Sunday, Bloody Sunday

First off, it was actually a Monday afternoon and a Tuesday morning, but none of that rhymes.
Nor is it important.
We lost nine chickens in 24 hours.

It was carnage.
The day started badly for us humans, with a grumpy father, and it ended badly for our two roosters, Goose and Freckles.
Very badly actually.
My bank holiday was rescued at 9am by some generous time-off by my lovely wife to take an hours vigorous canoe up the river in perfect conditions, followed by a family picnic on the edge of the lagoon.
Their day wasn’t.
Our two roosters have been fighting really badly over the past two days. Leaving them all bloodied and worn out. They would quite literally fight each other until they fell down and their was blood all over the place.

It was time for the chop. But the kids were having none of it and I had to slip back quietly from the beach to settle matters. Man to rooster.
One got given to our top neighbour, Nonezile, and the other got given to the neighbour who lives below us, Nosandise.
Both neighbours had to promise not to leave any evidence around for our kids who think the roosters have gone to live in the forest.
By the time we walked back up the hill in the late afternoon, all that remained were our neighbours sitting on the grass in front of their hut finishing off the last of Freckle’s bones.
I felt a twinge of guilt when Mila asked to use my binoculars to see if she can spot her beloved goose in the forest later that evening.
The two fighting roosters have been replaced by the magnificent rooster Larry, who is twice as big and has been retrieved from our other neighbour, Nokulunga.
When we went to sleep last night, our latest batch of chicks were an average of 12 hours old and numbered 10.
sadly, when I went to feed them this morning there were seven little corpses, and two hanging on by a thread.
The most obvious cause was squashing.
The mother seems to have stood on all of them at one or other point during the night.
The kids sadness was compensated by us removing the two remaining chicks to hand rear inside their bedroom.

One has since died.
We have got a very basic system which involves a box, a teddy bear and a hot water bottle.

(Oops, the second one just went as well)

We don’t expect them to last the night, but the kids are pretty keen and top up the hot water bottle every two hours.

Also, again no kidding, honest truth – when I went down to close the coop last night, barefoot from the beach, I cut my foot on something sharp as I was passing the spot Nonezile had her afternoon banquet. You guessed it.
It was a chicken bone from Freckle's carcass.

What the cat dragged in

Our cats are killers.
Their most impressive prey are bats.
These are caught in the dark, at speed, and high off the ground.
We quite often get bats in the house. They are very sweet and we are quite fond of them.
They move very quickly and erratically.
Lying in bed, I have tried to follow them in the dark with the light of a torch and it isn’t possible.
They are fast darting little buggers.
Tigger however, is a supreme hunter.
She takes up position on the floor in the doorway, crouched, coiled and ready to spring.
She has cleverly worked out that at this point, the bats need to come down from roof height to fit under the top of the door frame.
This is when Tigger makes her leap, judged to perfection, and at the top of her arc, she stretches out her paw, and seems to just snag the bats with the very tip of one outstretched claw.
We would normally rescue the bats, but to be quite honest they quickly loose their cuteness and appeal, and become leathery, wriggling, wrinkled, evil looking cat food.
Half chewed bats are a common find at breakfast.
Another favourite is a very small grassbird, about the size of a champagne cork with a tail.
Very sweet and with the most melodic song.
The first one we saw we presumed was dead, then Skye noticed that it was still alive.
Unfortunately it was in a cats mouth at the time.
The kids looked to their dad to solve things.
Cats have claws and I discovered that they are mean, shitty, satanic, hissing, screeching little creatures when you try and remove their twitching prey.
Unbelievably, once out (I had to insert my thumb and first finger between the cats incisors. Sore.), the bird flew off unharmed.
I wasn't so lucky, and any adulation from the children was not enough to compensate for the pain inflicted by four sets of claws.
The next time I had a better system.
I was basically a lot more rough and simply threw a towel over the offending feline, sat on it, pinned it down by the neck and got the bird out.
Again alive.
This time I only lost about one pint of blood. And had to deal with the girls shouting, “Don’t hurt Tigger! Don’t hurt Tigger”
However, these are exceptions to the rule. Generally, during dinner, one of the kids says something along the lines of, “Eeughh, gross. There is something dead and bloody under the table”
And generally there is. Blood, guts and all.
Oh, and on the up side, we don’t have mice co-incidently.

Donkey Kong

Our children have been begging us to get a horse.
Skye is horse mad and rides the lodge horses whenever she gets a chance.
Nerve wrackingly enough, at nine years old, and no experience, she often leads the two hour out-rides that the lodge offers as an activity.
I block things out mentally when I hear adults asking her advice on the tightness of their girth, or which horse to ride, or general riding advice.
Firstly, she only knows vaguely how to keep her balance, and it only seems like yesterday that she was learning to tie her shoe laces.
And secondly, and more importantly, it doesn’t matter.
Not only do the horses speak Xhosa, they don’t even listen to that. Ever.
Having determined that her old man wasn’t going to come good on a horse, she started negotiations to buy a donkey out of her own savings.
I think she has her mothers sharp sense of business.
She has negotiated the use of two donkeys “until she gets one of her own” – which will now be never.
The donkeys are not stupid.
We do not need to keep them tied up or fenced in.
They figured out pretty quickly that our house was the only one in the district where they would get anything to eat that wasn’t grass.
When I asked Skye how she planned to feed the donkeys and enquired if she knew how much this would cost, she told me not to worry, “its free dad, we are just feeding them carrots and apples and things from our fridge”
The other novelty is grooming.
This the donkeys like.
Mila and Skye both spend hours brushing them and scratching their itches.
They don't have grooming brushes so they use our hand help dust pan and brush, and some odd shaped sticks.
The girls get so excited, this morning in the dark, I had a torch light dancing around their room in the dark as they got their gumboots on over their pajamas so that they could go and find their donkeys.
I am happy to report that both Zig-Zag and Criss-Cross are also enjoying the royal treatment, and think nothing of spending half their day on our veranda.
The kids love it and disappear off through the long grass, each on a donkey.
Saddles and riding equipment are frowned upon by the way.
You basically grab a bit of mane and then use your bum, heels, and hands slapping their necks to steer and get some forward motion going.
It is pretty fun to watch them all enjoying themselves so much.
Mila, five, can’t quite reach high enough to jump onto hers, so she runs around with this little, green sand castle building kids bucket, which she inverts, and then uses to step on to get her the little extra height she needs.
Of course, the donkey takes two steps forward as soon as she has everything positioned right.
I don’t know who is having more fun.
I have a rough idea who the more stubborn is.
And it isn’t the donkeys.

The famous $135.00 egg

We definitely have the best chicken coop in the village.



We built a simple A-Frame structure that we split into two levels.
The top is enclosed and has special laying boxes, and the bottom is fenced.
There is a simple gang plank leading upstairs that can be raised at night.
The sides of the coop open to enable the easy collection of eggs.

We used to have our single $115 dollar egg, and a cowardly rooster.



The eggs situation now reads $135 dollars for minus 2 eggs.
We bought a lot more feed, and in order to stimulate egg-laying, we took three of our store bought eggs and cleverly let them rot over a week in the nesting boxes.
They made a pleasant popping sound when I hurled them out (in a high arc) into the surrounding grassland.
So we are now two eggs down.

At least they know who is in charge.
I lectured them severely one evening when they were all in and promised not to let them out until they had produced and egg. Just one. A single one between them.
I would have lasted longer than the seven days, but two snuck out when I opened the coop to check on the seventh day.
I didn’t give up so much as give in.
In seven days we never saw an egg of theirs.



The women in the village tell me I need to feed them crayfish eggs.
Any idiot knows this will never work.
I have a farming manual that tells me that based on the body shape (very narrow hip, very long legs) I should “Good laying hens should have … wide apart pelvic bones, and a white, large, moist vent. If they have the opposite wring their necks.”

I have heard stories of lonely farmers, typically from New Zealand, and chickens vents and will not examine mine to see if the they are white, large and moist. However, I would wring mines necks if my kids stopped paying attention for a second.
By the way, I didn’t collect the prawns especially for the chickens. Don’t be silly. I am not one of these sandal making new age tie die sorts.
I was going to use them for fishing bait, and when the weather turned bad decided not to waste them.
Quite a few coincidently did have yellow spawn on their tails.

But that was before the week incarceration, and so this didn't work either, and my results remain at minus two.

Yet another chicken

Got back home last night after pulling an all day drive.
Left Cape Town at 3am and got home at 6pm.
A long drive.
Made longer having a single CD jammed in the CD player.
The CD unfortunately being Phantom of the Opera.
As the CD player looked ill, I thought I would stick in our worst CD just in case, to cleverly test it.
Well, I got it in, but not out. Then had 16 hours of Andrew Lloyd Webber to keep me awake.
Good stuff.

When I got to Bulungula I saw the most amazing rooster.
Giant, with a tail that would put a peacock to shame.
Paid R80 for him.
He was wild as hell. Took two dogs and two men to catch him. He was so angry he got his wings and his legs tied, and was then bundled into a bag.
He lost his tail in the process.
Just what we needed to whip our crew into shape.
Crack the whip and all.
This moring we were outside when we heard a terrible noise.
The neighbours scrawny, flea-bag of a rooster was giving our a real hiding.
They both ran right past us and into our room, making lots of noise and flapping wings and screeching.
I picked up the scrwny one and got it outside.
When I got back, our bloody expensive prince, had his head jammed behind a piece of wood, hiding.
Things are not looking good.
He spent the ret of the day sulking and hiding in our coop.
We have now spent just under R1000 for a single egg (chickens R420, building materials R500, feed R75) ($15 for a single egg)

Even Uglier

We had the ugliest 3 chickens in the world. Somehow the universe sent us three more.
Sonja picked up two broilers on the side of the road that were destined for the pot.
They are uglier and grumpier than sin.
They must have had a crap life because the are pretty much featherless on their bottoms and backs, and are missing a toe or two.
They are now in heaven, free range, all they can eat, and no rooster to bother them.
The sixth came via the neighbour who gave us the runt from her batch instead of some change she owed us.
Six ugly chickens, 21 days, one egg.
These are our worst statistics to date, beaten only by my fishing stats which read, 48 days, one fish, 100g.



This is Goose. Very masculine.



These are "Sulky Sue", and my one is called "don't get attached to me I am not a pet"



Goose and Freckles stepping out.



Snuffles, sometimes Mr Snuffles, which is a bit weird as she is a hen.

We don't have a pic of Mrs Smith (the neighbour - geddit), she rarely graces us with her presence, eating our food, and then scooting back to her mates at the neighbours.

We are now a place of safety for ugly and ex battery hens.

It's been ages since I blogged any news so I thought I'd catch up with some photos.

After many months of begging and pleading, Skye and Mila now each have their own kittens. Both cats were born in the village and seem able to deal with just about anything - including boisterous children, vicious village dogs and the resident rooster.

Meet Tigger (black and white) and Cheatah!





Their favourite spot in the house is diretly underneath the gas stove - note the flame to the right of Cheatah!

Goose, Freckles and Snuffles

Our chicken experience was going to be as follows:

On Tuesday (2 days) we receive chicken wire, poles, wood, roofing.
I have chosen a really good spot a chicken run, including a nice coop, allowing easy access to collect eggs.
I would put the word out that I wanted 4 hens and a rooster.
I would then select premium stock.
We would keep them confined to the run for about a week, and then let them out sometime around 11am each morning once they have laid their eggs.
They would range free all day, digging and scratching around to their hearts content, sometimes followed by a few baby chicks.
At night they would come in to roost.

Our actual chicken experience was ----------------------------------------------------------7612777777777777777777723333333333333333333333333333333333aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

(Sorry, the above was the kitten walking across my keyboard - no kidding)

Anyway, back to our actual experience as follows:

The kids and I arrive back from seeing Sonja off (she is off to JHB for three days)to find a white fertilizer sack with three semi live chickens inside. They have their feet tied and are bundled on top of one another.

.

The top one looks alive. I am not sure about the bottom two.



Our neighbour has walked half the day to get them for us, So I can hardly say no can I? I pay her the R50 she tells me is the price per hen(This is about 40% more than a frozen broiler form the supermarket)

I have no fencing, no poles, no chicken food, no plan.
I have three gasping, dying chickens, and three freaking out kids.

I stay calm and have a cup of coffee.

I decide that I obviously need to get them into a holding cell for three days until I can get a coop built.

My ideas of a picture perfect coop go out the window.
I get the canopy off my bakkie (pick-up)
Bang together a few bits of scrap wood and rusted wire I find thrown away.
And put together the ugliest chicken run in the world.
I want to scream out to everyone that it is only temporarily



We get all three out of the bag and into their temp home.
We get them plenty of water and I manage to bum a bag of chicken feed from David, down at the lodge.

I get my first decent look at them, and honestly. They all fell out the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.
They are so shocking, they are kind of creepy.



Of course, the kids adore them.

All three are instantly named.
Skye chooses one and names it Freckles
Mila goes with the big, John Cleese looking one and calls it Goose
Caleb names the dark one Snuffles (which is vaguely funny, as in Snuffed, died, killed)

I have to promise solemnly that I cannot kill any of their birds without asking first.
Mila and Skye inform me that I will never kill either Freckles or Goose.
Caleb is pretty open to the practicalities of farming.
You can kill mine, he informs me.
Good chap.

But to tell the truth, they are so freaky and weird looking.
I could never eat any of them.

Mila is busy negotiating that "babies" fall under the same protection.
Not to worry, I am not spreading these genes any further.

Next trip to town I am buying 6 Rhode Island Reds, and a grand rooster.

Segewick is still with us

After tormenting me with body odours for two days while we were driving up to the village, Segewick must have thought that he had died and gone to heaven.
One of the very, very many reasons that I am not fond of him is his fondness for rolling in all things fecal.

Well let me tell you something.
Our entire floor at the cottage is made of cow dung.
He strutted into the cottage like lord muck, and then proceeded to roll around from room to room, on what can only be the biggest cow patty he has ever seen.

He has also got a new friend, who the kids have unoriginally named Domino. He is a pretty good dog with a bit of Collie in him.

What makes Segewick happy, is that "Collie" is not all that Domino has in him.
He also has a very broad and progressive approach towards cross gender relations.
He obviously feels that boundaries are old fashioned and is happy to act a eunuch to Segewick all day.

R.I.P Segewick

"Sweetheart, don't encourage them to give him the big green injection, okay"
Look, nobody wants to put a dog down. I mean this little guy, bastard that he is, did some, if not lovable, then at least quirky things. But the truth is he is old. Too old.
And he isn't going to survive Bulungula. That village has real dogs.
He struggles to get up, has mange, his back legs look painful, and worst of all he has these cancerous growths all over his belly. The final straw was his ear. The whole thing swelled up like a balloon. So even though I felt a slight twinge of guilt, I knew it was for the best. He also certainly didn't help his cause with his nightly incontinence and permanent stinking, fetid gas releases.
With a sad farewell I headed down to the vet to get the job done. It had always been in our planning anyway, I mean, we just don't have space for the kids and a dog. (And Sonja wouldn't let me leave any of the kids behind.)
The examination was done with respectful austerity. I didn't smile or crack any jokes. I know how this works. I kept it solemn and gave the old boy a few strokes and pats.
Things started to go wrong when he tried to bite the vet. No kidding.
Did I just see a flash of defiance in those eyes. Please no. This guy is closer to two decades than one. He has to lock his entire body and hop down the stairs as though he is in a plaster cast.
Second bad sign. The vet asked me (me!) to put a muzzle on him. I mean the dog is dying. What self respecting vet uses a muzzle on a dying dog.
He has to be dying, there is no room for him at the inn. He is dying, right doc?
Once the muzzle was on those cancerous growths calmed me down. They were really big.
No worries said the vet, we can drain this ear, its just a burst blood vessel.
But the cancer doc, the cancer. "Mmmm. These look like normal age related fatty growths, we'll take a quick sample of that to confirm it, but nothing to worry about."
After that I only remember little snippets.
"He's got a nip of arthritis in his hips, but nothing too bad."
"You'd be surprised how long these little guys live for"
"Please sign for this account sir"
And you know what, the little bugger tried to bite him again when I took the muzzle off.
This is terrible. Its a week later and he is snorting and scratching and grunting in the most disgusting way at my feet.
And the bastard. Not only do I now have a fleabag coming up to live with us, but the bugger cost us over a thousand Rand for the visit.
They are going to have to bloody muzzle me.

Lifestock and Amimals Introduction

This catagory will deal with our attempts at keeping a few chickens, perhaps a couple of geese, a dog well past his sell-by date, and hopefully two milk goats. If the kids and their dad have their way this may also include a horse.
We are planning to keep a rooster and about two dozen chickens to get a reasonable supply of eggs, and take one or two for the pot each week.
If we do get the goats, it will be for milk, and this will not only give us fresh milk, but will allow us to try our hand at some cheese and yogurt making.
We will definitly also get a bee hive established.
Oh, and the good news (not) is that Skye is saving up for a kitten.
If I can find a way to ensure that there is no environmental impact, and everything is legal and above board I would also like to try a few rabbits (to eat and for their pelts) and a pig or two to help dispose of our waste, and for the pot.