Nom de Plume

Early this morning, there were still two eggs under Henzilla. An hour later, there was one egg under Henzilla and the remnants of the shell. An hour after that, there were more shell remnants and Henzilla was incubating the plastic eggs in a different nesting box.

I’m going to give Henzilla the benefit of the doubt and assume that the growing eggs were quitters. And if she’s still broody, I’m going to move her into the new chicken tractor that Steve built (and that we’re going to put between our garage and Nicki’s) and give her some more eggs to hatch.

I’m so disappointed–the eggs were only two days away.

When I let the chickens out this morning, there were three smashed eggs on the floor and another in the coop. One was hollowed out and obviously eaten; the others were cracked enough that whatever may have been in them was dead.

I candled for the last time last night; of the six she had left, two were clear and four appeared to be growing. Certainly, two of the eggs felt heftier than one and when I peeled back the membrane a little on one (which I really debated doing because of being freaked out), there was a baby chick curled up inside.

The question is what happened. Henzilla was up off the nest when I pulled open the door to the coop. Michelle Obama and the rose-comb RIR were standing there. Did Michelle Obama get a little witchy? (I doubt it was the RIR–she’s one of the few that are laying right now and she’s in and out of the nesting box almost every day. She lays her egg in the other corner and calls it good.) Or did Henzilla push them out herself?

Whatever the case, I made sure the remaining two eggs were secure under her before shutting up the coop. One felt suspiciously lighter than the other. The broken eggs I tossed into the brush down the hill.

It’s Sunday. I can’t believe how quickly the past two and a half weeks have gone. Henzilla is happily incubating her eggs, while I sneak them out from under her in the dead of night to candle them. There are four that are growing and three that are duds. Amazingly enough, I found one of the duds pushed out of the nesting box into the dirt below. Guess she knows.

Every day or so, Henzilla gets up, relieves herself, gobbles down food and water, and picks on all the other birds. (She’s always had this tendency, hence the name, but it’s worse than ever. I wonder if she’s establishing her dominance so that all the other birds will leave her chickiepoos alone.) She then scurries back to her nest, fluffs all her feathers out and settles back on the eggs.

Now that Henzilla is occupied for most of the day, her half-sister has taken over picking on everyone. Up until now, I’ve been calling her The Big Gray One–but now she has her very own moniker: Attila. Attila the Hen.

but the kitchen is FINISHED.

Well, okay, not 100 percent finished. We still need to get a new fridge and hood for the stove, but those are last on the line. We’re also getting new curtains for underneath the sink. But the bulk of the work? DONE.

It’s amazing.

Here’s a recap of the kitchen’s past.

Here’s what it looked like completely gutted.

And now, here’s a panoramic set of photos of what it looks like now.

We got back from spending the holidays with Steve’s family in Rockford Friday night, and of course, one of the first things I did was to check on the chickens. (It was late, so couldn’t pick up Harry from Carrie and Jimmy’s til the following morning.) Henzilla was sleeping in one of the nesting boxes, which I thought was a little strange. The next morning, she was still there, fluffed up and sort of dazed looking. She clucked at me. When I lifted her, she was lying on the three fake eggs the chickens like to roll under themselves when they’re laying. She ruffled her feathers and glared at me before settling herself down on them again.

I have a broody hen, I thought to myself. She just started laying about a month ago, and she’s already broody. “She’s been broody for about three days,” Carrie confirmed when I got Harry. What to do with a broody hen? Why, put fertilized eggs under her of course! Posted an ad on backyardchickens.com, got several responses … including one from a guy who breeds Barnevelders.

Which is totally fitting because this is the breed that started this whole chicken adventure. If you recall, I spent a fortune on hatching eggs and got a single bird. Now, perhaps I’ll have some more–and if the parent birds are any indication, I’ll get chickens that actually have that gorgeous double-lacing instead of one that appears more barred than laced. (And no, Barnie hasn’t started laying yet either.)

So here’s to round two with Barnevelders! It’s a happy new year thus far …

Oh the choices.

I’ve pretty much decided that if this goat venture gets started, we’re getting Nigerian dwarf goats. They produce more milk and, unlike pygmy goats that are cobby, retain the lines and shape of a regular goat, only in a smaller size.

But there’s something pretty compelling about fainting goats. I’m assuming these don’t last long in the wild.

We’re getting goats!

(Not really on the bedamned part; I love my chickiepoos, and I’m getting as many as 5 eggs a day these rainy, cold days.)

“Don’t try to cut a frozen salmon in half with your circular saw. The ensuing pink dust is gross.”

It’s totally stupid, but I love that you can now see the date–along with the time–in the task bar.

I’ve been doing Big Brothers Big Sisters for several months now. My “little” is in 7th grade; she’s told me some things about her school that make my hair stand on end. I won’t even get into the social aspects (like having a gun pointed in her face by a member of the SWAT team). But let me just say that the more I learn about the Seattle public school system, the more appalled I become.

Take this, the 6th grade level expectations for language arts (conveniently posted for ridicule at the Seattle Public Schools web site):

In sixth grade, students are aware of the author’s craft. They are able to adjust their purpose, pace and strategies according to difficulty and/or type of text. Students continue to reflect on their skills and adjust their comprehension and vocabulary strategies to become better readers. Students discuss, reflect, and respond, using evidence from text, to a wide variety of literary genres and informational text. Students read for pleasure and choose books based on personal preference, topic, genre, theme, or author.

Good lord. And the person who wrote this convoluted, awkward piece of crap is tasked with helping kids become better readers and writers?

Hoo boy. The blather continues for 7th grade:

In seventh grade, students are aware of their responsibilty as readers. They continue to reflect on their skills and adjust their comprehension and vocabulary strategies. Students refine their understanding of the author’s craft. Oral and written responses analyze and/or sythesize information from multiple sources to deepen understanding of the content. Studnets [sic] read for pleasure and choose books based on personal preference.

Can someone please tell me what a student’s responsibility as a reader is? And what, precisely, does “reflecting on skills” mean? Because I for one have never put down a book mid-chapter and said, “Let me reflect upon my reading skills now and adjust my comprehension strategies.”

And really, what are comprehension strategies anyway?

Argh.