A truly black friday

I have nothing funny or cute to say about my animals, children or husband this week.  Last Friday was truly the darkest day I can remember.  I have felt anger, dismay, sadness and guilt just as most of us have over the past days.  There has been a lot of misinformation out there, and I don't suppose to know the hows or whys or whom to blame, but there are a few things that seem to me to be pretty obvious next steps in this situation and none of them involve having school principals carry M-4 assault rifles as the fine Texas congressman suggested.

I was substituting in a 1st grade class last Friday.  I couldn't help but think, "What if that had been here."  I know kids "on the spectrum".  They struggle with their behavior and find it hard to fit in with their peers, and while it has not been confirmed that the shooter in Newtown  actually had any form of autism, the fact that many people described him as such paints a picture to most of us of a smart kid without many if any friends who was probably teased a lot at school.  When I think of the sweet kids I know just starting out on their journey through what can be a pretty harsh world, I can't help but think that Adam Lanzer was probably a sweet little six year old boy once whose parents had great dreams for him.

When I was in grammar school, there was a loner boy who was very unkempt and liked to fart in class. We all kindly referred to him as Scurvy.  I don't know who came up with the name since scurvy isn't usually a disease 8 year olds are familiar with, but this was the name we all called him, even to his face.  This went on for several years.  One day in sixth grade, this boy was absent and the teachers sat the entire class down and told us how hurtful it was for us to call him this name.  It never really dawned on most of us that we were being mean.  I think we actually thought it was funny and probably even thought the boy found humor in his nickname.  The name calling stopped, but the ostracization did not.

I heard several years later that this boy was in prison for something horrible like rape or child molestation.  I don't even know if it was true or just a vicious rumor.  Being a self absorbed 20 something at the time,  I didn't really think about it. I know I believed the story and assumed that since he was weird that this was probably an inevitable tragedy.  Was it?  If we had treated him with kindness and respect would he have turned into a criminal? I will always wonder.

My brother is both mentally ill and on the spectrum the lucky bastard.  He was teased at school.  He didn't really have any friends.  He is a mild mannered guy who would not hurt a fly.  Luckily for him he has my mother who has always worked tirelessly to see that he receives the services he needs and deserves. It has been a nearly forty year struggle for her.  As the Republicans cry to cut services to the needy so we can give tax breaks to the "job creators," many of these people who require costly life long care, are thrown to the curb. Even those with insurance often find themselves at the end of their mental health coverage after a few years and have nowhere to turn.

As for the Newtown killer, his family had money and I have no idea what his problems were or if he was receiving any professional help.   It would appear that his mother's decision to home school him in high school speaks to her devotion to her son, though why she would have assault rifles in a home she shared with this troubled kid is beyond me.

Many people will say that there will always be mentally unstable people who will carry out violent acts. Would all of the mental health services in the world change the determination of this guy to perpetrate such an evil act?  I don't know.  I do know if he did not have semi automatic weapons at his disposal things would have ended much differently.  Just as I know that if James Holmes hadn't been able to legally obtain his weapons and high capacity magazines that situation would have also ended differently.

I don't suppose to be an expert on any of this and feel kind of like a shit to even be voicing my opinion on a situation I know very few facts about. I do so because I believe that we need to keep up the conversation and make sure we continue to pressure our politicians to reinstate the assault weapons ban.

 I don't want to take any guns out of the hands of hunters.  I have guns.  I think hunting is a great sport and a humane way to be a meat eater. I enjoyed a lovely venison the other night, but  "gun enthusiasts" who want to pretend they are in the Special Ops can get their ya yas out playing "Call of Duty" on their Xboxes.  There is no reason for anyone outside of the military to be able to purchase these weapons of mass destruction and no 2nd amendmenter out there will convince me otherwise.

All Creatures Great Pains in the Asses and Small

I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what to write about this week.  No near death experiences for the chickens.  The dogs are being pains in my ass with the indoor wrestling and the perpetual tracking of mud throughout my house, but we installed a perimeter fence and it is a wonder what a good zap can do to bring Pepper down a few notches.  Athena is getting her licks in but good.  We did have a bleeding paw incident but nothing a little superglue couldn't fix. (Thanks Kate). The rabbits are REALLY getting along if you catch my drift and the boys have all managed to pee into the toilet this week.  Well, except for Scrappy.  He peed in the bathtub, but only because Prince was already sitting on the pot and he probably would have peed his pants if he had to run to the other bathroom.  All and all, a good week.  So, since the only time I write about the creatures here at the farmette is when they are sick, being killed, killing others or we want to kill them ourselves, I decided to give everyone a more pleasant update on all creatures great and small.

Let's start with the boys, whom I am still not allowed to post photos of:

Prince has started "playing" the trombone.  He really isn't all that into it, but I think it is really that he is not all that into his teacher.  I had to get all Mama Bear when he got mad at Prince for not having his music book which has been on back order for almost a month now.  I told Prince to just say the word and I would march myself right down to the school and shove an 8th note (whatever that is) up his butt.  Prince calmed me down and said it is probably just because he is old.  Snap.  Oh, and Prince was on the high honor roll.  Oops, did that just slip out?  I wasn't going to say anything because we don't care about grades in our house, just effort. Sorry for the error.  It won't happen again.

 James Dean also had a great report card but they don't do honor roll until 4th grade here.  He is really into making clay sculptures.  I know I am his mother but the little details he is able to get onto these tiny sculptures is pretty extraordinary.



Scrappy Doo won best behaved on the bus.  Why they give an award for this is beyond me, but he was so proud.  Prince's explanation for this honor is that since Scrappy doesn't have any friends on the bus, he has no choice but to sit quietly and be well behaved.  Ahh, brotherly love.

The dogs:

Pepper (aka the Farting Dog)  is in 7th heaven over the new pup. All of his herding instinct is now directed at her which is a huge relief to the boys who were getting rather tired of having him chase them down whenever they tried to run around. He is a bit of an asshole older brother to the puppy.  If she doesn't want to go outside, he takes hold of her ear and drags her out.  He pushes her out of the way whenever anyone tries to pet her and he constantly has her head in his mouth which is probably why she is constantly covered in ooze.

The husband did just install a perimeter fence to keep him from running into the woods to collect more deer parts, but he may have been a tad overzealous in his desire for containment and dialed the collar up to 11.  One zap pretty much broke Pepper's spirit.  Honestly, I think the husband did it on purpose.  Did I mention he doesn't really like the dogs? We had to drag the poor pooch outside all weekend.  Athena, seeing her opportunity to nab Alpha Dog status, wasted no time in showing Pepper who is the boss.  It was short lived however and he has taken to dragging her around the house by her hind leg now.

Athena (aka the Pig Dog)  is a pretty lazy puppy.  Well, I think she is.  It is hard to tell what her personality is because Pepper monopolizes all of her time and runs her ragged.  He is like Lenny in "Of Mice and Men" with the little kitten.  "I will pet him and love him and call him George."  I didn't know that quote came from "Of Mice and Men" until I read the book in college.  I thought it was from that Loony Tunes cartoon.  We call her the pig dog because she is constantly grunting and shnuffling (not sure how to spell that since I just made it up.)

The cats:

Larry Robin (aka Big Kitty) is the pet we have had the longest.  We got him back in the city when we were having problems with the ass biting rats crawling out of the toilets.  It was really just some mice, but if you read the post about our city mice problem you will know what I am talking about.

Larry is about six years old and is quite the hunter.  He stays mostly outside because he hates the kitten and the dogs and many of the humans.  He is very fond of the kitten's food though so he will try to trick me by going outside and coming back to the door five minutes later in hopes that I forgot to put the kitten food out of his reach.  I am on to you LR.  The above photo is how I usually find Larry Robin sitting outside the back door about fifteen times a day.

Emma (aka Itty Bitty)
This juxtaposition of photos pretty much sums up her schizo personality.  All I can say is thank god we didn't have a daughter. The husband overindulges this little girl so much I am sure our daughter would be in juvie with a meth problem at the age of 12.



The chickens:

Kyle (aka the Disrespected Rooster) is still my favorite bird of all time even if he doesn't produce eggs. I think he was a math professor in a former life.  He is really a terrible rooster but he does try to get the ladies in line.  Maybe when we get him some young females in the spring he will have a little more power.

Chicky Rivera (aka Chicky Rivera)  is back to being my badass hen.  I am feeling very Dr. Doolittle having cured her of her upper respiratory infection with my banana, garlic, kale, molasses mash; honey lemon tea and vapor rub for animals.  I wonder if I could get credits toward my veterinary degree with this treatment?

Jonah (aka ?)  What can I say.  She is a chicken and she lays some good eggs.


The rabbits:

Baby Bunny (aka BB) is now living large in the chicken tractor.  He and BFF had a mutually beneficial play date in what used to be the chicken pen.  He humped her, she humped him. Repeat fifty times. He was so blissed out by the end of the day that I wish I'd had a cigarette to give him.

BFF (aka Big Furry Friend)  had her name changed from Bitch Face because although she killed her young and tried to eat BB, I really have to cut her some slack.  It couldn't have been fun riding six hours in a car with a bunch of people and two dogs only to be left in an unfamiliar cage to give birth 24 hours later. She's still a boring rabbit, but she is very pretty and it's looking like she will probably be giving the boys their first experience with animal newborns next month.  Hopefully she won't kill these ones.

So there's a little picture of our critters.  More critters to come in the Spring!

Black Friday

When one is awoken by a snorting retching pig dog at 5 am only to have to then clean pee off of the bathroom ceiling, walls and floor a mere two hours later, because a five year old boy is unable to aim his tiny bladder release valve into the toilet, it is probable that, to quote Alexander, "It is going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." This was the scene on the farmette last Friday.

Hunting season is in full swing up here much to the delight of Pepper the Farting Dog and Athena the Pig Dog.  They run into the woods and emerge a few moments later with various deer parts to chew on.  First was an entire deer leg and most recently was a semi rotting skull of a small buck.  You city pooches can keep your rawhide shaped like real bones and stuffed animal rodents.  We country dogs get to gnaw on the real thing.  Unfortunately, trying to digest a bunch of deer fur in order to gain access to the meat, can leave a puppy's tummy a little rumbly thus the 5am puke fest.

Since I was up a whole hour earlier than normal, I decide to get involved with the time vacuum that is Pinterest.  I am not really sure why I like Pinterest.  There are some good recipes, but I really don't need to know 75 ways to twist my hair into an updo or use makeup to look like a woodland sprite.  All of the gardening and knitting stuff I am interested in just makes me feel like an unmotivated, slacker, putz, but I manage to waste an hour and a half staring at crazy beautiful gardens and DIY felted Christmas tree ornaments made from old sweaters.

When I emerge through the wormhole, I realize I am now a half hour behind schedule so I rush to make breakfasts, lunches and coffee for me and the husband because even though he has built a club house for the boys, two greenhouses and hammered a few nails when the Amish built our barn, he can't figure out the cappuccino maker.  I get Scrappy Doo into the bathroom and suddenly hear him yelling, "OOHH! I can't get it to go in."  I run into the bathroom to see him power washing the entire bathroom with his little hose. He managed to get it everywhere but into the toilet; even on the kitten.  I mutter a few curse words very loudly and throw towels everywhere.

I push all three boys out the door to get the bus and head back into the bathroom to clean up the spill in aisle 8.  As I take my nice cashmere wrap sweater off to avoid contamination, my favorite bracelet gets snagged on it and breaks, sending tiny jewels cascading across the floor.  I wonder if the day would suck this much in Australia?

Since it is genetically impossible for me not to be completely involved in my children's lives, I jumped at the opportunity to coach the K-5th grade Odyssey of the Mind team at their new school.  It is supposed to be 3-5th grade, but since Scrappy Doo has to come to every meeting I couldn't leave him out.

OM is a fun program where kids work in teams to solve problems creatively.  There is a competition in February and I haven't really a clue how it is going to work, but everyone seems to be having fun.  As a coach I am not supposed to help the kids come up with solutions to problems.  I am just supposed to ask leading questions and make sure no one blows anything up. I usually start each meeting with a fun team building activity and then we move on to working on the competition project.

Once I cleaned the bathroom, washed the pukey dog blanket and retrieved the pieces from my broken bracelet, I came up with the team building activity for Friday's meeting and headed off to the school, instructing the husband to make sure the chickens are locked in their house before dark.  Getting the chickens in at night is not a big deal generally. They know to come inside before the nasty chicken predators come out to hunt.  I am still amazed by this instinct for self preservation every time I watch Kyle the Rooster leading his ladies inside to safety at dusk.

My team building activity was a little rowdier than usual and involved the seven kids having to keep a dozen balloons in the air for as long as possible.  I guess 3pm on a Friday after a long week of school is probably not the best time to pull this party game out.  They were CRAZY.  The craziness did not subside once they sat down to work on the script for the competition and I had to actually threaten one kid with, "Do I have to talk to your mother?"  It was a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.

5pm could not come soon enough.  I get my boys into the car and drive home.  I am really looking forward to munching on popcorn while watching our Family Movie Night choice: "ET."

The husband meets us outside.  "Are the chickens in?" I ask.

The husband leans in and whispers, "Kyle is in the coop, but I can't find the ladies."

My heart starts racing.  Surely the husband did something wrong.  I don't know how yet, but I will think of some way to blame him.

"Why is the chicken door closed?" I ask in an accusatory tone.  Obviously my ladies had been pecking on the door and were unable to get inside so wandered off into the cold dark night.

"I had it open but they were nowhere to be found," replies the husband.

My heart sinks and I grab a flashlight to go looking for the missing hens.

The chickens have been rather naughty since the leaves are off the trees.  They have taken to crossing the road (insert why did the chicken cross the road joke here) into my neighbors yard and walking up the hill into another neighbor's yard.  Funny how they can't possibly find enough places to peck on the ten acres they actually live on.

I shine the flashlight into the woods and walk up the dark country road calling, "Here Chicky Chicky." There is no sign of them.

I go inside to make dinner and look at the carton of eggs sitting in the fridge.  I get a little weepy wondering if these are the last Chicky Rivera and Jonah eggs we will ever eat.

I fall asleep half way through ET just as I always do whenever Family Movie Night begins after 8pm.  I wake up around 6:00 the next morning and wait for the sun to come out so I can start, what I am sure will be my chicken carcass recovery effort.

Around 7am I go out to search.  I catch a glimpse of what looks like a chicken and my heart soars.  It is Jonah.  Not that I am not happy to see Jonah, but Chicky Rivera is my girl and the one I am really attached to.  Prince has now joined the search party and we keep looking.  We soon spot Chicky up the hill.  I grab Kyle the Rooster out of the hen house to try to round them up.  He starts doing his rooster dance and making all sorts of funny sounds to get the ladies' attention.  They answer back but don't come any closer.  He is not the most convincing rooster I have ever seen.

Prince and I climb all over the neighbors' deck trying to herd the chickens back down to our yard.  They dart and dodge and finally manage to get under the deck out of our reach.  We can't be annoyed with them because we are so happy they are still alive.

We finally manage to get them back into their hen house and head inside for scrambled eggs.  Saturday is proving to be a much better day; probably even in Australia.