out when they want to.  They are fast little buggers.  When I finally grabbed her, you would think we were cutting off limbs one at a time.  She made the most ungodly racket!  Screech was so perturbed by the fact that I was causing HIS hen so much anguish by simply picking her up, he began to squawk loudly and continuously, and flap his wings.  Henny decided this was a good opportunity to peck me.  I was undaunted.  I moved with her toward the DE bag and felt a great deal of satisfaction rubbing that dust all over her while she continued her loud and obnoxious chicken oratory.  When she was done and I put her down, she pecked me again just for good measure and ran off toward Screech. 

We corraled Screech behind a large piece of plywood we used as a barrier to keep him in a corner.  If I thought Henny was loud, Screech was even louder.  One thing they needed to tell you in these videos was to buy and wear a set of ear plugs.  If I ever make a video on dusting chickens, you can bet that will be in there.  "If you don't handle your chickens often, you may want to purchase and wear a set of ear plugs.  Sometimes they struggle.  Sometimes they scream bloody murder.  Are there any scones with that tea?"  I'll try to be just as calm and unsuspecting in my video as the folks were in the videos I watched.  I won't say things like:  "You will have to CHASE DOWN your chickens running at full tilt, corner them with whatever you find, and be prepared to be pecked.  You will have to put up with 90 DECIBEL squawking."

Screech, the WIMP, protested through the entire session, which only lasted about a minute.  Finally he was done too.  He and Henny IMMEDIATELY went to the safety of their coop to get away from me.  WHAT WAS THIS TRAVESTY THAT JUST OCCURRED!  HOW DARE WE PICK THEM UP!

Finally, I had to dust the two new hens, who live in one of our stalls for the time being.  I closed myself in with them and then proceeded, somewhat Larry, Moe and Curly style, to capture first one, and then the other.  Neither one of them pecked me, to which I was astounded because they really don't know me as well, and, in fact, the second hen, once caught, was pretty calm about the dusting process.  I'll bet she's been handled by our chicken mentor!



I'm sure this conversation went on in our coop after
we left for the night!

 Unfortunately (or fortunately for me) we had no camera.  Once completed, I took stock in my appearance.  I was covered in white dust from top to bottom.  I was pretty sure I ate some.  In fact, if I stayed this way, no insects would land on me for 3-6 months.  I was completely covered in sweat thanks to the flannel shirt and the chicken dashing.  Oh yeah, sign me up to make that video.  Maybe we can even send it to Ellen.  We can title it:  WHAT NOT TO DO WHEN "POWDERING" CHICKENS.

All I know is this.  Our chickens are going to be picked up regularly from now on.  They don't need to be dusted for 3-6 months, but you can bet the next time will be smoother.

I went out the next day and they all ran away from me.  So much for months of trust.  Get ready ladies and Screech.  Your chicken world is changing.

Aaaarrrrrooooo!