Nom de Plume

Captain Beefcake’s nocturnal crowing was bothering one neighbor. I had found a lovely home for him, complete with five acres and a harem of 10 hens with whom to have his wicked way. Then, my flock was infected with mycoplasma gallisepticum. Not a huge deal in and of itself; MG is endemic and not a risk to humans. But once a bird has had it, it remains a carrier for life. And in all good conscience, I couldn’t give someone with a healthy flock an infected chicken. So I found another person who takes unwanted chickens and slaughters them for food. She picked him up yesterday and put him in the pot last night.

May he rest in peace.

• How can I have so much music and STILL can't decide? #

who told me that I really needed to update the blog. So, in no particular order, here’s what’s going on.

1. I love my accountant. The tax season is once again upon those of us who routinely file for an extension. Taxes aren’t fun; my accountant is. She’s also the best darn accountant on the planet as far as I’m concerned. For those of you who freelance and are looking for someone really good–and very affordable–contact me. I want to share the tax love.

2. Learn from my chicken mistakes. Do not buy auction birds. Do not add birds to your flock without quarantining them. And if you do suspect that your birds have Mycoplasma Gallisepticum, do not feel that you should be responsible and take one to a vet in Seattle that specializes in exotic pets unless you want a bill for $230 dollars, enough medication for a single bird when three are showing symptoms, and a vet you can far too easily picture in a basement somewhere playing dungeons and dragons buck naked except for a strategically wrapped snake. No, be irresponsible and go to your local farm supply where you can get tetracycline for a measly five bucks and treat the entire flock.

3. I am a sailing widow. Steve’s sailing around Vancouver Island. He’s been gone for two weeks, will be back in, oh, another two or so. I miss him. His cell phone doesn’t work, so he calls when they dock into a port. I don’t think we’ve ever gone for more than three days without talking before this.

4. First bellydance performance tomorrow night. AHHHHHH

5. Two week trip to California was good. Hung out with Millie, built Mom a chicken coop. She’s getting 8 eggs a day now. I’m bitter.

I think that’s about it.

You wouldn’t believe the sheer number of hits I get on vitiligo every day–particularly on this one post. And I still find it disturbing–though flattering of course–that I’m the first Google result if you search on vitiligo and vitamin d.

Well. It behooves me to give an update, doesn’t it?

Honestly, I just live with it. I’m fortunate–and superstitious enough that I’m knocking on wood. I have a few more tiny spots, but you don’t really see them. It seems that every summer, as I start getting tanner, I start freaking out because my vitiligo is noticeable (if you look) above my eyebrows and on my nose. After a month or so, it evens out. I have a new little spot on my chin, but you can only see it in direct sunlight. I have a spot on my lip, but I don’t care anymore. And the areas that are getting worse are places that I can’t see, and no one else can either. So I don’t care.

And that’s what it all comes down to. All that freaking out, and I don’t think about it very much. In fact, I so actively don’t think about it that I forget to take all my vitamins. And then I try to be good, and am consistent for a few weeks–because they do WORK for me–and then it falls by the wayside again.

But I do have a few observations. First, I believe that four genes are now implicated in vitiligo. I had thought that the vit probably came from my Indian father. Last summer, however, my mother came to visit, and I saw a white patch on her leg. I think she has it, but is so fair that it doesn’t even show up. Add this to the fact that her mother was grey by the time she was my age, and her aunt was completely grey at 18–and well, it makes sense. (People with vitiligo grey prematurely. Sadly. Thank heaven for hair color.)

Second, beware of tyrosine dosages, if you’re taking it. I was having panic attacks earlier this year, and chalked it up to stress, then the pregnancy that turned out to be ectopic. At the time, I was being good about supplements, which included a fairly high dose of tyrosine. I added the tyrosine back in two days ago, and have noticed being nervous again.

As I mentioned, my face was vitty again at the start of the summer. Honestly, I think repigmenting my face is as simple as b12 and folic, combined with sunlight. Again, knock on wood. There have been some studies to show that this combo works. No protopic. No dovenax (not that I ever tried that on my face). Just the supplements and sunlight.

So that’s about it. Please, feel free to comment, and if you’ve posted before, I’d love to hear how things are going.

BTW, has anyone else noticed that ever since Michael Jackson died you don’t have to explain to people what vitiligo is?

I was wondering if CB is fertile, despite his tender years. So this afternoon–after I went back to the chicken auction and picked up a pretty 4 month old Auracana cross for $5 (yes, I need intervention)–I cracked open the buttercup egg she oh-so-obligingly deposited in her “secret” nest while I was gone.

It was fertile.

(For those of you who are desperately curious about what a fertilized egg looks like, here you go.)

And later this afternoon, I went to check up on the new chickiepoo, and one of the Welsummers was bokbokbokking in the coop, so I hung around. She laid an egg. (Saved from the stewpot!) Just for giggles, I cracked that one open too.

It was fertile, too.

So obviously, CB is living up to his name, and with enthusiasm at that. I just hope he’s leaving his sisters alone. First, that’s incest. Second, it would be statutory rape.

Captain Beefcake scored with the buttercup.

Behold! Two eggs today! The buttercup’s egg was in her hidden nest; the brown one was in the coop. Those plastic eggs must be working. I have no idea who this is from. The barred rock? A welsummer? But two eggs!

The early bird catches the hen, and boy, Captain Beefcake is on the PROWL.

At 13 weeks, he’s already started (cough, cough) with the hens. Well, not ALL the hens. Mainly my black Australorp, who I bought a couple of weeks ago. Her name is Michelle Obama; her sister’s name was Oprah. “Because they are all black ladies,” explained the woman I bought her from. I don’t know how Michelle Obama would feel about having a chicken named after her, but if you have a chicken with your name, this would be the one to have. She’s a love and will eat berries right out of your hand.

The violence of chicken love is a little shocking. He grabs the back of Michelle’s neck and smushes her to the ground. Then he has his wicked way. It looks painful; on the other hand, Captain Beefcake also doesn’t have a lot of staying power. It lasts about three seconds.

Three seconds is also about the time it takes the buttercup and the welsummers to put him in his place when he goes after them. He starts doing his little drag wing thing and hop. They affix beady little eyes on him. He tries to get close, at which point they aim a sharp peck at him, and he goes running.

And no one can get close to my new speckled sussex. It’s amazing how different hand-raised and farm-raised chickens are. Captain Beefcake sidled up to her one day and she sprinted across the lawn in sheer fright. To be fair, she does that with everyone.

On another note, he’s now the only rooster left. Yes, that other blue birchen marans was a rooster; he now has a home on a farm in Monroe, where he is going to have a harem of frizzles.

Just one because the large one is too heavy for me to carry, and he still has to pour one over the dishwasher (which requires rebuilding the cabinet).

But seriously, it’s going to be gorgeous. We’re both pleased, and, despite our WANTING concrete, still pretty surprised at how good it looks.

It finally happened.

Here’s the mixer Steve rented from Home Depot:

Mixing the concrete:

Steve built the molds more than a month ago:

The, um, vibrator. After you dump the concrete into the molds, you have to vibrate it to get it rid of all the air bubbles and make it even. This was my job.

Making it all smooth:

Now they have to sit for four days.