Smoke Gets In Your...Well, Everything

So right on the heels of the Tamarack fire, which burned to within 4 1/2 miles of us, comes the Caldor fire!

We had lots of smokey nastiness from the Tamarack fire, then the Dixie fire...but Caldor seems to want to up the ante and show what it can do.

Just for reference, normally our backyard, coop & skies look like this: 

Today, our air quality went to shit and by 2PM it looked like this:

It only got worse from there.

At 4PM the air quality climbed into the dark purple 'Hazardous' range (the worst it can get) at 488.

And at that point things took a turn for the surreal. Our normal time for full dark this time of year is 8-9PM. Today it got full dark at 4PM--all due to the Caldor fire smoke. Bear in mind that this fire is 35 miles away from us. The light flecks in the photos are raining bits of ash. The same view as above, out my back door towards the chicken coop at 4PM.

You can almost see the chicken coop, below. The chickens were so addled at this point they didn't go to roost in the coop as they normally do when it gets dark, they just sat down wherever they were in the yard. The kid and my husband went out and picked them up one by one and stuck them in the coop.

The view from my front porch, looking across the street at 4:45PM. Full dark at this point, the flash fired. Fairly heavy ashfall.

It stayed like this, only lightening a bit at 6PM. This is the same shot as the one above. My daughter said it looked like the sun went down and then came back up...except it was rising in the southwest.

All of this is absolutely unreal, never in my life have I seen anything like this, and hope I never do again.

Chickens: 1, Humans: 0

AARRRGGGHHH, DAMNED CHICKENS ANYWAY--!

Welp, it looks like y'all will be getting a bonus Chickam WITH at least one broody mama in about 14 days.
Look who successfully managed to hide a damned nest:

That's Uptown Bus, a one year old bantam buff Orpington hen. The weather warmed to the point where we didn't have to coop the chickens every night any more, and the little snot immediately snuck back behind one of the propped-open (we do this so our Nevada winds don't slam them around) coop doors, went broody and made a nest.
We didn't notice.
Mother of God, she had NINETEEN EGGS under her.

Here is the traitorous little bitch with her pre-spawn

SO SMUG

Horrified, I tried to remember when the last time we KNEW there was no nest back there. About two weeks, we decided...
I just now candled the eggs.

Seven embryos. All roughly 10-12 days along.
Are they all at the same stage of development, so they'll hatch together? Of course not. Can I really look into my kid's pleading eyes and tell her I'm just gonna toss these eggs? OF COURSE FUCKING NOT.

Sigh...
Okay. So the four chicks in the brooder box will be 5 weeks old this weekend, they will go out into the flock for good at 8 weeks. If things work out right, there will be no overlap and we can smoothly transition from older chicks going out to Bus coming in and hatching her brood...

Who am I kidding?! Bus will hatch her demon spawn before the older chicks are okay to go outside, we'll have to section off the brooder box, madly dash to and fro bringing hatching chicks + one VERY pissy broody banty hen into the house the moment hatch begins so the other hens don't try to steal the chicks, and the babies die in the unsuing henfight...

...and I can practically guarantee, because it's US, that Bus will abandon any unhatched eggs once she has some chicks, and since I DON'T KNOW exactly what stage the eggs are at so can't reliably use the ReptiPro, I'll have to take the close-to-hatch eggs she's left and place them under ANOTHER broody hen so THEY can hatch. Since we have 8 broody hens right now, at least there's that. The kid has been told to keep an eagle eye on Bus, remove any fresh eggs the other treasonous hens lay with her, and watch for peeping/pipping. Once pipping starts it's game on.

That sound you hear is me screaming in mouth-frothing frustration. DAMNED SNEAKY BANTIES, ANYWAY!

Why Humans Suck, Reason #2856

So we've been having a pretty relentless heat wave, and the chickens are suffering. That means in addition to making giant chicken popsicles of raw fruits and vegetables for them to peck at, we go out about every two hours during the worst part of the day to hose off their surroundings--and them. They hate being sprinkled, but it cools them off and keeps them alive.

The kid and I were cleaning out the garage this week and ran across an old yard sprinkler, and thought the chickens could get some use out of it.

So out in the chicken yard it went!

OF COURSE it's a weird thing--this is US, remember.

It's a flamingo that energetically flaps its 'wings' when the water goes through it, spraying water everywhere. It used to be a summer toy for the kid, but if it helps cool off the chickens and keeps them alive, they should be grateful...right?

WRONG.

They ALL immediately high-tailed it over to the extreme far side of the yard, just as far away from Pink Flailing Terror Bird as they could get. In this case, they hunkered down next to the feed shed, which has always protected them and loved them and given them food. No amount of us telling them that this was just another version of Club Flamingo, or calling in sweet, soothing tones could induce them to go near the thing.

YAH THANKS WE HATE IT.

Notice the pointed, searing stare of blame they are laying squarely on ME. They know who is responsible for this, it's just another stupid, sucky human thing the stupid, sucky humans do.

When chickens are really POed at you they will turn their backs on you and pretend you don't exist, effectively shunning you. This technique works for your return after a two week vacation (because to chickens, you gone = you DEAD and gone and they will be righteously angry at you for scaring them like that), when you offend them in some way...or when you place chicken-frightening, weirdo spasmodic objects in their yard.
It's an all-purpose, group punishment that works for anything, really. Chickens HATE change and will chastise you accordingly.

Even Chonk disapproves, and voices her displeasure at her Brahma dignity being so ruffled LOUDLY.

Meanwhile, I can't really say that I blame them. Look at the smug little grin on that smart-ass.

After a while The Pink Terror toppled over--no doubt felled by the flock's group-think mind-kill powers--and we shut the hose off. Only after it stopped flailing did they approach to begrudgingly play in the mud puddle it made.
After all, a mud puddle on a hot day IS a wonderful thing, after all...

Excuse me, I gotta go make some Chicken Apology Popsicles now.

We Come From The Land Of The Ice And Snow...Ah-Ah, AH!

Another snowstorm yesterday into last night...and this morning the view from my kitchen window is straight-up 'Game of Thrones'.

Looking out the sliding door...

HEY CHICKENS, HAVIN' A GOOD TIME, OUT THERE?

The rest of the yard looks like the World's Worst BBQ/Beach party.

Venturing outside, seven inches of snow overnight. The icicle crop has gone all Icicle Armageddon.

The kitchen window from the outside.

The big one has nearly made it to the ground.

Out in the chicken yard, the kid has been busy making snowmen.

Cthulhu on the left, a nod to Calvin & Hobbes on the right. The one on the right ripping it's own head off still needs a face, she had to come in to warm up a bit first.

A snowCthulhu...*wipes away a proud tear*

OK, I'll go shovel the patio and walk...wait--where the #@&* is the snow shovel?!

Ah. OK, so I need a snow shovel to unearth the snow shovel.

*sigh...*

Highways 395 & 95 And High Weirdness

Another road trip to southern California, the kid and I set off down highway 395. It's pretty sparsely populated with a series of small towns threaded the length of the Owens valley.

One of these is Lone Pine. Lone Pine is apparently home to several wits. Their 'welcome' sign routinely 'gets damaged in the weather' (wink, wink) and ends up looking like an opening scene from a Blumhouse movie.

LOTS OF HARM. LOTS OF IT.

This time, the 'Welcome' sign was, sadly, intact.  But never fear, some wag had set up a bit of public art!

Lone Pine has a special tree, grown from a seedling sent from England in 1900. You can see it behind the sign, on the left.

OK, cool little public interest thing...

Then we see what's lurking under the tree. It scared the Hell outta the kid at first, she thought it was a real person.

 

Haha. OK, we walk past the sign for the tree to check it out...

But wait...under the sign for the tree, people have hung...things.

You know...things.

The kid spots this hanging junk and slams to a halt, her instincts perfectly in place. She's already unhappy with the fake frozen guy, and this weird shit isn't helping. "Mom...why is that stuff hanging there...?"
I don't know, I tell her.
"But...wait--is that a ROCK?!  Why did someone hang up rocks?!" Sounding decidedly freaked out. I turn, and her eyes are practically spinning around in her head.

I still don't know, but I'm thinkin' next time we go by, I'd better be ready and leave a fetish of our own. I'm sure I can come up with something... 

Meanwhile, we skirt the tree to get a closer look at frozen guy.

It was marvelously creepy and we heartily approved.  As we left, some people in a van screeched to a halt and exited their car laughing and pointing at the thing. We left them to discover the weird hanging junk display.

On the way home, weather on 395 demanded we detour up through Nevada on highway 95, which is wonderful and chock full of desert weirdness.
When you leave Bishop and fling yourself out on highway 6--the gateway to highway 95--they *warn* you.

Gas up, babies.

From there, you cross the White mountains, say a prayer to the gods of your choice and get on highway 95, traveling up through Nevada. There is *very* little out there...except mining towns and brothels.

 Hey, here in Nevada we have STANDARDS.

Sue's motel. I looove this sign...

Sadly the motel is derelict.

LIVING UNDER POWER LINES CANNOT HURT YOU OR AFFECT YOUR BRAIN.

Again, Nevada.  Weird is kinda what we *do* here.


Among other things Hawthorne has a military museum. A dog park adjacent is home to these wind sculptures made from surplus military bombs and other cool stuff.

These flowers turn in the wind and are a real eye catcher.

Some day when we have more time (and it isn't either the dead of winter or height of summer) we'll go back for a more extended trip to explore!

How Chickens Do Halloween

The other day the kid and I went out and wormed the chickens...a good time had by all, as always. In two weeks we get to do it again, as you must to catch any hatching worm eggs and break the cycle. Some of the implements of chickeny terror:

Broad-spectrum paste wormer, which kills everything, both mixed with water to be given orally and applied straight to that little bare spot in each wing pit and masssaged in, so:

 Chickens do not appreciate a wing pit massage and resist this procedure. Especially proud pretty bois like Milton, here.

Dog toenail cutter to trim any claws/spurs that need it and Adams Flea and Tick mist, sprayed liberally deep into the No Man's Land of chicken butts (where angels fear to tread, sister) and fluffy thighs and feet to take care of any mites. Since the kid holds the bird while I do all these things to the chickens, I am also free of worms and/or mites since I never fail to get that stuff on me. Not pictured: the goodie dish holding bits of diced ham, a few pieces given to each bird at the completion of worming along with a sincere apology...and boy, you'd better make it sound good, they can tell the difference.

But what the hey, it was also a good time to get a few pictures of pissy chickens!

Because most of the time when you try to photograph chickens while doing the semi-annual worming, they know what's coming and get all snotty and squirmy, so you wind up with pics of thrashing poultry like this one of Tater Tot:

It was also a good time to update on Blossom, my half-Silkie who this year decided to start shedding toes like a maple tree in Fall. We figured it was frostbite from last winter and her toes waited until months later to actually fall off.
Blossom *had* ten toes--Silkies have 5 toes on each foot instead of 4 like normal chickens. Blossom being a little weirdo from the get-go, she had two of her toes fused together at hatch, the two rear-facing toes of her left foot. I expected for her to have problems with *those* toes, if she ever did have foot troubles...

Nope. Weirdo mutant fused toes are just fine, as is ONE other toe. Blossom has shed all of the rest of her toe tips, though.
Even worst, she did this while staying in the house recovering from another injury...all of a sudden I started finding the ends of her toes, claw and all, lying in the middle of the living room.
FREAKY.
To make things even MORE gruesome, I never found two of her toes. Either the dog ate them or they are lying in wait somewhere in my house for me to have forgotten all about it and then pop up someday.
ICK. Zombie Chicken.

Speaking of zombies...
Happily, some of the other chickens posed nicely for head shots. Although I didn't realize until later that my daughter's zombie bunny Tshirt had lined up perfectly...

 Cam, my big Americaunas/Giant Cochin mix Head Rooster doin' the zombie bunny thing...

Several others got in on it.

 Pie, an Americaunas/Buff Brahma mix hen

 Tater Tot again, (once she calmed down) a bantam Cochin/MilleFleur Belgian d'Uccle mix hen

...and Rambo, the Head Hen, a 7 year old buff Brahma hen who is WAY too dignified to wear zombie bunny ears and is NOT amused by all this tomfoolery.