Saturday, Fred was knee-deep in c0cks all morning long (and into the afternoon). I spent the morning cleaning the house, doing laundry, and hanging out with the kittens. I spent some time bagging chicken as he finished cleaning each one (“This would go a lot faster if I weren’t the only one doing this,” he said with a significant look in my direction. Uh, no thanks. I don’t do chicken cleaning, I have to cook them, isn’t that enough?)
So we ended up with a total of 14 small roosters cleaned, bagged, and put into the refrigerator to “age” for a few days before I move them to the freezer.
“We need to eat chicken more often!” Fred said.
The problem (not that it’s really a “problem”) is that with only the two of us, every time I make something we end up with at least two meals for each of us. I made chicken and dumplings last week, we ate it for dinner Thursday and Friday, and Fred ate it for lunch yesterday.
I’m not complaining, though – if I can make it so that I cook once and then we eat twice, that just means less cooking for me, and that’s always a good thing!
Once Fred was done with the cleaning of the chickens and they’d all been stowed in the refrigerator, he said “I’ll take care of the outside cleanup and you take care of the inside cleanup, okay? I’m pretty sure my cleanup job of the kitchen wouldn’t up to your standards.”
You are correct, sir.
So he went out and took care of the feathers and guts and I scrubbed down the kitchen until it looked as though there’d never been blood and guts strewn all over.
Saturday being our eat-dinner-out day, we got subs from Domino’s (I got the Italian sub, ate a little more than half. It was okay, but if I never have another one, that’s alright by me) and stopped by the movie store. We watched Swing Vote Saturday night, and it was entertaining enough. Kevin Costner does the fuckup-who-redeems-himself role pretty well.
Sunday morning we had to get up and out early, because we had a date at the flea market in Tennessee. After stopping at the ATM for cash, running by the movie store to drop off a movie, and stopping to gas up the truck, we headed for Tennessee.
Where we got our new pigs! Two little pigs, boys, to put in the pig yard. They were scared and kind of cold (we were told that they were used to being in a heated building), so once they were settled in the carrier, Fred piled a little straw on top of them and they seemed to get the idea that burrowing down into the straw would warm them up.
I don’t have any really good pictures of them, because they’re scared and hiding in the straw in their shelter for the time being. Maybe once they’re accustomed to their surroundings, they’ll come out and pose for pictures.
They sure are cute.
To quote Fred, Our new pigs came from a commercial grower who houses 1500 sows, via the guy we bought some hatching eggs from last week. These two didn’t make the cut for the commercial world because they have small hernias and that’s a no-no. I’m supposed to push on the hernia daily on each to make sure their guts aren’t poking out. When they get a little bigger, their guts won’t fit and everything should be fine. They don’t go commercial because the big guys don’t hire an official hernia poker to check the little pigs all the time.
When we got them home, we carried the carrier out to the chicken yard, and we put the carrier down on the ground and called George and Gracie over to sniff at the pigs through the carrier. George was all “Um, yeah, did you say you have food? Is there a snack involved? Because otherwise, I am not so much interested.” and Gracie sniffed cautiously a few times and then began barking her fool head off. For the rest of the day, if she heard the pig squealing (which they did on the occasions that Fred invaded their space and touched them with the fangers) she’d bark. Otherwise, she minded her own bidness.
Fred took them some cookies yesterday beginning, as he said, the conditioning where they realize that seeing a human come toward them is a good thing and is usually followed by tasty, tasty food.
Since it turned out to be pretty freakin’ cold Sunday, I ended up making a fire and after a few hours it was putting out some decent heat. Who knew I’d be such a good fire builder? I should totally be on Survivor!
(Except that I suspect they don’t provide Kindle Candles on Survivor. More’s the pity.)
I harassed Fred for the rest of the day saying “Look at that fire! Isn’t that an excellent fire?” and “What a fire!” and “Go stand by the fire and feel that heat!” and “What a magnificent fire!” and “I bet you wish you could make a fire as good as I can!”
We had a late lunch of pork steaks, baked potatoes, and spinach salad Sunday afternoon, and then I spent a good hour cleaning off my desk (I don’t know how on earth it gets to be such a freakin’ mess!), then got the jams and hot sauces page up and running, and then I tried to scan something for my sister, whereupon I discovered that the shitty all-in-one printer/ scanner/ copier will still copy and print, but won’t scan. So I spent the rest of the afternoon looking for a decent scanner, because I NEEDS ME SOME SCANNING ABILITY JUST ‘CAUSE.
Also, I nagged and harassed Fred ’til he put hooks in the door frame by the back door so we can hang our slobbing-around-the-40 jackets there instead of hanging them off the chairs in the dining room.
And that was my weekend! Exciting, no?
(If you’re keeping count, that means we now have (approximately) 70 chickens, and another 30 or so coming in a couple of weeks. Also, we’re up two pigs.)
Samba and Rumba are doing well. Samba’s still on medication for her congestion. She seems to start out the day sounding fairly clear, then gets more congested as the day goes on, it seems. I’ve seen her have a couple of coughing fits, both times in the afternoon. Fred said he saw her have a coughing fit Friday, and then she sneezed out a big ol’ green booger.
(Which she promptly ate, of course.)
Two or three times when I’ve walked into the room, Rumba has looked at me, started howling, and then run over to me. When I sit on the floor, she slinks back and forth and lets me pet her while she stretches and sharpens her claws on the carpet. Yesterday for the first time Samba actually approached me for some petting. I mean, once I started petting she rethought whether she wanted to be petted, and after putting up with it for a few minutes she ran off, but hey – that’s progress, right?
These sisters are so adorable, they kill me!
“What’s that?! Over there?! Behind you?! A serial killer?! Or a piece of fuzz?! One or the other?!”
More pics over at Love & Hisses.
Previously
2008: The dog continues to improve. (Read here to see how the dog came to be in our possession.)
2007: Are ya feelin’ bubbly, punk? Well? Are ya?
2006: I think it would be hilarious if someone started manufacturing imitation Maui Jim sunglasses and called them “Oahu James” sunglasses.
2005: I figure they’re professionals and know what they’re doing, so I have no desire to clutter up the small amount of space left in my brain with that kind of information.
2004: I sense that there is a battle of epic proportions in my future, a show-down between Miz Poo and I as to just WHO the blanket belongs to.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: But don’t tell Miz Poo I’m admiring another cat, please…
2000: It’s a conspiracy!