Doodle & Delilah

July 23, 2009– Doodle & Delilah

     While I would be opposed to battery cages for hens on a purely ethical basis, more than that it is impossible to imagine cruelly imprisoning hens when you see how individual these creatures are.

     One example here at the farm is Doodle and Delilah.  Doodle is a small speckled rooster of unknown breed, who came to us when a friend needed a home for him, having too many roosters of his own who were fighting.  Doodle is the quintessential farm rooster, standing atop a fence post and crowing at dawn.  A short time after Doodle came , a small hen we called Delilah arrived.  Delilah didn’t fit in with the Rhode Island Red hens, who shunned her.  They are gregarious and  social, while Delilah is timid.  They just don’t seem to understand her, or welcome her presence in their group.

     Luckily, despite the hen clique ignoring her, Delilah is never lonely.  She and Doodle have become a dedicated, happy couple.  Each day, as Delilah lays her tiny white egg, Doodle stands guard next to her, even chasing away any ducks who want to steal the nest.   North, the white Muscovy duck thinks nothing of waddling over and pecking Delilah until she gets the corner full of straw, but Doodle has put a stop to this and will now chase the duck away.

      While they are usually inseparable, today Delilah wandered out of the barn on her own, and over to a bowl of feed the hens were crowding around.   Dalton, the small bantam rooster who lays claim to the red hens took one look at Delilah approaching and began chasing her from the food.  She screeched and ran, but within seconds Doodle appeared, running full tilt from the barn, obviously recognizing Delilah’s panic-stricken calls for help.  He jumped between Delilah and Dalton, ready to fight, giving her a chance to escape.

     This is what is so noticeable when you spend time with chickens:  they have social groups and are so individualistic, certain birds can’t enter that group.  They will come to each other’s aid, they will valiantly protect each other.  And in some cases, there are devoted couples, who watch out for one anoother.  Considering their vast social lives and their personalities, sticking them in cages is just plain absurd.

A Sense of Direction

Photo: Adam Sachs

July 12, 2009– A Sense of Direction

     East, my very favourite duck has been slowing down over the last few months.  Whether age and condition made her easier prey for the tyrannical Duckie, or Duckie was speeding up her downhill slide, he was constantly badgering her, pulling feathers off her neck, leaving her with sores.  I had to keep separating them, but East’s condition did not improve.  Colour continued to drain from the Muscovy’s face, her pace slowed even more. 

     I do not know how old East is–she’s been with me nearly two years, and came out of a barn riddled in ducks, not very well cared for.  Even with access to a pool and times to swim, and despite watching the other ducks bathe and preen, East was always filthy!  She really didn’t care for personal hygiene.  After a kind fellow in BC sponsored her care she actually cleaned herself up for a short while, her white feathers shining for the first time, as though she knew she’d been chosen.  But like a bride who loses weight for the wedding and then piles it back on, the honeymoon ended quickly and East was back to her old disheveled ways.  I suspect a cloud of dirt swirled around her, like Pig Pen in the Charlie Brown comics.

     As East’s health grew worse I put her in a private stall for the last two days, feeding her all her favourite treats.  By last night she would not eat a bite.  I nestled her into a warm straw bed so she could sleep peacefully.

     This morning I found my beloved duck lying dead, her eyes staring at me with no recognition, no life.  And so I spent Sunday morning digging a grave in the pet cemetery behind the barn, and laid poor East in the grave, my tears dropping onto her feathers.  I placed a headstone on the mound of earth and rested daisies there. 

    Although I am slowly becomming accustomed to death around here, it is very hard to let go of certain quirky animals who steal your heart.  There absence is so noticeable.  I could feel myself beginning to walk around in a funk today, but I have to remember there are things to accomplish.  Pierre was out yesterday to move ever further forward with the battery hen rescue beginning in Sept.  We have many, many hens to save, many children to encourage as they help in this project.  There are pens to build, feeders to purchase.  We have a very clear sense of direction with this new endeavor, and I have to keep moving towards that, whether I’ve lost East or not.

Victorian Pig

June 26, 2009– A Victorian Pig

     Despite her 600 lb frame of solid muscle, our sow Willow apparently has a delicate constitution.   She frightened me by not getting up for breakfast on Tuesday, a very bad sign for a pig.   I keep reading that when pigs don’t eat they are dying.   The last time she didn’t eat she was quite ill with an infected leg, requiring antibiotics and homepathics.   I had noticed her drinking much more than she normally does (typically we never see Willow drink, while her buddy Wilma can down a bucket of water in two minutes flat) but I could see no other sign of illness. 

     I started Willow back on her homeopathics in case she had an unseen infection, and also began treating her for heat stroke, even though she hasn’t been in the sun much.  I took her outside, made a mud pit for her, and thoroughly hosed her down with cold water.  We cleaned out her stall and made a cool place to lie.  For the last few days I have been “watering my Willow,”  sprinkling her with a watering can while she lies, yawning, in her stall.   Rusty and Wilma are still jumping around for food, but Willow either slowly lumbers to food and doesn’t get her share, or remains lying down while I bring the food over and hand-feed her.

     As it turns out, Willow does not have an infection.  Willow doesn’t like heat.  After thunderstorms rid the province of its 40 degree celcius heat, Willow is up and about again.  I guess we will have to be vigilant about keeping our Victorian lady cool during the hot summer ahead.

Pot-Bellied Pandemonium

June 13, 2009– Pot Bellied Padnemonium

     It was with great reluctance that we trimmed the pot bellied pigs’ hooves today.  Their previous homes had failed to provide such critical care and they could barely walk, their hooves were so over-grown.  We have given them time to settle in, hoping to tame them somewhat before we subjected them to this.  They arrived quite mistrustful of humans, and although we’ve made a lot of progress with Annabelle, poor Petunia is still terrifed of humans.

     Our fantastic friends the Pooles have a sanctuary of their own and have become my gurus, coaching me along when I have doubts.  Well-versed in pig hoof trimming they came to our aid today.  The pigs are incredibly strong and it takes four adults using all their might to pin them. Sadly, there is no other way to do this job. The vet informed me that pot bellies vomit a great deal when sedated and pinning them is the quickest and safest way to do the job.

     The pigs kept trying to be together, running into us as we were trying to catch each pig, so we had to separate the girls in two stalls and then set to work.  After packing our ears with cotton to muffle the squealing we knew would come, we flipped each pig, and then straining to hold them down, they screamed and writhed while our friend trimmed away.  Each pig was done in minutes and was back on her feet, shaken and nervous but able to walk.  I fed them strawberries as an act of contrition and then let them out in the yard to lie in the sun and calm down.  I hope they don’t hold this against us, and allow me to re-gain their trust.

     And speaking of trust, last week an incredibly obese cat arrived.  I have seen many heavy cats, but never one with rolls of fat that extend from their chest over their legs and down to their knees.  A de-clawed housecat, she had over-eaten until she gained so much weight she could no longer clean herself, and was going to be put to sleep as her owners could no longer tolerate her smell.  I took her in and she is currently in a coop in the barn.  At first she went on a hunger strike and kept herself hidden under a blanket day and night, nervous of me.  Yesterday we turned a corner in our relationship.  Like a switch that was flipped, suddenly she decided I was okay and allowed me to pet her.  She rolled on her back for a tummy rub, purring away, and pushed my fingers with her head if I stopped petting her.  She is on a strict diet while we try and shed the extra weight.  Hopefully she will slim down enough to clean herself (the owners tell me twenty pounds was the tipping point), and then we can get her into a loving home.

     As well, hopefully a steer who has been running loose will arrive, if caught.  Perhaps he had a hunch he would one day be someone’s lunch, because he has been on the lam and won’t let anyone get near.  A friend is going to do her best to catch him and bring him here, and like with every other animal, we will try and earn his trust and find him a loving home.

Adoption Day

June 10, 2009– Adoption Day

     Today is paradoxically both sad and joyful.  Bowie, Joplin & Cohen, the African Boer goats, went to their new home.  The new proud parents have taken holiday time to bond with them!  The goats have a great stall with an automatic water bucket, lots of soft bedding, and the stall opens directly into a lovely pasture with fruit trees and pines, and lots of grazing land, and the goats can come and go as they please.  There are forests nearby, deer in the field, and best of all, two wonderful people will dote on them and never let them go for meat.

     The day started early with a quick feed of the entire barn population and extra time spent with the Boer goats.  My sons both came out to the barn before school in order to say good-bye. These goats have been with us for ages, and we have learned every nuance about them… they have become family.

     When the man came to transport them, he backed the trailer up as close to the barn as possible.  I really wasn’t sure how we’d get them on the truck, but like they always do the goats followed me, right to the truck and jump up inside when I jangled a bit of sweet feed in a  bucket and called their names.  Once the door shut them inside, they banged and cried in the trailer, and I cried in the car.

     When we reached their new home they came out of the trailer and followed me into the new pasture with all the trust in the world.  They seemed to like the new place a great deal and explored it with curiousity.  Cohen in particular seemed a bit nervous about being away from me after I left their field, and began to cry and climb the barn walls, stretching out his neck in what we’ve always referred to as his “yoga pose.”  I’m going to miss that bellow!

      As I drove away, I rolled down the car window to wave to them all, and it was with a heavy heart I watched them look at me, and then go back to their new family.

     The farm seems so still now and Tess and Macbeth the remaining goats seemed a bit forlorn.  (I cannot believe that after all the goats who have been here we’re down to two!)  I did put Tess and Macbeth out with the two pot bellied pigs, Annabelle and Petunia for the very first time and they are getting along wonderfully. Right now, two goats and two pot-bellied pigs are napping in the sun. 

     And somewhere, Cohen, Bowie & Joplin, my beloved friends, are beginning their new and wonderful life in safety and security.

P.P.

June 9, 2009– P.P.

     After all this time, it was finally P.P.’s turn to be neutered.  Our wonderful local country vet is giving me a good deal, as they tend to so often do, knowing full well all of our animals are rescues and a profit is never, ever made. 

     P.P., the ginger cat is the remaining member of a large feral cat colony living at a farm.   Last summer some man was going to ‘do away’ with the cats, so a friend and I went and loaded up over a dozen carriers with utterly wild cats.  From the second P.P. was trapped, he began peeing all over the cage and rolling around wildly trying to escape, causing him to smell wretched, thus, he was dubbed “Pee Pee.”  

     Giving the cat this silly moniker didn’t seem a bad thing to do at the time.  We had close to twenty wild cats, and a few litters of kittens, and frankly, we were running out of names.  Pee Pee was to be adopted out with all the others, after sterilization.  Unfortunately, Pee Pee escaped his confines and ran loose in our barn.  Admittedly, I’ve grown attached to him, and so he has stayed.  We have been preoccupied with spaying female cats, and P.P. was pushed to the back of the sterilization list.  Until today!

     Yesterday a friend and I drove Pee Pee to the clinic.  When the vet asked what the cat’s name was, I had to confess and she laughed.  Does it help that we’ve changed the spelling to P.P.?  I felt awful leaving him behind.  It took months to tame this cat.  The feline who wouldn’t even remain in the barn or loft if a human was present, now greets us at the barn door, rubs against our large dog, purrs when he is pet and simply cannot get enough affection.  And the cat who once rolled in his own urine to flee human contact, now let me put him straight into a carrier.  I worry he will never trust me again. 

     That said, these operations are quick, the vets are great, and soon P.P. will be like the other seven cats here in the barn, worry-free, their surgeries nothing but distant memories.  It will keep him from wandering, from fighting other cats, and in addition to helping the pet over-population problem, it will probably prolong his life. 

Updates

June 3, 2009–Updates

     I haven’t written much lately–far too much in the works these days!  As planned, I met with another kindred spirit and the battery hen rescue will be up and running this September!  He is an absolute whiz in fact, and angel in disguise, and someone who dares to dream even bigger than me.  Together, I truly believe we will be able to get an organized battery hen rescue underway.  We have a great deal to do in order to expand to accommodate a large number of hens, as well as a therapy program of sorts to come up with.  We will have at-risk kids healing the hens, who will hopefully gain self-confidence through the process… a great way for the hens to pay the children back for kindness!

     Petunia and Annabelle, the pot bellied pigs are making strides.  Today they happily jogged outside–yes, jogged– as they are beginning to lose some weight.   Annabelled continues to grow more trusting and has let me take a couple snips of her horrifically over-grown hooves.  Petunia still has no interest in my affections.

     Bowie, Joplin & Cohen are indeed being adopted by a wonderful family this month!  The new family is toiling away getting the barn and pasture ready.  In the meantime, the new family is making weekly visits to bond with the goats, much like they would if they were adopting children.  Indeed, they refer to the goats as their “kids!”  Today a man pulled up to the barn after spotting the boer goats and asked if he could buy them, or any of their offspring (of which they have none!).  Cohen stared through the fence with the most  bizarre expression, as though he knew what the man wanted.  It was with great joy I proclaimed the goats pets and informed him we don’t sell them for meat.  He was good-natured about it, but likely drove away thinking I’m a lunatic.  As the car sped out onto the road, I hollered at the goats:  “You have no idea how lucky you are!”

Photo: Adam Sachs

Pure Potential

May 28, 2009– Pure Potential

     Months have passed since we rescued that group of lay hens from a battery farm where they were used for commercial egg production. They are fluffy and fat, with gorgeous red combs and healthy appetites. They can roost and make nests, and scratch in the yard until they turn the lawn to mud in search of worms.  When they hear human voices the hens run full steam towards the people  to see if they’ve brought treats.  They seem deliriously happy!

     After seeing how perfectly they can be rehabilitated, I have wanted to rescue more hens, but as usual, I have limited resources.  England has a wonderful battery hen rescue program– Canada has nary a one.

      Out of the blue I have been contacted by someone who is also keen on helping to rescue these pitiful hens and give them a chance at a proper cage-free life.   It’s not really a second chance at life, it’s actually the first opportunity these hens will have to actually live.  On Saturday we will meet up to hatch (if you’ll parden the expression) some kind of plan.  Ideally, we could have groups of at-risk children involved in the hens rehabilitation and care… and hopefully it is not only the hens who will be healed….   Although nothing is close to being finalized yet, there is nothing but pure potential.

 

Some Pig

May 13, 2008–Some Pig

      Every couple of days I head to the grocery store to pick up bins of old produce; apples, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, watermelon.  The animals feast on these treats and I always enjoying hanging out with the staff who work in the back of the store–they’re alot of fun.  Yesterday morning I was telling one of the girls how Rusty the piglet and I used to nap together, how we’d take wonderful walks.  “It’s like Charlotte’s Web,” she said.  “He thinks you’re his Mama.”

     I confess that I miss those days with Rusty.  Now that he weighs about 150 lbs and has moved in with the large sows, we don’t have our bonding time anymore.  He does still love attention. I put the pigs outside at lunch time, and although I’d only planned on scratching their heads through the fence, Rusty was nearly tipping with joy, seeking a belly rub.  I scaled the fence, gave him his rub, and he flopped down, closed his eyes and enjoyed every second.  We’re still pals.  I was thinking to meself, just how much I trust this pig.

     Tuesdays are exceptionally busy days for me.  I rush around with a million errands, chores, feed my children an early supper, and then must run to the city at the dinner hour as my husband and I are taking training with the Children’s Aid Society, in order to adopt.  It is a hectic day!

     At 3:00 in the afternoon I was heading to the barn when I heard my son yelling. Rusty was loose and over at the neighbours, running around, playing with their dog!  (He had pried open the doors to the outside pen  and squeezed through, into the barn, and then out a door for the ducks.)  My heart stopped!  We would not have known he was there had my son not had a temporary bus driver who accidently let him off at the wrong driveway.  How fortuitous! 

     Rusty was edging closer to the road and I was terrified he’d be hit by a car.  I ran over there, having no idea how I was going to catch him.  I always hear horror stories of pigs who are impossible to catch, and now that Rusty is the size of a large dog, I simply wouldn’t be able to force him anywhere.  Rusty’s days of walking on a leash or being loose in the yard are well behind us–sheer terror engulfed me that I wouldn’t be able to get him back.  With cars approaching there was no time to get food as  a lure.

     But I guess Rusty was just having some fun and had no wish to leave me or his barn.  I told him it was time to eat, and ran behind him, pushing his bum and he galloped the entire length of my neighbours’ property until we reached the fenceline.  I opened the gate and he ran into the paddock, ignoring the pot bellied pigs who were out there and ran into the barn to have his dinner.  What a pig.  Crisis averted, I headed to the house, dishevelled and dusty, and tried to clean myself up enough that it didn’t look  like I’d been chasing a pig that afternoon.

Bowie,Cohen & Joplin

     May 7, 2009–Bowie, Cohen & Joplin

     Wednesday morning began perfectly, cool and clear, green grass  and trees in bud.  Two Canadian Geese stopped by to enjoy the company of the ducks and perhaps to share the long grass in which they were dining.  Their loud honks could be heard from the house.

     Prospective parents of the Boer Goats, Cohen, Bowie and Joplin came out for their second visit before deciding on the adoption.  I had long ago given up hope a good home would ever be found.  There is such risk someone might want them for meat (imagine eating a creature as loving and trusting as Cohen!) or to breed Joplin.    And as far as good homes go, the goat’s sheer size makes them not the most of desirable of pets.  Not many people want a two hundred and fifty pound lap goat.  And then my friend Siobhan sent two really wonderful people our way.  They have a wonderful barn, field with fruit trees and creek, shelter any time the goat seek it.  Just perfect.   Best of all, these people are instantly likeable, each with a good sense of humour and gentle spirit.  I trust these two people so entirely– it is as though it was always meant to be.

     It will take awhile before their fencing is complete and the goats’ new home is ready, but not squandering any time I have left with the goats I took my coffee (and one of my cats and dogs) and sat with the goats in the sun this morning.  Cohen would rub his head against my back, continually making me spill me coffee.  I didn’t mind.  It is so bittersweet to think of losing them.  I actually can’t imagine the farm without their soft bellowing for attention,  but when the perfect home comes along I cannot let my selfishness hold back fate.  More animals need us.  And the Boer goats need these people.  It will be a happy ending for everyone.

Photo: Adam Sachs