Today we went to the plant sale that the Seattle Tilth puts on every year. Perps were all cloche this, cloche that, and I’m all F that N, frankly, because do you want wussy tomatoes? We saw a bunch of people we knew and I only got called an asshole once, which is pretty remarkable considering the way I was cutting in line.

The wee pullets have embiggened, so they have gotten sprung out of their ten-gallon aquarium into a wardrobe box. It’s funny what you can raise chooks it. Yesterday I noticed they were panting under their heat lamp and couldn’t really get away, so they needed more room. It’s nice that they get hardier every day and don’t start shivering if you have them out for five minutes.

Here is Veronica Peep, Private Investigator. Yes, I named her after Veronica Mars because she is blonde and scrappy. No, I cannot believe I admitted that either.

If you put the chickens on any surface, they will immediately start pecking up all the errant crumbs, which is nice because my house is usually fairly crumby. However, they may drop a bomb at any moment, so it’s kind of a zero sum game. I forgot how well they can see little things. The other night I had one on my hand and she deliberately pecked at all my tiny little hand freckles. This is the life of an omnivore.

Looks like Veronica has gotten bigger in a week’s time. Here she is wee-er:

Speaking of babydaddy here, I have to do something I really hesitate to do, because it’s so rude and unnecessary, but I am going for gold. Companion is SO INTERESTED in my chickens. When I had chickens before I was married to some guy and he did not give a rip about me and my hobbies. I built the coop from scratch, of my own design, and I completely cared for the chickens by myself. This was pretty typical of most of my endeavors. The only one we ever really shared was Franny, and that was more of a tag-team effort at best.

HOWEVER, I know this is all apples to mothballs, but Companion actually picks the chickens up and talks to them. We sat down and designed the coop together and he insisted on naming one (Myrtle), since we are caring for them together. Even after our four years together, I am still amazed at his willingness to be a part of my life. You know, it’s like I was single for years and years, through marriage and having a kid, and now I actually have a partner. It’s funny how you can with someone and think you shouldn’t be lonely, because you aren’t alone.

Another reason I thought Companion might be chicken-blase is because he farmed and saw them as a teeming mass of rude livestock. Plus, they were Barred Rocks, which are basically dicks. But these are sweet little peepers and you can see that they have different personalities and ways of singing. I forgot that chicks will sing like songbirds when they are getting their feathers. It’s nice in the kitchen and I will miss them when I have to boot them out.

In Strudel News

Three is more fun than two, except not at all.

She upended the chair she runs by, threw the mitten baskets and ran off to the back room. This is right after school. Poor Franny was ill that day and got so upset she cried a little.

And then she can be a lot of fun, like with our babysitter.

But later she threw down. Ah, well.

So now we have six tomato plants, lemon cucumbers, and too much dill. I will keep you posted on the challenges of keeping chickens out of the tomatoes.