Category Archives: Pets

Emotional Lessons on Faith from Chicken Keeping

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Another beautiful Tuesday here in sunny Ontario, Canada, and another thought for you from my little piece of the Internet. We’ve just celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving, and all the fall activities and sights and sounds are upon us. They say the colours are a bit muted this year, so I don’t know how to feel about that. I’m not so sure. Around here, the golden fields are rich in the sunlight, and I am reminded to be thankful. There’s lots of fall thanksgiving, gratitude, and blessings posts here at mittonmusings.com, so if you’re looking for one of those, do a simple search and I am sure it’ll pop up for you. This week, however, was not one of those gratitude musings… well at least not in the beginning. I had a bit of an emotional roller coaster of a night the other night, so I’ll share:

As you all know, the chickens here are the main attraction. They are the reason I dragged my family to the sticks to make a living. You’ll also know that we’ve lost a few to predators. I think the risk is worth it, so I continue to free range my girlies. It’s fun to watch them chase the bugs (and frogs and mice…). It brings me joy. However, the last time we were away we lost three to (what we suspect is) a coyote. Three is pretty devastating when you have a small flock, so a few weeks back we went about replacing those hens. Now, I am new to this chicken tending thing and have only ever raised day old chicks. Only this close to winter, chicks are harder to find and keep. The big companies don’t sell them and they will go outside too close to colder temperatures, so “teenager” chickens were the ticket. “Pullets” in the chicken keeping world. So, several weeks ago we brought home three new girls (hopefully girls!).

Travelling home with three new teenagers who are all wet because they dumped their water!

Then came the process of quarantining, integrating with the existing flock (the pecking order is a real thing!) and getting them to trust me and bond and all that good stuff. The bonding is a little harder with pullets because they are already fully feathered and didn’t spend any time with me in the house. They were able to go straight outside. Which means they don’t know my voice yet. They haven’t fully learned all the routines yet. They don’t trust me yet. Which is where my story begins.

A few nights ago I went out to put everyone to bed. The older girls were safely tucked up on the roosts already. The nights are getting darker earlier and I missed “dusk”. It was already dark… and the new girls were no where to be found. The hubby and I checked every bush and brush. I called and climbed. The new girls have been wandering a bit farther and farther from their coop as they gain confidence … but they did not recognize my voice.

I second guessed my whereabouts. I was home all night. Did I hear anything? I didn’t see anything. Did the dog bark unusually during the evening? I should have gone out before dark. I should have spent more time with them before letting them free range. I don’t deserve pets. I’m not worthy of animals, I’m no farmer. I dragged the whole family here for nothing… And the emotional spiral down begins. Then the tears. The hubby says “They are just stupid chickens” — not worth crying over. Yet, us girls go there in the middle of the night when we are upset. They don’t know me yet, and it was my fault!

My emotional breakdown was real, but unnecessary, and totally unwarranted, not only because it isn’t totally true, but because the next morning when I went out, three fluffy, buff coloured heads poked out from behind the bushes and looked at me. We had looked there. Twice. Even that morning they didn’t come running to greet me. I only noticed them after I heard the bushes rustle. Then, of course, I called and offered treats and goo goo voiced at them as prayers of thankfulness flowed and the begging of forgiveness for taking my lack of pullet training for granted. I’m such a basket case some days.

Safe and sound and learning to come when called!

In John 10, there is a strikingly similar story that Jesus tells about sheep. It was such a vivid parallel to me! It tells us that the sheep only recognize the voice of the good shepherd. They don’t recognize the voice of the thief that comes in the night. The one who comes from the back door only to prey on them with doubt. Only the voice that they trust (and recognize) to keep them safe will lead them to the rich green pastures. Or in my case, the warm and shielded chicken coop. Needless to say, I am working on my pullet bonding these days.

Are you there, my friend? Do you recognize the voice of the good shepherd? It takes time. It takes work. It requires trust to be built. You must learn the routines. Go back and read the story. It’s a good one. I’ll be back again next week with more thoughts on this faith journey and how God is showing me through crazy chicken keeping how our faith gets lived out on the daily. We’ll catch up soon.

Understanding Chicken Integration: A Beginner’s Guide (or Not)

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It’s been a couple of years since we moved out to Itsnotta Farm from the big city. We haven’t done much except maintain the property to the best of our ability… and add a few creatures. We’ve learned a lot. A lot. Mostly through trial and error. You tube has helped. A few folks have helped as well. Still, I’m not sure we’ve totally adapted. The youngest has made a few more friends. She’s settled in, but still doesn’t want to go to school. Admittedly, I don’t think that has anything to do with the actual school and its people. More than likely, that’s because of the early pick up time of the school bus. We’re still commuting back to visit and “be entertained” with stuff with a greater population. We love the porch and the pool, but the hubby just can’t bring himself to spend holidays here. A stay-cation with building projects would never suffice. Oh, he’s got a riding tractor and work pants now (which he looks super cute in!) but he still needs an “out”. That’s okay, I guess.

My newest batch of chick birds are now a week and a half old. To me, they have grown faster than my last flock, and seem much more mature. Or is it that I am more relaxed? Like a second time mom, I worry less and have let them tough it out alone more. I am trying to “imprint” with them… treats and time. This group is shy though. Or maybe I am expecting too much? Newborns (newly hatched?) don’t really have a routine at a week and a half. Your barely surviving at that stage. Huh. Perhaps I am asking to much for them to be bonded already.

A week and a Half…. and still learning!

Bonded or not, the chicks will soon have to meet the other ladies. And then start the great “integration process”. I’m reading up on it. Chickens are harsh. They’ll pick on the little ones if they seem to be a threat. Heck, they still pick on each other! I’m afraid it’s going to be a challenge. One more thing to learn out here in the brutal countryside. LOL.

And so my muse of the week: How does true integration work? Time? A useless goal? Not worth the effort? Does it take generations for it to really work, or do we just learn to fake it enough to tolerate each other? Integration is defined as:

“the action or process of successfully joining or mixing with a different group of people”

I suppose inanimate objects can be successfully joined for a purpose, like co-ordinating a fabulous outfit properly, but I suspect we are talking about people here and not a string of pearls. I’d venture a guess people are even harder than chickens, too. And so here we are. Learning to integrate. Perhaps many of you have had way more experience in this practice than I have. Moving to a rural neighbourhood is not like moving countries, or learning new languages, foods, cultures or the like. Or sure, there are similarities. Country folk have their own “culture” and style. Co-op feed stores are a great place to see this. Aisles of feed and bags of fertilizer and crop stuff… let alone the horse stuff. It’s a whole new world and lingo. And frankly, it scares me. But, I’m learning. I know what I know now and can ask for that.

Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com: It’s a fine science this “integration”!

Perhaps one of the biggest hurdles in “integration” is at church. And that’s sad, really. Church should be the one place where everyone feels welcome. Have you ever been to a service where you didn’t know when to stand, sit, speak, cry, laugh or eat? Why do we make up rules? Who makes the rules? I get it. There is a “culture”. You learn the lingo, you hang with like minded folks, you gravitate to people who think and act the same way as you. Our new church is big. Two services big. We’re finding it hard to connect. Our old, little church was like family. This is like going to an extended reunion. They are still family, but distant cousins, not brothers and sisters yet.

Furthermore, there is that part of the integrating definition that says “successfully joining” together. When does that happen? How do you know? Will it just “hit” someday that yup, we’ve made it? We have infiltrated the “enemy lines” and have become one of them. Then, like any good spy, you fall in love and compromise any mission of take down. You become part of the flock.

Like all good muses here on mittonmusings, very little gets solved. It’s just a thing I’ve been thinking about. There’s no 12 step program to being a part of a new community, a new job, a new church, a new school, or a new flock. It takes time, some squabbles, some apologies and some trying again. Do you think Jesus’ band of misfits were a well-oiled machine? Unlikely. He did say to try to get along with everyone (Romans 12) as much as you are able. And to leave all the judging to Him. That’s not part of the job! It won’t happen at a week and a half. It might not happen in a year. Or more. A pecking order will have to get sorted out, but soon everyone will be roosting together like birds of a feather. At least that’s the goal.

The Story of Nieve: A Cat Named for Winter

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I wanna tell you a little story about how our female cat came to arrive at our house. I’ve always had long haired Persians or Himalayan pure bred cats, but the breed standard was changing and the push face Persian was no longer my favourite. So, we (okay I) researched the next pretty kitty and discovered a Birman breeder about an hour or two from where we were living at the time. I wanted a boy. Boy cats are always better (we can debate that later… but trust me). A litter of kittens later and long story short, a girl is what we got, so we just went with it. After all, she was a cute little bundle of fluffy white fur, and declared my birthday present to myself. I had to wait for some time before she arrived, but the real story comes on the day of her pick up to come home.

Dec. 17, 2016….worth the trip!

We drove the hour plus in a blinding snowstorm, complete with freezing rain, wind and white outs. The hubby was determined to please his wife, and so we continued on the journey arriving with carrier in hand to complete the sale. Upon arrival, after a somewhat harrowing trip, he refused to “talk cat” with two crazy cat ladies, so he decided to wait in the car as we went over pedigrees and plans. More than likely resting from the white knuckling drive. Finally the little bundle of joy was wrapped snug in her little blankie… but the car battery(exhausted by the wait) was now dead. A few choice words later and a boost from the breeder’s husband… both men seemingly weary from the chit chat of the said crazy cat ladies… the vehicle roared once more and we were finally on our way.

Now, I tell you this story to paint the picture of how “Nieve” got her name. A breeder often lists litters by alphabet, and this litter was “N”, so we searched for names depicting ice, snow, sleet etc. Nieve means “snow” in Spanish. It worked… and it stuck. Yup, around here, the weather is worth naming your cat after. We live in Canada. It’s cold. We now have a farmer’s field in front of us and field behind us. The wind whips through our yard like a tyrant on a rampage. It’s cold. I drove home in the dark the other night and hit a snow drift pushed across the road from the fields north of us. I slid through it. It’s cold. Did I mention we live in Canada? And did I mention it’s cold here?

Photo by Lauren Hedges on Pexels.com

This week a “polar vortex” is going through our neck of the woods. It’s cold. The wind is brutal and my bunnies and chickens are outside. The rabbits seem to tolerate it, but every morning the chick birds peep out and say “Nope, my skin wrapped chicken feet do not like the feeling of snow nor ice!” And off they go back inside. The water dishes freeze and I must replenish them several times. The yard is littered with “ice pucks” where I have cracked out the dish shaped “disk” and replaced it with liquid water. It’s cold.

Still, I suppose we are luckier than others. Our face isn’t freezing off at first sight. My hands are feeling it — but I still have all the tips of my fingers and toes. I still run out without full proper winter attire to do animal chores. And I survive. It’s harsh, but it’s better than a lot of places. It’s funny when you think about weather. I wonder why God let the seasons happen. Why did it become part of His science? It’s a muse I think about especially when the weather gets like this.

There certainly are a lot of biblical references to weather: “white a snow” “cold hearts”, and the like. Storms, rain and the calm. I guess people haven’t changed all that much… we still talk about the weather! I suppose it is a topic that unites us in some way… we all have our weather story. Like picking up Nieve. I suppose our God stories should be as easy to talk about as the weather. A natural part of our daily existence. Something not quite under our control but a part of us nonetheless. An underlying “thing” that changes the way we should prepare for the day… we put on our gloves and boots like we should put on our graceful attitudes. Our hearts should overflow with what they hold inside. Is your heart cold ? Or is it overflowing with God’s spirit … like the wind rushing through the farmer’s fields.

Dress warm my friends… inside and out!

(Photo generated with A.I.)

Anyway… this cold is what I’ve been thinking about this week. I hope it makes you (and I) reflect on how it can be an example for us. Thanks for hanging out and talking about the weather with me. You’ve been a good Canadian! Here’s to a warmer week next week!