Life, Death, and Adoption on the GEE Funny Farm

I know you haven’t heard from me in awhile, but don’t you worry: I, Asimov, remain abroad in the land, happily, joyfully at home at the GEE Funny Farm. Unfortunately, however, we recently had another loss. This time it was Boaz the lop-eared bunny. It’s possible that you begin to wonder what’s going on over here with fowl and bunnies kicking the bucket, but that’s the nature of a farm—life and death are all part of the program. Well, not our actual program (I mean, you won’t be seeing anybody kick the bucket on your penny . . . or I mean I hope not), but it just simply can’t be avoided in the everyday life of a farm. It’s unfortunate because Boaz was really quite pleasant, despite not being (ah hem) me. He invaded the GEE Funny Farm from the Humane Animal Welfare Society in Waukesha. For a rabbit, he wasn’t bad. He was quiet. He didn’t mind our music or movies, and when he was out of his cage he was too big to climb into our cage. He tried because, in spite of being a bunny, I suspect he was part pig.  He sure did want our pellets.  Sometimes, as I foraged, I’d throw some down to him.  He thought it was out of kindness, but it was usually some pellet I didn’t like – one bird’s garbage is another animal’s treasure, right?

Boaz, the laid-back lop-eared bunny, we will miss you!

 But, as I mentioned, we have both death and life here on the farm. The black silkie chick had a flock of little ones. They have survived surprisingly well, considering that everyone likes chicken as you’ll remember from our former post about something lurking in the woods. I mean, truthfully, even I like chicken, though I’m more civilized and take mine cooked not raw like wild beasts in the woods. You people get confused and think this is cannibalistic but I would like to clarify that it is NOT cannibalism! You eat other mammals and nobody calls that cannibalism. I don’t eat parrots! So there! Anyway, as far as little chirping feathered munchkins go, the chicks are fairly cute and cuddly.

The dad (rooster) is the black guy by the gate.  Hmm, I can see the mom and seven chicks (all those black dots).  The brown hen is a faverolle, not a silkie.

 

The mom chick, the hen, is leading her babies around --
Now I can see all eight, can you?

 

I see one chick in front of its mom, can you? 
The others are UNDER the hen (mom) to stay warm.



If you haven't had enough of the little darlings, here is a short video.

 I've had enough of chickens!! 

Also, new life with animals (and with people, as I understand it) sometimes comes in the form of adoption, not simply birth. So we’ve had that kind too because Kathy went out and got herself another rabbit from the Humane Animal Welfare Society.  Unlike Boaz who was a lop-eared bunny, Alma is a PEW (pink-eyed white) bunny.  Sometimes his eyes seem to glow in the dark -- ugh!

Alma the pink eyed bunny -- nice background, don't cha think?

 Kathy is talking about adopting some other small pets– I wonder where they will live and what they will be. Maybe they’ll be lucky enough to be in my company at least while they’re young.

 The poor Patagonian cavy, Mary, has been moved away from me. Can you imagine the emotional devastation this must have caused her? You’d think she would be very depressed about it, but I hear rumors that she was dancing in the grass when she was moved out to her own pen adjacent to the wallaby pen. This can’t be true because who, honestly, would prefer to be anywhere other than near my precious little white personage?

Mary the Patagonian cavy dancing in her new digs -- I'm pretty sure the picture has been fixed!

It’s a little strange in here without Mary's company. She was an interesting little critter (okay, she’s bigger than I am, don’t rub it in). She would pick up her pen with her teeth and move it wherever she wanted to go. I was taking mental note of her technique before she got moved so that I could figure out a way I could manipulate my cage because I sure do wish I could do that. I’m afraid, though, that I’ve been in Kathy’s capable hands too long to manage too much cage manipulation. My work in that regard involved opening doors and escaping (not moving the cage itself), but those days seem to be long past since Kathy discovered the padlock. Ah, but what fun it was to put her children into a panic . . . *contented sigh.*

RIP Poor Elvis

I'm not talking about the Elvis who may or may not have died in 1977. I'm not talking the King of Rock 'n Roll. I'm not talking the Elvis who was surnamed Presley. And I'm certainly not talking the Elvis who made the ladies swoon. No, our Elvis kicked the bucket in 2011. And our Elvis was the king of barnyard crooning. And our Elvis was probably surnamed something like Roostermeister. And our Elvis did not have much success with the ladies.

In fact, this very Elvis I speak of wrote (on my blog) just a few months back about his troubles. Well, those independent ladies were just the beginning of his problems as it turns out. Presumably, there was something lurking in the shadows. Not only was Elvis himself lost, but his brave and daring ladies were a little too brave and daring for their own good. Our evil preying enemy of the night didn't stop with the chickens, either. No, he moved on to bigger fowl. Three ducks, who have lived on the Farm for over a year, disappeared. Then one of Kathy's imprinted geese disappeared. As your imagination surely suggests, August was a sad and mournful time at the Gee Funny Farm as our wicked nemesis picked off our colleagues not just one by one but by groups and in daylight!!

The results of his evil deeds linger on. Freedom has been restricted for the protection of remaining fowl. The outdoor fowl now spend no time open grazing these days.

All I can say is, Boy, am I glad that my cage is in the safe shelter of a house. The outdoors can be scarey -- and it seems that something wicked likes birds for evil purposes!! It is a sad time for feathered critters!

From the Henhouse

I've stepped in to tell you about happenings at the GEE Funny Farm. My name is Elvis and I'm a silkie rooster. I was brought to the Funny Farm by my friend, Becky, because she has another rooster, and as everyone knows, no one needs more than one rooster!!

Anyway, I came and was alone for awhile; Kathy would groom me (I can't reach those pin feathers on my head), and I liked that, but it sure was lonely! Then, two weeks ago, 6 cute chicks showed up during the day. They were in a house next door, but we could see each other and I strutted and crowed a lot so they could see how cool I am!

Last week, we were all let into the yard. I was SO excited!! I just knew these pullets (they are really older than chicks-I'm NOT a egg robber) were going to love me. I even got a chance to show how brave I am. Kathy got all of the pullets into MY house and yard and the ducks (those bullies) came barreling through the door to get the food. I rounded the pullets up into a corner and I stood up to face those ducks. Nothing ended up happening since as soon as they were done eating they took off, but the point is I was ready to defend my girls!!

So, I thought all was well, but when we went outside, these girls headed off into the trees and bushes. I was horrified! Don't they know about raccoons, opossums, hawks, coyotes, and foxes?!? They could have been sitting ducks (so to speak) for any of them (well, maybe not the hawks, though they do sometimes land in a tree waiting for unsuspecting birds to wander by). I ran over and clucked gently, explaining the danger, and headed to the pen. As I arrived at the door, I looked back to make sure all my girls were there and to my astonishment not one had followed me. I tried again. They all came around me and seemed to listen to directions, but again, when I arrived at the safe house I was alone. Kathy, who for some reason was snickering, herded them inside and I could breathe easy since we were safe.

To my amazement, even though those hussies cuddled up to me at night, they totally disregarded my attempts to get them to safety during the day and evening hours. Kathy had to help me every time -- females! Can't live with 'em, can't live without them.

The good news is, I finally rule the roost and I get the girls in safely at night -- maybe I didn't get the brightest bulbs in the pack, but they are mine - whew! What a fella has to put up with!!

Oh, thanks, Asimov, for letting me post.

From the henhouse, over and out - Elvis

What's New? Why, I'm Glad You Asked

Spring is making its merry little way onto the GEE Funny Farm and we are gearing up for you to come see us. I am preening my beautiful white feathers and Isaac is whistling his obnoxiously sweet little whistle. Believe me, we are so cute you cannot stand to miss me . . . ahem, us, I mean.

With the advent of spring, not only do you have the pleasure of getting a look at my good lookin' winged body when you come get educated at the farm, we also have babies, babies, babies. We have more babies than I can stand. Babies take up too much of the spotlight. Stinkin' babies. Anyway, besides Kathy's grandbabies (who are visiting for the summer), the farm animal babies are increasing up the wazoo. Holy cow are we overrun by babies! We do not however have any such cow, holy or secular, baby or adult, I am sorry to tell you bovine animal admirers.

What we do have now is a bottle-fed lamb tramping around the upstairs, nibbling on jackets sitting on the backs of chairs, maaa-ing for mama (who in her confused little mind is my Kathy), prancing around behind Kathy wherever she may go. Sort of reminds me of a nursery rhyme: Kathy had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb . . . and all that jazz. Well, except that she is more like a dirty brown color instead of a white as snow color, but whatever.

We also just got a passel, er, group, er, some sort of gathering of chicks sitting inside a cardboard box under a sun lamp right inside the garage door. Unlike my ear-catching (Isaac has the gall to say "ear-deafening") squawks, these disgusting little lady angels keep up a perpetual quiet chirp. Born only yesterday, they seem completely delighted to chirp, nibble on chick feed, and daintily sip (and walk through) their water dish. At least so far, they seem much cuter than they are interesting, not an insult anyone would ever give to me, by golly.

The babies are not all coddled in the indoors (thank heavens or I think I would puke). In fact, there is a baby goat out in the barnyard, born right here on this amazing little farm, who is a month old, only a one-day difference in birthdays between the lamb and the kid. The kid is a male, currently nursing from his mama goat, helping provide a milk goat for the summer. (I warn you, not everybody has the goat milking skill to begin with, but you can try your hand if you think you're tough enough.)

We have one other addition who is still bordering on the baby stage: an alpaca. This white huacaya alpaca just joined the farm about a week ago. What is an alpaca you say? Well, I have no idea. What do you think I am? A fountain of unending knowledge. No, just kidding; I mean, I really am . . . a fountain of unending knowledge, that is. An alpaca is a bit like a llama. Both were bred domestically in South America for wool. The alpaca's wool is softer than a llama's wool, though.

Okay, okay, you are here just getting yourselves a free GEE Funny Farm lesson and I won't have any more of that. If you really want to know about these animals, and you really want to admire yourself an adorable little ball of fuzz or fur, and you really want to set your eyes on this hunk of white perfection, then you really ought to come see us. Please. I want out of my cage. And I wouldn't mind a few French fries either.