In less than 24 hours I have had my fill of chickens and
everything that comes out of them. With my son away hunting, the task of taking care of his stockshow chickens along with his "regular" chickens fell to moi. I don't know how I always get so lucky but I do. My son loves these chickens and works so dang hard each and every day making sure that they are provided for. He cleans their coop, their feed trays, and their water stations. He makes certain that the heat lamps are on in the event of a freeze and the fans are blowing when it gets too hot. Before he left he made sure that I knew what to do and what not to do...and when to do it.
Last night, after my daughter and I got home from a full day of shopping, the sky was starting to darken and the temperatures were dropping. I had a friend due to arrive in less than three minutes and my sister-in-law was just taking a pizza out of the oven. But, before I could dole out hugs and start to dine, I had to do the chicken dance. I went over to the "regular" coop, collected some "clean" eggs, (which means they do not have as much chicken poop on them as the ones due to hatch), scooped and poured some fresh feed, and refilled the water jug. Next it was off to the 'show' coop. This one was a little trickier. First I had to feed and water the culled chickens. Then I had to do the same with the show chickens. There is a lot of poop, water, mud, and climbing involved. Once that chore was completed I went into the kitchen and started putting some groceries away. I had bought a still-warm rotisserie chicken and quickly discovered that its juices were leaking all over my counter...greasy juices...the kind that don't really wipe up the first four times you try. These slimy liquids made their way to the kitchen floor as well...gave it a nice shine though so I went ahead and smeared it as far as it would go with the dish towel. When I tried to squeeze the chicken into the fridge I heard a sound I immediately recognized as a cracked egg. There, in the back, was the cracked remnants of a raw egg...bright yellow yolk slipping its way down the backside of the fridge, pooling on top of the glass shelves, and collecting in between the glass along the edges. After a few quiet moments to myself it was determined that since the egg was not rotten and since the temp in the fridge would remain cold the clean up could wait until my son got home.You see, he had picked up the habit of setting the eggs in the refridgerator instead of in an actual egg carton.
We went ahead with our girls' night plans and after an evening of homemade pizza, a movie that brought us to tears and wrapped us in laughter, and bowls of Blue Bell Coffee Ice Cream, caramel syrup, brownies, and whipped cream, we called it a night...a good night.
The next morning, when I went outside to repeat all of the above mentioned chicken checkin' duties, I was met with the drone of either flies or bees. The hum met me way before I was anywhere near the coop. I had visions of a massacre that had occurred while I slept the night away...Please God...NO...not on MY watch!!! Fortunately it was not flies hovering over chicken carcasses but, unfortunately, it was well over a hundred bees swarming inside the coop. There were bees in every feed tray, inside the water buckets, and completely covering the floor. All of the chickens were huddled in every corner foregoing food for safety. I was amazed that I did not get stung as I did my chores. That evening, my daughter and I were suppose to go into San Antonio to have dinner with my best friend and while were there I was going to return the infamous "polka dot" comforter. But I did not want to leave the chickens to get stung to death a mere week before the stockshow. I knew that I probably needed to build a fire and smoke out the bees but I wasn't exactly sure of the best way to do this. I could not get a hold of my husband or my son as their cell phones were not getting any kind of reception whatsoever down where they were hunting. Just before we left I was able to get a hold of my brother-in-law who immediately handed the phone to my son. He calmly reassured me that everything would be okay and that he would take care of it all in the morning when he returned. Phew!
Off we went to S.A., but not before stopping first at the gas station as my dash read "Empty!!"--go figure. Once we got to the store, my daughter and I lugged in both bed-in-a bags (I had bought one for her too--but it wasn't going to work either). While we were waiting in line I started digging in my little purse for the receipt that I had diligently saved. Prior to our trip into town I had decided to change purses (Big No-No). Even though I love little purses I am by nature a big bag lady (pun intended). I remember staring at, transferring, folding, and storing the receipt before leaving the house. Now that we are in line the damn paper is nowhere in sight. I leave my daughter in line and run out into the parking lot and begin to rummage through my trunk-hoping it may be in the larger bag I had brought along to keep all of the stuff that wouldn't fit into my smaller bag (I have issues). No receipt. As I jog back up to the store my mind starts reeling with images of us trying desperately to prove to the police that the two huge bed-in-a-bags are really ours-paid for and all. I grab my daughter and tell her to quickly follow me---do not ask questions just walk fast. We briskly passed between the two metal detector panels at the storefront without so much as looking up and into the eye of the security camera. With no electronic alarms sounding and no strong security guard's hand upon our shoulders we ran straight to our car, tossed the bags into the trunk and drove off to Salsalito's.
We sat through a quiet meal as everyone was exhausted but glad to see each other and, quite honestly, relieved to be able to accomplish the goal of getting together at least once over the holidays!
Late that night, once back at home, I was relieved that the bees had retired for the night and all of the chickens were still alive---and still eating! And although I still can't find that freaking reciept, this tired Mama is glad to be home...still alive...and still eating!
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