Tag Archives: animals

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.

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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….

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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.

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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.

When trolling for garbage leads to the Police station

It’s late.  The fire is roaring (as much as a gas insert can roar but it sounded good).  And the house is quiet minus the snorts or farts from our Lab.  But I’ll take it.  It’s quiet to me.

I’d be reading right now except that the pain in my ankle got the best of me and I popped two Vicodin.  Vicodin doesn’t play nice with small printed words on a page and it alters my comprehension level.  Plus, I’m trying to get back on a blog schedule.  Life has been straight jacket insane.

In addition to all of the sports and extracurricular activities we have the kids enrolled in because society tells us that we suck if we don’t, we lost our 6yr old Lab for a few days.  She was engaging in her favorite activity….trolling the ‘hood for garbage can delicacy (that could later be expelled on the single swatch of carpet in my home) when she went missing.

When her hungry stomach didn’t bring her home in the usual 10 minutes, we formed a search party.  We scoured the neighborhood for days.  All of the neighbors are well acquainted with our beast and assured us they hadn’t seen her (although I kept a suspicious eye on the free range chicken owner).

Unknown to us, she was taken to the Police station when an over zealous officer on neighborhood patrol picked her up.   She was placed in a caged jail until an employee took her to his home in order to save her a trip to the pound (where pretty girls like her are sure to get raped).

Tres was beside himself.  He bawled and snotted everywhere for days.  The unknown and visuals of her in a road kill state wrecked havoc on his little mind.  I, on the other hand, couldn’t believe how much cleaner my house felt.  NO HAIR!  Do you know how much Labs shed?!?  NO VOMIT!  Do you know how sensitive Labs stomaches are and how much they enjoy gorging themselves?!?  NO STINK! Do you realize the amount of canine odor Labs produce?!? I was borderline giddy!  But then I’d look into the sad, swollen eyes of my baby boy and almost feel bad.  It wasn’t until he prayed for the Lord God, creator of Labs, to bring her home safely that my heart melted.

I never thought to call the Police.  Something didn’t seem right about calling them to report a missing dog.  Murder, sure.  Rape, hello 911.  Robbery, uh-huh. Kidnapping, of course.  Bomb, yep.  Missing dog, w e a k!

I sheepishly dialed the Police station and in apologizing tones stated that I,

Umm, would like to report a missing dog.” 

I held my breath and literally paused waiting for the laughter.  But instead the female officer asked me for a description!  Wow, really?  As I began to rattle off (in too much detail I’m sure) a description down to the very fur count, the officer grew quiet.  Quiet (in my world) means I have to talk more.  Unless I’m really comfortable with you, quiet is kinda awkward for me and I usually fill it with useless ramblings.  When I rambled about her collar color, including a description of the pattern and texture she finally blurted out,

I know where she is!

This verbal expulsion shut me up for a few minutes.  What?  Did she just say she knew where our missing dog was?  The Police who deal with murder, rape, robbery, bomb threats and kidnapping, those Police…they actually know where our stinky dog is?

She texted me a picture and asked me to confirm her identity.  As I was waiting for the photo to ding on my phone, I thought about leaving her with the nice guy who took her home.  He’d give her a good life right?  He obviously liked her already.  In fact, I bet they were seriously bonding.  I just knew it would be too traumatic to yank her away from him.  After spending every day of her life for the past 6 years with us she wouldn’t even miss us after a few more days….right?….

Ding.  The picture came.

Will you Help me?

And I heard someone who sounded a lot like me saying,  “Awww, that’s her.  She’s ours.”  And I found myself loading up excited Tres and driving to the Police Station to claim our loot.  And I may have heard myself asking the Police woman if the kind man who took her home just didn’t want to keep her considering the amount of time he had invested in her well being.  And I may have just given Police woman my number for him to call me if he was interested.  And I may have just called the next day and left the good Samaritan a voice mail to inquire if he was interested in a certain 6yr old English Lab with a fondness for garbage.

As pay back for my thoughts of and actions toward premeditated abandonment a thank-you she body slammed us a little more aggressively right before she emptied her bladder all over the Police Station floor.  Vomiting is her preferred body fluid deposit of choice but I guess they didn’t provide her with the necessary access to garbage.

Now that she has an arrest record, I have big plans for her involving an underground fence, electricity and a collar.

The expensive yard containing set-up should provide hours of amusement especially when she spots the free range chickens just out of her reach.  I wonder if I can convince the kids to forego the family vacation (I’m trying to pay off the thing people) and stay home to play “lets count how many times the dog gets shocked!”

In the meantime, I have to vacuum.

Straight jacket insane.

Check please.

A picture of insanity

Meet the Schnoodle, our new addition

As IF an English Lab and a Chihuahua were not enough dander producing creatures to abide in our home, we took in a Schnoodle (part Schnauzer, part Poodle).

Why?!?

But I need my very own dog! I LOVE her! She NEEDS me and I NEED her!

Sigh, incase you couldn’t figure it out by now I am a sucker for cute, manipulative kids and animals have always had my heart!  Wish me well as we continue to add to our zoo and the “R”esponsibility that comes with it.  I seem to avoid the “R” word until after the fact.  But not to worry, we are responsible pet owners which is why we haven’t dumped our food scavenging, neighborhood trolling, professional vomiting, massively shedding English Lab yet.

Tell me what works for you and your pet zoo.  How do you guys handle the responsibility of caring for your pets and budgeting the expense (those Vets are making the cash $$$!) Oh my, I just realized that we will now have three dogs to find sitters for when we take those elusive family v-cays!!  Yikes….suggestions?  And offing them is not an option – just sayin’

The Virus and The Bread

Whew, I’m back.  If I ever hint that I am thinking about getting another puppy, hit me….hard.  My friend’s dog, The Virus (Mr. Pavlov’s affectionate nick name) was a trip and turned our home upside down for a while.  Toys that managed to survive the puppy stages of our (now mellow) Lab, were destroyed within seconds after meeting The Virus. 

One time during our dog sitting, I left our daughter with The Virus while I ran an errand.  She texted me A LOT during my brief time away.  The child has over 3,000 texts a month but seldom sends any my way.  I am text deprived and become a little too excited when I receive one.  If I had a tail it would wag uncontrollably and I just might slobber at the sound of a text.  When her number popped up on my phone I was about to wag and slobber but I knew something was up.  The first one read “When are you coming home?” 

I had just left.  She never requests me to return so soon.  Thankfully I wasn’t driving when the text came through.  I don’t text and drive – I’m old school and not that coordinated.  Texting aside, my phone really isn’t that car safe considering  it is all touch screen and I can’t “feel” the numbers when I attempt to dial.  I embody Helen Keller as I guess the location of the numbers and have been known to dial many wrong numbers.  It is most embarrassing at times especially when, after hearing a brief hello, I immediately begin the conversation with something like “Hey sexy, what time will you be home tonight?”  Awkward.

 After the initial  satisfaction of receiving a text from my cool girl dissipated, I replied, “I’m barely gone – why is everything ok?”

Her: “Yea, he’s just crazy. Come home soon!”

I was about to tell her to crate him when I got distracted by the bread that was on sale for .99cents.  We go through loaves and loaves of bread each week so .99cents was excitable.  It doesn’t take much to excite me people but you know you’re borderline pathetic when you palpitate over the price of bread.

Another text came through and before I could mount any excitement – which is actually a good thing because the endorphins from .99cent bread and a text would probably kill me on the spot – I noticed the single word “MOM!”

Then in rapid fire an avalanche of texts bombarded my technically advanced phone causing it to glitch and freeze momentarily.  Pictures followed.  My heart missed several beats.  My fingers cramped.  Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.  I couldn’t keep up with queen text and I needed more bread!

The texts read “He dug up your potted plant to get a hidden toy lizard. Dirt is everywhere!” Wow, the toy lizard?  He saw it?  Tres, our youngest, buried that sucker a few years ago and no one ventured to remove it….until now.  The picture that followed contained the lizard and a pile of dirt all over my floor.  I wish I had the photos to post but in my haste, I deleted them.

“He ripped open a ton of stuffed animals, their stuffing is all over the floor and he is raping another.”  Stuffed animals?  I thought I had put those in places where he couldn’t reach.  Raping?  It was these next few pictures that caused my armpits to spring forth fountains of living water.

“He chewed the corner off of your woodwork.”  Really? The entire corner?  I had never had a dog chew off my woodwork corners…until now.

“He destroyed a baseball hat.”  I hope it wasn’t this year’s baseball hat!  I am cheap enough to make my dear son wear a mangled hat if it is at all functional. The photo quickly followed and it resembled the left overs from a flesh-eating beast .  It was ripped apart and had several teeth marks indentations. Near one of the indentations I made out the marking “2005″ Ahhh, I exhaled – until this time I had been unknowingly holding my breath.  It was a ball cap from our older son’s Dos, 2005 baseball season.  Younger Tres had been wearing the cap and left it in an accessible place for doggie teeth and death.

“He chewed the leashes.”  All of them?  Now how were we going to walk these furry beasts? I’d venture to say that our fatty helped him destroy the key item that made her physical activity possible.

“He shredded some of the boy’s toys.”  Hopefully it was the cheap, plastic McDonalds type!  The photos confirmed that most of the debris was from el’cheapo toys.  I never had a dog help with cleaning out toys…until now.

“He snacked on the bathroom garbage and you know what’s in that can!” Oh noooooo, that garbage can contains the remnants of Mother Nature’s monthly gift.  I bet he dined on my carpet.  He did.  I had the photos to prove it.

“He ripped apart my Abercrombie flipflops…we need to go shopping!” Hmmm, as traumatized, palpitating and sweaty as I was, I smelled an opportunistic rat.  By this time I was caught up in the sequential texts.  I waited for the photo.  I even began to talk to my phone.  Show me the photo, show me the photo.  I waited.  People took my bread.  I waited.  People asked me to hand them some bread (I was defensively blocking the bread shelf). I waited.  The bread supply dwindled.  I waited.  No photo.  No photo.  No photo….ever.

Texting paused, my mental faculties returned and seizing the moment, I texted “CRATE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  Then, I scarfed up more bread and bolted for home.  

All was in order.  The tornado pathway of destruction?  Cleaned.  The virus?  Peacefully sleeping in his crate.  My daughter?  Looking haggard.  Taking a deep breath she said “I didn’t know a dog could tear it up so much – until now.  But you can reward me with shopping.” 

I gave her a loaf of bread.

Looking up sustains life

During the craziness of life I have found that when I keep my mind and thoughts positive things look better and lives are spared. 

Like today, when the dog took a Goliath size dump right in front of the door I wanted to practice my blood-letting skills on her but instead, I took a deep breath and said “at least it’s on the ceramic tile.” 

This outlook saved her life….and the fact that we are dog sitting a rambunctious 1yr old lab who wouldn’t let her do her business outside.  He is a nut, a beautiful nut.  His color is fox red and is personality is fiery!  Our poor, fat, mellowed 5yr old lab experiences daily harassment and physical activity rape.  With her eyes she pleads for salvation and questions whether his presence in our abode is permanent. 

Although I believe a dog should physically combust before releasing any waste material in MY home, I gave her a one time pass.  She will live to die another day! 

 

Ours is the fat white one visually pleading for salvation in the background!

 

Help me...I must rest...must get air!!

Because usually the scene looks like this – ALL day long:

Play with me...pant, pant...play with me!

 I try to talk to our fatty in the spirit of looking up and viewing thing positively.  I explain that all of the exercise she is receiving is a good thing and will allow her to table surf for many more years.  Then I throw her a piece of food.

Oh yea, incase I forgot to mention her most recent conquest was an entire mixed berry pie, a loaf of bread and a batch of bananas all of which were consumed in under two minutes.  Really.  I turned my back for two minutes and that’s when she preformed her perfected air assault, paw maneuver causing (in one swoop) those three items to fall from their secured spot on the counter and into her enormous gastric holding area.

She chose to dine on the mixed berry pie on the solo carpeted living space we have.  It figures that the last piece of carpet left in our home was the feasting spot of my homemade, organic mixed berry pie that didn’t even touch my taste buds!  But I got to experience the heart warming joy of cleaning up the residue….look how close she was to dining on wood….grrr.

The mixed berry mess

 

It is still present but now faded.  I have scrubbed.  And scrubbed.  I thought about taking her far away from home and dog dumping her butt and I smiled.   When I realized that I would be the only one smiling, I decided to engage in some positive thoughts and secretly wished she developed an upset stomach or diarrhea – outside.  It helped and again, her life was spared at the thought of her gut spasming and cramping.  Looking up, it really works.

Now…how do I get this stain out of the carpet?????

Germs, Poo and Resurrection

My daughter is a germaphobe freak.   Actually, two of my three kids are germ freaks. My second born (and middle child) is the only one who has a cavalier attitude toward microbes.  He was fed enough spiders from his loving older sister at a tender young age before resisting her was possible.  Initially he would furrow his brows and smack at the object while wearing a mixed look of curiously disgusted.  Occasionally Most times I caught feeding time and performed the perfected parental finger swipe retrieving the object.  I’m convinced it was this constant diet of nasty that lowered his freaking-out threshold. 

My germ loving son NEVER gets sick.  That child has a nazi immune system.  And it seems he has been rewarded for enduring all of the meals provided by older sis because nothing in nature, of nature, around nature, or containing nature touches him.  He is the nature whisperer!

Older sis?  Not so much.  She attracts nature just by breathing.  Payback?  Maybe, but we often attract that which we fear or place our focus on.  Whatever we place before our eyes and elevate in our lives, we empower.  It’s like the child who fears becoming like a parent and declares “I will never be like my parent!” They focus so much on the behavior of the parent that often times they become the very behavior they despised.  

Think about it…Have you noticed that there could be a group of people gathered outside but it is always the people who fear bees or are allergic to them that get stung?  The people who fear dogs attract them like Cesar Millan (minus the “ssssttttt” of course).  The people who are afraid of water usually are the first to fall off the boat.  And the people who fear heights too frequently find themselves in nosebleed situations. 

Could it be that the bee people proclaim “I know I’m going to get stung!”  The dog people utter “Dogs are always after me.”  The aqua people respond “I’m going to end up in the water…I just know it.”  And the height people confess “I’m afraid of heights and I know this lift is going to stop!”  All of these people share two things – fear and belief.  Fear of a situation and the belief that IT WILL HAPPEN.

Fear is a powerful emotion.  It is the opposite of faith (some say fear is faith in the wrong kingdom) so it should come as no surprise that fear works.  Hebrews 11:1 tells us in the new living translation that “Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see.”  Now doesn’t the fearful statment of “I just know….[insert feared expectation]” sound very similiar to the faith principal?

I came across this quote a few years  ago and I found it enlightening:

“Fear imprisons, faith liberates; fear paralyzes, faith empowers; fear disheartens, faith encourages; fear sickens, faith heals; fear makes useless, faith makes serviceable and, most of all, fear puts hopelessness at the heart of life, while faith rejoices in its God.”

So what of my daughter who breaths and nature responds?  What could be the worst for a clean-freak germaphobe to experience while taking a leisurely walk through heavily populated Central Park?  Take a look:

It's a direct hit - Bird Poo fresh from Bird Butt!

 Heavily populated Central Park and the bird chose her for this special gift.  I was right beside her…shoulder to shoulder…a few cm and I would’ve been blessed with the gift.  I felt the wind from the falling “load” brush past me but it was not until I heard her wails of disgust that I fully understood what had occurred.

We laughed as we washed off her boots and she said “I’ll never look at these boots the same again….I can still see where the spots are!” 

As we celebrate Easter this weekend I am faithfully thankful for a Savior who has not only [permanently-residue free] washed away my sin and spots, but also is blinded to my sin and never looks at me the same again [I am new]!! 

I am a new creation in Christ. Old things have passed away and all things have become new! (2 Corinthians 5:17)