I thank my lucky stars they did!

I’ll write more on a day I didn’t get another job rejection and am thus depressed (I’ll write more on the job hunt as well! Lucky!). I’ll instead direct you to something positive and the product of everyone’s hard work:

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They now reside in our backyard.

I’ll go into more details later as to the building of the coop and adjusting to life with chickens (and all those tasty “farm fresh” eggs) but instead I want to talk about a topic near and dear to my heart: how uncooperative chickens are to photograph.

I mean, I get it since I know what a giant pain photographing our cats is but seriously? Probably nine times out of ten I end up with shots of chicken butts.

I secretly think they take pleasure is showing me their behinds and knowing that I fear them almost as much as they fear me.

I grudgingly text Emily last week and admitted that chicken butts are, in their own way, kind of cute.

That is until I see what a mess they’ve made in our backyard.

While showing their rears for photos.

There is, I guess, a reason why I named them after Hades’ sisters.

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On one of our visits down to Oregon visiting Mack’s parents something inside me changed (or snapped) and suddenly I wanted chickens. This in itself was really odd since I’m scared of chickens. Or at least I was more so then I am now. Something about their beady eyes and sharp talons was a major turn off to me. Until I had farm fresh eggs. After that? Suddenly chickens weren’t all that bad in my book.

As we prepare to get some chickens for our backyard I decided it was high-time I do some research and learn more about these predators (joking) who will soon be making our lives a whole lot more chaotic.

1. More than 50 billion chickens are reared annually as a source of food, for both their meat and their eggs.
2. The vast majority of poultry are raised using intensive farming techniques. According to the Worldwatch Institute, 74 percent of the world’s poultry meat, and 68 percent of eggs are produced this way.
3. The broody hen will stop laying and instead will focus on the incubation of the eggs (a full clutch (all the eggs produced by birds or reptiles at a single time) is usually about 12 eggs).
4. Incubation for eggs is about 21 days (if the egg has been fertilized).
5. Chickens may live for five to eleven years, depending on the breed.
6. Meat chicken generally lives six weeks before slaughter.
7. Chickens can sense fear. This excites them.**
8. A chicken is 75% water.
9. A chicken once had its head cut off and survived for over eighteen months, headless.
10. There are more chickens on Earth than there are humans.
11. There are four cities in the United States that have the word “chicken” in their name: Chicken, Alaska; Chicken Bristle, Illinois; Chicken Bristle, Kentucky; and Chicken Town, Pennsylvania.
12. The chicken is the closest living relative of the tyrannosaurus-rex.
13. Hens will try to lay in nests that already contain eggs, and have been known to move eggs from neighboring nests into their own. Hens can also be extremely stubborn about always laying in the same location.
14. The fear of chickens is called ‘Alektorophobia’.
15. On average, a hen layouts 300 eggs per year.

* emphasis on “I didn’t know”.
** citation needed.

my sources: Amazing Chicken Facts, Wikipedia: Chicken, and 20 Little Known Facts about Chickens

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Thought I’d try another I Heart Photography challenge since the theme this week is “Pets“. We all know I am crazy cat lady, after-all.

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I know I can’t say this enough but I hate moving. From living in boxes to not knowing where anything is to hauling heavy objects between point A and point B it just gets old. Mack and I are “frequent movers” in that we’ve moved at least once a year since we started dating in 2007. Fortunately I think we’ve settled in our current place in the sense that we want to stay here for a few years.

Look at us, being all adult like.

Optimistically I want to say that we’ve moved about half of our stuff over to the new place. I want to believe this estimate since I might just burst into tears and hug one of my not-so-willing cats if it is more. Yesterday we hauled over the heavy furniture and I have a whole new awareness of all the muscles in my forearms.

Through all the moving and relocating we decided, for simplicity sake, to have the sugar glider over at my brothers house while we move boxes into the new place. That coupled with the fact we couldn’t “officially” move in until the carpet was cleaned.

Sugar gliders fairly easy to handle critter in that it stays in its cage and is active at night since they’re nocturnal. Overall it wouldn’t be too much of a brain stretch for me to take care of it at night while I was there (since we hadn’t moved the co-dependent cats over yet, either). I have, of course, taken care of sugar gliders many times before but still, they’re such easy creatures it was one less thing for me to worry about.

Now, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but my brother Mark likes to keep his house at about sub-zero. He would point out that it’s in the 60s and it’s “comfortable.” I say he’s in a state of delusion and why are Mom and I the only ones in the family who can’t maintain a normal body temperature?

Damn you genetics.

Anyway, for those of you who don’t know much about sugar gliders they originate in Australia. This means that they tend to like warmer temperatures.

I think you can see where I am going with this.

Last week I get back to my brothers house and go to feed the sugar glider and notice that he’s curled up trying to maintain body heat. Or at least that is what I eventually figured out since he wasn’t really moving much and I thought DEAR GOD I killed the sugar glider! But no, “fortunately”, he was just cold. My heart instantly bled for him since I understand so well the feeling of being cold.

I’d like to lie and say I kept a cool head about this but there are people who read this who know I like to panic sometimes. Especially at 12:30am. I instantly called Mack and was like “The sugar glider is cold and stuff happened and I’m afraid he’ll DIE.” Mack, bless his heart, went about trying to calm me down as I informed him I’d be driving the sugar glider over there and warm up the house since he needs heat, STAT.

The ensuing chaos would do sitcoms proud. Now, I’m slightly ashamed to admit that that night was the first time I’d actually really held a sugar glider. Something about animals that randomly relieve themselves on you isn’t really appealing to me. That night the wellbeing of the glider outweighed my fear of poop on my hand so I grabbed a wash cloth and wrapped the glider up and held him against my torso. It was for the gliders own benefit to go into the wash cloth since at that point my hands were icy cold (my body temperature drops when I’m stressed/upset). Running upstairs I surprised my brother by bursting forth from the basement while begging him to hold the sugar glider (or “The Freak” as Mark calls him) while I ran downstairs to get the cage to take over to our new house.

Perhaps now would be a good time to remind you that I drive a Toyota Corolla? Which has enough space inside to fit a postage stamp at best?

So here I am, 12:40am, standing outside trying to fit this tall cage in and not finding a way to make it work. I call Mack back and told him that I’d have to take the glider over and hand it over to him, grab his car, go get the cage, and come back. A magical came of delivering objects one by one during the night. Not suspicious at all.

Fortunately after the initial freak out with the cage the rest of my taxi service went off without much of a hitch. It was a little difficult holding the glider in one hand while steering with the other but it was well worth it. By the time I came back with the cage the sugar glider was happy, warm, and relieving himself down Mack’s back.

Ah pets, how you like to keep us humble.

Technorati Tags: sugar gliders, pets, animals, boyfriend, stress, moving, travel, traveling with pets

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Oh boy was he thrilled.

Our first order of business was separating the cats so Brutus and Bucky wouldn’t be able to continue licking the wound and making it worse. At first I was worried that Blue would be really sad without his partners in crime around him.

But I’m starting to think he really likes not having them around…

I mean, he gets undivided attention from both of us.

And generally being a ham.

I think all in all he’s happy to have some R&R while he recovers and is storing up his energy for when he’ll next see his partners in crime.

But for now he’s got some sleeping to do and I keep interrupting.

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Two of our cats have feet fetishes. Bucky likes to chew on feet while Brutus is all about shoes. Especially really girly ones. Go figure.

(yes, I know I’m slacking on posting daily photos. I’ve been taking the pictures but just need to post them… Blame my laziness hectic life).

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Friday night after I got home I noticed I had missed a call from my brother Noah at 11:30pm. Concerned, I called him back to find out the devastating news: they had to put down Midnight.

Midnight first came into our lives when I was a freshman in high school. One of Noah’s clients’ grandchildren was followed home from school by this big love of a black dog who wanted nothing more than a pet on the head and attention. Unfortunately they lived in a house with no yard and told Noah of their problem. My parents, already the happy owners of the spunky yellow lab Sierra, agreed to open their arms and hearts to another animal.

Sierra and Midnight were partners in crime and loved each other so deeply. Wherever Sierra went Midnight was usually close behind watching her back or there to reap the benefits of her begging for treats. Where Sierra was in your face and hyper active Midnight counter-acted her spunky energy and gave her a zen and calming force to keep her in check. Yellow and Black they were each other’s ying and yang.

Fall of 2006, Sierra was slowing down and not as much of the peppy puppy that she had been for years. She wasn’t old by any stretch of the imagination but the years were slowly catching up with her.

Then she was diagnosed with lung cancer.

Sierra bravely pushed forward and tried to hide her pain from the her beloved family. We saw her slowing down and tried to hope for the best outcome for her. Through it Midnight was her rock, cuddling up to her and knowing when she was pushing herself and silently getting her to slow down and take each moment as they came. By December she was in too much pain, the cancer spreading too rapidly, and we had to put her down.

We all handled her death really hard. The diagnosis was shattering and from the time we heard “cancer” we had a few short weeks left with her before it became too much. Everyone in the family was devastated by the loss of Sierra. None as much as Midnight.

I honestly don’t think Midnight ever got over the loss of Sierra. The years caught up to Midnight with her death and for weeks, months, years he’d go around the house as though part of him was missing. My parents eventually adopted another dog, Maggie, who served as an energetic companion but I don’t think Sierra could ever be replaced in Midnights heart. Sometimes you’d look at him and see the air of such sadness and loss it just broke your heart.

When I moved back this summer I was surprised at how old Midnight had gotten in the time I had been gone. Every time I went up to visit my parents I’d fear it’d be the last time I’d see Midnight alive. I tried taking as many pictures as I could but something in his past, before he came into our lives, gave him such an aversion to cameras that I didn’t want to stress him out and tried to let him sleep in peace. He had slowed down and the gravity of a life at its end weighted down upon him and brought an almost sense of peace to the great black dog.

Tuesday I went up to my parents house to do dinner with my brother and parents and Midnight wasn’t feeling well. He had had surgery to remove a tumor and slept most of the time. At one point he tried to get up but just couldn’t find the strength or energy to get up and stand on his legs. My brother helped him up and all of us avoided eye contact while praising Midnight. The end was near but none of us was really ready to accept it yet.

Friday night my Dad took the dogs out for their nightly walk before he went to bed. Midnight, tired and hating the dark, opted to stand in the driveway as my Dad took Maggie down the street to do her business. When my Dad got back Midnight had collapsed on the driveway and couldn’t get up despite his valiant efforts. Dad went upstairs in tears to find my Mom who called Noah thinking he was out. Fortunately, Noah was home and was able to bring his car around, wrap a warm blanket around Midnight, and drive him to the animal ER where he had to ultimately be put down.

Writing this entry is the first time I’ve cried about the passing of Midnight. I’ve been telling myself repeatedly good stories about Midnight and taken comfort in the fact that he had a long happy life with us. He was a well loved dog with a heart of gold and a doggie smile that could light up a room. I know if there is an afterlife that he’s reunited with Sierra and oh-so-happy. He’s sorely missed by all and left behind a void in all our hearts that yearns to be reunited. I’m glad his suffering is over and take comfort in him being apart of our lives for so long but still, it hurts and I miss our dog.

Midnight, you were a good dog and shall sorely be missed. We’ll never forget you boy.

Technorati Tags: dogs, dog, death, rainbow bridge, animal passing, euthanasia, pet death, animal death, loss, bereavement

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What can I say G? I am writing you a letter today to discuss your behavioral issues in hopes that we can live in a sort of peace before you are handed off to my parents at the end of the month. You are an adorable cat, G, but there are some things I am going to outline in the letter that, in order to maintain a loving professional relationship until you move on, you need to work on if we’re to give you free reign (again) of the apartment at night instead of being locked in the spare bathroom with food, water, and a litter box.

First off G, is it really necessary to freak the fuck out whenever the boys are within a ten-foot radius of you? I get that they like to look at you and invade your personal space. Trust me, I get it. I don’t like people within my personal bubble, too. You think I like when Bucky lays across my desk and uses my mouse as his personal headrest? Seriously though, freaking out and hissing, spitting, and screaming… I could really do without it. Oftentimes the boys are just passing you by, oblivious to you. I can let you in on a secret G… the boys are only interested in the following:

1. Other male cats
2. Food
3. Somewhere to sleep
4. Unsuspecting individual who doesn’t see them coming
5. Irritating individuals who hiss, spit, and act like a bitch if they get too close.

Do you see yourself falling into any of those categories, G?

Again, I get where you’re coming from, but when you sit in the doorway to the bathroom and block their exit I think it is a little unfair to FREAK OUT and scream. There is a reason why they like to catch you unaware and jump on your back (besides the obvious reason that they are my cats and like to be jerks). Perhaps if you take a chill pill and let them leave the bathroom in peace? Or stop giving into their petty games. I know I, personally, would harass you constantly if I were a cat just to prove what a high maintenance piece of work you are.

But back to the title of this open letter: seriously G, what is the deal? I get that you are terrorized and otherwise bullied by the boys and live in a “constant state of fear” but pooping in the tub? Is that really a necessary thing? What about the peeing on the carpet, clothes, and other items that we use? It’s really disgusting, G, and it’s not like you don’t have your own personal litter box which the boys aren’t allowed near, lest you FREAK OUT.

Mack and I are frankly at a loss, G. You poop in the tub in the middle of the night, so we have to put you in the spare bathroom with all the items you need while we sleep. You know that it’s not just the pooping (though that is a good enough reason in my books) that has made me banish you: the FREAK OUTS all night also really, really helped with that decision. It broke my heart at first that we had to do this, G, but my sympathy went away when we let you out of the bathroom early in the morning and you ran into our shower to poop.

Seriously.

Let us reach a compromise, G, so that we can enjoy the rest of our month together before you go off to my parents house and proceed to get spoiled. How about you take a chill pill in regards to the boys? You know they’re not interested in you in that way and only pick on you because you’re such a spazz. Trust me, G, I know. Why do you think my five brothers terrorized me growing up? Since I FREAKED OUT about it. And the pooping? What more can we do, G? Does the litter box need to be lined in SOLID GOLD BARS to meet your high princess standards?

I get you have issues you need to work out after being thrown out of the past few homes, G. I guess I’d pee and poop on the carpet too (if I were an animal since, as a human, it’s less socially acceptable) if I’d been shown the boot twice in one year. My plea to you, however, is let’s work on the prissy nature and find some sort of unity and love between you cats.

… especially since you’ll be stuck in a car with the boys for four days straight at the end of the month.

I love you Gracie-Grace and hope, with this letter as the ice-breaker, we can improve upon our relationship and have peace in the apartment.

Yours, etc.
Anne

Technorati Tags: animals, pets, domestic shorthairs, animal relationships, relationships, high maintenance animals, behavior issues, poop, open letter, animal bodily functions

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Me: Which cat is on my elbow?
Mack: Take a guess.
Me: Brutus.
Mack: Good guess.
Me: It was the soft, feminine fur.

Technorati Tags: cats, pets, cat conversations, diva, convos, relationships

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