These chickens have taken over the yard. No joke. Snooki routinely flys out, and for the longest time would not let me near her, so anytime she got out The Husband was called in to rescue. Only on Sunday morning he was out running yard errands, and when I went out to check on the hens, Snooki was gone. The others are little tattle tales, because as soon as I went outside the remaining three came running to me, clucking loudly. After a quick head count I realized Snooki was gone. Which did not make me happy in the least because she is the one hen that I can't rescue on my own. So out to the front yard I go, in my PJs, hair going every which way, alternately calling her name and doing my own version of clucking. (Laugh all you want, but if you have any better ideas on how to find a lost chicken I'd love to hear them.) Eventually I found her at the neighbors house, on the front lawn. Of course she would not come near me, so I attempted to play border collie and herd her back to the yard. I'm pretty sure all I did was terrify her. After what seemed like forever, I hear The Husband's truck pulling up so I flag him down. I'm pretty sure I terrified him too. He tried to get her, and he's usually the one she will let pick her up, but she just kept running away from him. I got a good video of him chasing her - though I don't think it captured the swearing adequately - but then she ran into the cactus garden so it took both of us to herd her into a corner where he finally was able to grab her (with gloves which I was lacking) and get her back into the yard.
Chica is another escape artist, though she doesn't seem to venture as far and instead of chasing her, I end up fielding calls from the neighbors that my yellow chicken is out front, or at so-and-so's house, could I please come get her before someone else does or she gets run over.
I still can hear him when he brought the chicks home when they were just days old - "what are you complaining about? chickens are easy! you don't have to do anything to take care of them". Really? And we haven't even talked about laying eggs yet!
The chicken coop is really a two-story house for the birds with a little ladder that gets them to and from the top, where they sleep and lay their eggs. Well, in a perfect world it is where they lay their eggs. The Husband built a nice platform for the coop, so that no little grubbing raccoons or other predators could dig their way in and kill my chickens. (Yes, I realize I have become possessive about the chickens. Read on.) And the chickens are very good about going up into their "bedroom" when it comes nightfall. Nightfall as they define it. I learned the hard way, after chasing chickens and attempting to herd chickens into their coop, that they will go into the coop when they are good and ready. And not one minute before.
When the coop first went up, The Husband concocted a little run for them with some chicken wire and posts. Which was ok for about a day. The dogs soon learned how to dig under the chicken wire and get into the run, and though they didn't really bother the chickens (ok, Fuego did do some chasing), Rumba ate all the food. To the point that I had to call the vet and get him another prescription for his Phlegm Fat formula so he didn't balloon out and explode. And, in the meantime, and perhaps because of the dogs, the chickens learned to fly out of the run. Yes, fly out. Whoever thinks chickens are not that smart is either not that smart themselves or has never lived with chickens. Snooki was the instigator, and was the first one to figure out how to get out. Chica followed and a little later Raven figured it out. Easter, the fancy little hen with the feathers on her legs, just clucked inconsolably until someone opened the gate and let her out. So the run became pointless very quickly and the chickens now have the run of the yard during the day. Which leads to its own host of issues.
Last year, The Husband came home with these 4 little chickens, 2 days old, last year. I knew nothing about chickens and wasn't particularly fond of birds in general. So I'm none too thrilled with these birds in a cardboard box that the 2 year old is going ga ga over. (Although I have to admit that they were adorable little fuzzy things and it was super cute to see the 2 year old so excited.) He also has a red lamp. I ask what it's for. He tells me the chickens need to stay warm and need the heat lamp until they are strong enough to live outside. Huh? Where are they going to live until then? I'm the practical one in the family. The Husband is the opposite. "Don't worry about it" is a very, very common phrase of his with me. Which is really ironic because he knows I'm going to worry. Anyway, he tells me the little chickens will be living in the kitchen for 6 weeks. The kitchen? Really? Are you kidding me? Not like I could think of anywhere else to keep them. And the 2 year old is completely in love with fuzzy little buggers. Plus I do tend to be a sucker for animals, so to the kitchen they went...
They lived in the kitchen in the cardboard box in the kitchen until they started hopping out of that. So I put them in the dogs x-pen. At this point they are large enough that they flutter about and get their bird bedding all over the kitchen and breakfast room. The housekeeper is not happy. I am not happy. I tell The Husband that they are too big and too messy for the kitchen and need to go outside. The Husband, who works probably 80 hours a week and is near brain dead from stress when he comes home every night, tells me he's going to build a chicken coop. After I picked myself up off the floor, and after a week or so went by with no coop construction commencing, I remind him we need a coop. I tell him he needs to buy one. Which kicks off Coop Shopping. The Husband researches EVERYTHING to the nth degree. Literally to the point that I want earplugs because the summary of his findings borders on obsessive. In any event, after much visiting of chicken coop retailers and pictures of various coops texted back and forth, The Husband buys a coop.
My first blog post. Ever. So, I suppose I should say a a little about what this blog is about. And probably a little about me. Which I really don't like doing. Talking about myself. Here goes...
I'm a wife, mom to a very busy 2 year old, an 18 year old stepson, 2 dogs, 1 cat and 4 chickens. So I'm sort of a home farmer if you add in the citrus trees that I talk to regularly - laugh if you want, but my blood red orange tree has 2 oranges and my friends tree is dead - and the neighbors goats. My stepson is horrified that he lives near goats. He wanted his room soundproofed so he can talk to his friends and not have to admit we're part redneck. Of course, now that he's ticked off all his "friends" we don't hear much about soundproofing his room. Though with the amount of video game playing he does I was starting to like the idea of soundproofing his room so I don't have to hear a firing range in the next room followed by expletives every time he gets killed. He wears headphones now so I just hear the rapid fire tapping of the keyboard. And the expletives. I have never heard such a loud keyboard. Ever.
I'm also fourth generation real estate broker. My dad still runs the business. My grandfather, Gen 3, had a newsletter he would send to clients called - drum roll please - RealTORO. It talked about real estate. Or rather the "bull" of real estate. I'm guessing Bull like BS. I never saw a copy though so I can't be sure. Which is actually surprising because my mother saves EVERYTHING, yet she can't find a copy. So, as I thought about reviving the RealTORO blog, my intent was to bring back RealTORO - BS about real estate. But it seemed a little narrow, and frankly a little dull, especially when I thought about the variety of topics that can be covered under BS. So, I'm going with the topic of "general BS", which I guess is my version of a lifestyle blog. So yeah, Talking TORO. Only my Toro will consist more of the weird stuff my family does, all things Halloween, spooky or weird places, and hockey.
So, now you have a glimpse of who is Talking Toro here. And you get the idea of what kind of toro I'll be talking.
I'll be back with updates on all things toro as I see them!
Missy