Italian City Boy's Life in the Country

First, there were pigs. Fortunately this was before I entered the picture. However, I have heard many stories about the swine days. There is also, unfortunately, a video of the murder and subsequent skinning. I have refused to ever watch the video. I don't like to think about, so I'm going to move on to..............

When I arrived on the scene in 1988, we got 6 baby goats. They were adorable. However, it is very important to worm goats every month. They told us when we purchased them that the easiest way to worm goats is to mix the worming pellets with their food. What they failed to mention is that goats are smart when it comes to food. They will eat just about anything, except worming pellets. This meant that Mark had to chase down each goat and shoot worming medication into its mouth with a big syringe. They do not enjoy it. Mark did not enjoy it either. One month on worming day my husband absolutely could not catch one of the goats, so he said "to heck with it". He got worms (the goat - not my husband) and the other goats wouldn't have anything to do with the poor, un-wormed, fellow. He lost weight and had to be nursed back to health.

I'm not even going to go into the monthly hoof clipping fiasco. Just picture 2 maniacs chasing goats around with clippers, wrestling them to the ground, and cipping off hooves that are about 1/2 thick. All the while, the goat is screaming, kicking, pushing, pulling, and when he's finished, instead of a thanking you, he just head-butts you.

Next, we invested in 2 cows. They were so cute, but they eat like pigs. They also have no manners.

My good friend was moving to the Virgin Islands so I had a going-away party for her and her husband. I was going thru my Martha Stewart phase. I set up 2 long tables out in my yard, covered with beautiful table cloths, flower arrangements, candles, and bottles of wine. It was early evening and everything was so perfect it could have been on the cover of a magazine. I was wearing a long dress and a really cool hat. We had 14 guests. Everything was moving along just as I had planned, then.....

The cows usually stayed in the fenced area at the back of our property. I guess they wanted to see what was going on up front. As I was hostessing around making sure that my guests were happy, I noticed everyone was staring at something.

The cows were standing about 15 feet away from us on the other side of the fence. One cow began to urinate. The other cow must have been really parched because she started using the stream just like a water fountain. This was not just a quick sip - it went on and on and on and on... It was disgusting - but memorable.

A few months back, my husband, in his quest to live a greener life, started talking about chickens. I have to be honest, I wasn't crazy about the idea. I'm a little (alright, alot) neurotic. I tend to automatically start thinking about what might happen - a big cat could get them, what about hawks, what if snakes eat their eggs, etc., etc. But, of course, being the "good wife", I gave him the "whatever you want, honey" and silently hoped that his dream of chickens would pass. It did not.

He diligently transformed our, unused, gazebo into a chicken coop. He went to great lengths to make sure that they would be safe from marauders. I came home one day and there they were - 2 red ones and 1 black & white one.

I love them. They are the funniest things I have ever seen. They always stick together. They look like a little marching band. They spend hours walking around the yard, kicking their feet out to the side, to rustle the leaves, grass, and dirt, looking for bugs. When they find a worm they go crazy. Mark gave them plain, cooked pasta the other day and they were beside themselves because they thought it was a plate of worms.

Everyone needs a chicken. I can come home after a stressful day, and it only takes a couple minutes of watching them and all of my workday issues are forgotten. It's like "feathered valium" or maybe an "egg laying anti-depressant". And then, on top of everything else, they feed you. Every day we have 2 or 3 perfect little, brownish-pinkish eggs. No chemicals. No hormones.

It was about a month before they started laying. My husband read on the internet that you can encourage a hen to start laying by putting a golf ball in their laying box or shelf. Sure enough, they started laying right away and to this day will only lay eggs next to a golf ball.

****SPACKLE VS. THE CHICKEN****

We've only had one incident with the chickens so far. We have a tiny yorkshire terrier named Angel and a small yorkie/maltese mix named Spackle. Spackle has always been a little nuts.

The chickens were pecking around in the front yard one afternoon. Mark had gone into the house for something and when he came back out he did not close the door all the way. Spackle came running from the house like a bat out of hell, heading straight for the chickens. The two red chickens (Molly and Rhodey) ran toward their coop. Zebra (the black & white chicken), wings flapping, ran around the house toward the back of the property, with Spackle right on her tail. Now, without getting into great detail, I'm not quite as fit as I used to be. I haven't moved any faster than a skip in over 10 years, but I was running after Spackle, screaming for her to stop. She couldn't care less. All she knew was that she had to have that chicken. They both ran faster than me so after they rounded the house they got out of site pretty quickly. After I made my way through brush and tree limbs, I could see that the chicken was stuck in the fence that separated our property from the neighbors pasture. Actually, all I could see was Spackle on top of the bird and it appeared that she had Zebra by the neck. However, as I got closer I could see that Spackle was not biting her - she was humping her. She was humping that chicken like there was no tomorrow. Her tongue was hanging out of the side of her mouth. I swear the chicken looked me straight in the eye with the most violated expression.

I pulled Spackle off of her. At this point I was so out of breath I leaned against the storage shed contemplating whether or not I needed to call the ambulance for myself. When I decided that I wasn't going into cardiac arrest, I realized that the chicken was gone. After Spackle finished her cigarette, I put her back in the house so Mark and I could start looking for the victim.

Two hours later, we found the chicken a couple feet from the scene of the molestation. She had evidently flown up into a tree or hidden under a log until she was sure that her attacker was far, far, away.

One of the funniest things about the chicken story is that Spackle's favorite toy is a zebra. She went after the black and white chicken named Zebra. We've known for a long time that Spackle was bi-sexual because she has humped little Angel many times. But we had no idea that she was bi-species. We've talked to her about it and we think it might just be a phase that she is going thru, but if she does end up choosing chickens as a lifestyle, we will love and accept her just like any of our other children/animals.