Forget the chickens, you just might be a redneck if….

….you have a doggie door that looks like this

dog made doggie door

It seems that once we installed the invisible fence the dogs have developed excessive boredom with the great outdoors (now sans exploration) and long for the comforts of our home.

The little rat decided to take matters into her own paws and create her own doggie door.

I warned you to Let me IN or BAD, BAD things would happen!!!

For once the destructive power house was innocent and we captured her bewilderment and surprise at the newly created doggie door.

What the…how the…when…?? I didn’t do it!!!!

Now AS IF chickens free ranging in our home (this is no longer occurring) and dog made doggie doors isn’t redneck enough, take a gander at our son-made swimming pool.  This baby is guaranteed to provide hours of fun on hot summer days as our youngest demonstrated.

A boy and his dog. This is the redneck life!

Who needs a pool when you have a 50gal rubbermaid container that previously housed chickens?????

Ahhhh, this is chill.

I don’t know about you but (other than being a little grossed out – you should see WHAT that dog rolls in!) the swimming pool tub is giving me the frontier vibe and I’m suddenly thanking God for my showers and running water.  I’ve heard my grandpap tell stomach churning stories about having the disgusting misfortune of being the last person to use the bath water after his umpteen brothers bathed.

Gross.  I think I’d be tempted to forgo the bath and remain in my filth… At least it would be my own.

Speaking of filth, my chickens are calling and the little neighbor girl is squealing (I can’t tell if it is with fear or delight).  The run is still not finished and they are free ranging through the neighborhood.

Time for this redneck in denial to round ‘em up and then maybe take a dip (sans dog) in the pool when I’m done!

Buffalo Farts. A name too fun not to revisit.

I’m on my way to the landscaping store to get rocks for the chicken coop run and had to look up an older post I wrote.  I did not want to repeat an extremely awkward experience that I had there a couple of years ago and required the correct language for my purchase.

I’ll post more about the coop run update and the rapidly growing mutants (i.e. chickens) but while I’m working on yet another hot and humid day (I seem to have a self torturing pattern of doing this) you can simply….

….Read on.

July 7th 2010

I, with the mandatory assistance of my young helpers, are embarking on a shed clean-out project and it is taking place on the HOTTEST days of the entire year.  Why?  Because when I get an idea I just have to move on it.  Plus, the tale-tale odor of death and decay along with killer African Bees (I’m sure of it) swarming the shed hinted to me that some TLC was in order.

We have made some interesting finds…from old stuff we forgot we had to critters in various stages of anatomical decay.  This project has become a huge biological lesson.  My kids are quite the experts at sniffing out “death” and have been known to loudly shout “I smell death” as soon as they get that familiar whiff.  Although, shouting this sentence truly becomes awkward when the elderly are around.

For the sake of those with weak stomachs I will not post the pix of the maggots having dinner ‘with’ the mouse.  But here are some more appropriate finds…..

The killer African Bees

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

The ‘rat pile’ mouse nest my husband fosters

                                                                                                                                                                                

Awww, now this little baby bunny we can deal with                                                                                                                                                                   

After experiencing heat exhaustion and dehydration I had to make a trip to the local landscaping store.  Mr. Pavlov thought it would be a great idea to lay down a rock floor in the shed to help with moisture and really show some shed TLC.  I was apprehensive when he told me the type of rock I wanted to ask for was called “Buffalo Farts.”

Buffalo Farts? [I echoed].

Yes.  He absolutely assured me that this was indeed their proper name.  But still my gut was twisted…somehow I could not envision the landscaping business advertising Buffalo Farts to the manicured lawns of the rich and famous. I can just picture the conversation:

“Hey Bob those are really nice rocks you have there.  What are they called?”  Bob (having great difficulty): “Buffalo Farts.” 

But ok, I get that I am a landscaping ignoramus so Buffalo Farts it is.  I confidently walked up to the counter in my sweat pouring state and declared,

“I need a half ton of Buffalo Farts.” 

As awkward as this may sound, the real humiliation came with the extremely long pause, followed by the quizzical looks, and ultimately the deep belly laughter from big burly, tanned men.  Big burly, tanned men who attempted to repeat my statement but were unable due to their fits of hysterics.

The moment turned into a prolonged comical session of partially spoken sentences – “A half ton…..A half ton of Buff…..Buffa…Buffalo Far….half ton of Buffalo Farts” followed by more hysteria while I stood in fake confidence self consciously soaking the floor with my sweat.  Once they regained their composure and questioned the ignoramus they determined that what I actually required was #3 gravel.

Yes, #3 gravel has a nice ring to it and I can totally see Bob (fictional guy from my imagined conversation above) proudly proclaiming,

“Well, thank-you it is #3 gravel.” 

Buffalo Farts or #3 gravel…same thing yet solid proof that “A good name is more desirable than great riches” Proverbs 21.

You know you’re a redneck when…

Alas, the evil pink eye bug has left our abode.  I think the chickens and all their filth scared it away.  You know, germs like it at the top of the filth hierarchy and these chickens have that market cornered.  There was no room for promotion for Mr. Pink Eye so he left to find another clean home to infest.

How are the chickens you ask?  Ok, because YOU asked I will fill you in on all of the latest happenings but don’t palpitate, I promise not to make this a chicken blog.

I think pictures (even crappy ones taken on my cell phone) speak volumes so here ya go:

These dirty (notice the film of dusting on the light? That's mild people) suckers are escaping!

Oh yes they are!  They fly now and the big 50 gallon rubber maid container is an easy escape!

Now, do you notice that there are more chickens than the originally planned eight?  Why?  Well, you see I have become quite the chicken whisper during this experience.  And I just knew (who cares that it is near impossible for the experts to determine) that some of these babies were roosters.  I just knew in my knower that they were.  One look in their beady eyes and I was screaming “I have at least 4 roosters!!”  So I did what any insane reasonable person would do.  I went out and bought 6 sex links (guaranteed hens) for a grand total of 13 chickens (I know 8 + 6 = 14 not 13 but I could only get 7 chickens to start with not 8 so I’m doing the right math but thanks for your concern regarding my IQ).

Here’s another voluminous photo:

Now how did that little sex link escape? If she can do it so can I. I'll just use this water dish as a stepping stone to success!

After waking up to free ranging chickens in my HOME I decided it was time for Mr. Pavlov to get his cute little rear in gear and build me the run.  We have the coop but just needed the outdoor run to complete their palace.  He obliged (and called a friend to help…Thanks JIMMY!) In the meantime, I placed a crib rail over the container halting all future free ranging.

The palace. Sorry to the neighbors down wind of the palace

Even Diva constructionista is at work! When she works you know she must want 'em chickens OUT!

I’d rather allow the chickens to free range but I’m quite sure that a neighborhood lynching would occur so we decided to build a nice sized outdoor run.  Plus the girls (roosters free to good home) would most likely get into these…

My precious garden beds getting ready for planting!

The weather has not been cooperating and the run is not finished.  Yes, that means the stinky chickens are still in my home although I am contemplating other facilities.  On the positive side, one these things leave, my home will seem imaculate!  I cannot even begin to describe the layer of pentrating dust they create.  It gets everywhere and on everything…think dry wall and you have an idea!

How do I cope?

Drowning out dust, filth and smell one sip at a time!

And Mr. Belvedere helps me cope with the realization that I am becoming a redneck.  You know you’re a redneck (maybe even Queen redneck) when you have chickens free ranging in your home.

I need another sip.

Spring has sprung and so has my brains!

I think my battle with the evil pink eye super bug has left me mentally compromised. If not the wicked bug then it was the massive amount of eye drops I’ve absorbed but either way, I’ve gone bananas.  And if you need proof just look….

In case you can’t make out the little specks those are chickens people, fowl feathered friends.  Somewhere along the way I decided that I wanted farm fresh eggs but didn’t exactly want the farm.  So, much to my neighbor’s dismay, I settled for eight super charged egg laying peeps, four of which we got last week and the other four are due to arrive this week.  I figure eight layers should keep my food devouring kids egged up and happy for awhile.  And when they get sick of eggs? Well, I’ll come up with some creative recipes or shove eggs down their throats.  Whatever works.

I tried to be a considerate suburbia neighbor and bought these peeps from a place that could guarantee these downy babies would be hens and not annoying roosters.   We’ll see.  If any should happen to be roosters did I mention I have a retriever bird dog?  Just KIDDING (not about the dog but about the fate of poor rooster).  I’m sure I’ll find a farmer who would be happy for Mr. Roaster to take up some table, I mean, yard space.

The coop is up and ready to go except for the outdoor run.  I have been nagging gently asking Mr. Pavlov to finish the run because these peeps are growing quickly and pooping a lot!  N a s t y.  I’m told the run will be completed this week which, is a good thing considering how filthy these egg layers are.

While we wait they eat, sleep, poo, pick, poo, flap their wings, poo, flap their wings and actually fly, poo, peep, poo, poo, poo and they are still small.  If the amount of poo is any indication of what I can expect to come then I am in WAY over my maximum lifetime poo limit. Plus we still have four little poo makers to come.  Yikes.  Let’s hope they produce as many eggs as droppings and then maybe we’ll call it even.

As we await the other four peeps and their completed home, they bask in the heat of their red glo lamp.   This photo was taken just minutes after I changed their bedding…wanna take a guess what a few hours looks like?!?

Didn’t think so.

I’m going to collect my brains now.

Unusual Junkies

Although I no longer look like I should have meat on my face, my eyes continue to provide a mating ground for some nasties who I’m sure don’t practice safe sex.  We just can’t shake this.  We are on round…I lost count…of antibiotics drops (yes, we are junkies) and Mr. Pavlov (who boasts about his optimum state of health) had to go on the pill, (no, not THAT pill) an antibiotic pill because this bug knocked him O.U.T!  His tonsils were even gettin’ it on with some major kissing and I won’t even tell you what his lungs were doing but they rocked my bed all night long with their activity.  Eventually he went to the couch so he could cough it up in peace (I seem to have an involuntary back slapping reaction to snoring and in this case, his cough qualified as equally disruptive.)

The red-eyed vamps in Twilight have nothing on our crew when we are off of our drops and the STD super bug breeding resumes.

Truly, I am at a loss.  We are ok as long as the drops are dropping.  As soon as we finish the course within a few days we are vampy red, oozing and irritated again.  I have done everything I know to do and the bleach bottle is never far from my grasp.  This house and everything in it has been scrubbed,  bleached, washed or thrown away.

Even the Doctors are at a loss.  Aside from thinking (I can read their clear, white eyes) that we are a bunch of antibiotic junkie dirt balls who, among other things, finger each other’s eyes and then rub our own for fun, they don’t have much to say and are pretty much out of antibiotic options.

I wonder what they would think if I dumped Mr. Pavlov’s newly purchased Cocoa Vino in my eyes.  Aside from burning my eye tissue out, ulcerating my corneas and possibly causing blindness, the alcohol should kill the bugs right?  Or maybe they would enjoy it a little too much and breed more aggressively?

Regardless, my Cocoa Vino awaits.  And I intend to show this Tootsie roll with a kick beverage the respect it deserves and maybe kill a few cruddy bugs in the process.

Cheers!

 

When bugs grow muscles

Remember back in the day when a cold was a cold?  Or when the flu was the flu? Or when pink eye was pink eye?  And you toughed it out until AND only until an antibiotic was absolutely necessary.

But somewhere along the way we decided to eat antibiotics like chocolate covered pretzels (my personal favorite) and now we have birthed little demon superbugs.

Yes, today we have these things called superbugs and they flex their resistant genetic coding at our feeble dwindling antibiotic supply and laugh as we cough and swell.

Why am I so bitter you ask?  Well a superbug decided to take up residence in my darling son’s eye and has now spread to the entire family in spite of our neurotic hand washing techniques.  See that’s the evil in all of this…you don’t have to be an antibiotic abuser to get a superbug.  Once created, you can pick these demons up just by having a having a heart beat.

Yeah, pink eye is no longer the simple red colored eye with gooey drainage.  This baby has morphed into something fierce and requires a nuclear strength antibiotic because the usually prescribed Ofloxacin doesn’t even tickle it.  But I didn’t know this valuable piece of info and just went with the Ofloxacin (because I hate to use the big guns until I try the first line).  Why go nuclear when a machine-gun is likely to do the job?  But I really needed nuclear and knew this when the fun began and my eye swelled shut.  To make things more fun, the other one became infected too.   A Family Practice colleague informed me of the superbug and prescribed me something much stronger.  Thanks to her I can now open my eye!

Take a look…

And this is looking good!!!

Those aren't bags under my eyes but pockets of swelling. It was swollen shut but at least here I can open it!

I am on the mend and thankful that these things can still be killed but I must admit I am a little concerned about what will happen when we run out of antibiotics to kill these bacterial critters.  So people please use antibiotics sparingly…like when your eye swells shut or something!  And if your health care provider wants you to wait to see if what you have could be viral before prescribing antibiotics agree to wait.  And take the entire prescription until it is GONE.  Do Not save half for “later” because this action breeds resistance.

I’d like nothing better than to emasculate these bugs and take their muscles away.

Of course they are male.  Don’t ask.  I just know.

 

The verb that protects and preserves.

February 14th signals the return of Valentine’s Day and this year I am celebrating the holiday and the love it represents with all of my beating heart.

Love was.  Love is.  Love always will be.  I cannot think of a greater force than love.

Love was the driving force for our creation and Jesus taking on the cross, spilling his blood, and sacrificing His life in order that we may live.  If you can’t comprehend this love act then just ask yourself “What would I do to save my child or family member? Would there be a limit or would I risk it all?”

Mr. Pavlov and I got to answer this question Friday night when our gas stove was not turned all the way off and caused gas to slowly flow into our home over a three-hour period while our 15-year-old daughter was home alone.  When we returned home and opened the door attached to the garage downstairs, the strong gas fumes overwhelmed us and we suddenly became aware that proceeding further could result in our death.  Although none of us spoke it, we knew that at any minute the home could explode. Yet the three of us charged into danger without any regard for ourselves because love was compelling us.

Without being instructed to do so our 12-year-old son lead the way into the dangerous fumes. And as I watched him disappear bounding up the steps two at a time in order to get to the stove to quickly shut it off, it was then that my heart skipped a few beats and I prayed “Dear God please do not let this house explode.”  Love does not look out for its own interests.  Love. was. present.

Love is each day and in each God-given breath.  And I knew that the Lord’s merciful love would conquer as I watched Mr. Pavlov and our son drag the unresponsive and unconscious body of our daughter out of the house.  Father and son working together to preserve life while possibly having to lie down their own.

Love is a powerful verb.  It always protects.  It always trusts.  It alway hopes.  It never gives up.  Love never fails. (I Cor 13:7)  God’s love did not fail us that horrid night.  Our daughter survived.  We survived.  The house did not explode but the emergency workers did close down the street in front of our home for a few hours to contain any blast should one occur (it is a good thing that I didn’t fully comprehend the reason they were blockading the street at the time)…sorry neighbors.

Love always will be.  Suppose I have enough faith to move mountains.  If I don’t have love I am nothing at all.  I had faith that Jesus would preserve our daughter but it took love to bring her out of the house.  I am thankful for God’s unfailing, unconditional, unwavering love and our daughter is thankful for ours.

Now we see only a dim likeness of things.  It is as if we were seeing them in a mirror.  But someday we will see clearly.  We will see face to face.  What I know now is not complete.  Someday I will know completely, just as God knows us completely.  The three most important things to have are faith, hope and love.  But the greatest of them is love (I Cor 13:12-13)

Love, a little verb that protects and preserves.  I believe it deserves its own holiday.  How about it?  Let’s celebrate some LOVE!!

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!