It's raining snakes!

Snakes, snakes, everywhere! The prophecies are coming true!

I'm sure there's a prophecy somewhere that will back me up on that.

In the meantime, I'm getting dizzy trying to watch my feet and look for bears all at the same time. It's not that I'm scared to do things outside, I just like to be alert. When I walk across the field or through the woods, I carry a walking stick, and give the ground a thump with it every few steps so the big things will dart away before I get to them. Good grief, you don't want to know the horror movie bugs and spiders I've seen on my travels here.

And I sing. At least it gives the deer time to scurry off before I walk around the corner and they snort loudly and leap their white tails into the woods. This also avoids my heart rate jumping through the roof because that panicky noise always startles me.

So the black snakes (all 3 of them yesterday, between 3 & 5 feet) I helped to escape into the woods so the chickens would calm down. Those less fortunate with poison fangs didn't fare so well, especially when they were frolicking in the chicken area.

I wish this copperhead was living its snake life somewhere else in the woods, but it would have taken a better man than me to capture it and release it somewhere else. I tried to preserve its beauty the best I could.

The official length was 42"

Brent wanted to help with skinning the snake, even jumping in to cut the skin. He bailed when it started to get smelly, but at that point I was considering it as well.

That night, he made an art project all on his own of a snake.

And yesterday I cooked up my meticulously prepared fried copperhead. I managed a bite, and so did Brent. He liked it, but declined more. I plain didn't like it. The flavor was fine - a little tough and hard to get off the ribs, though. And a little...stretchy. I cannot in good faith recommend it as tasting like chicken.

I'm adding this to the list of things I did not see myself adding to my life resume.

Merlin

Last week you were fine. Then you seemed a little sick. I took you to the vet this morning and they couldn't find anything wrong. Maybe a slight stroke. But I knew... even through your purring.

And now you are gone. I don't know what else we could have done, but there is no more time.

We love you, sweet Merlin. Sleep well.

Flock Evolution

What started out as a peeping handful of fluff is now an army of hormonally charged chickens. One one side we have the roosters, who are fighting their way to the top of the ranks, when they're not chasing the ladies and doing side-strutting dances around them in circles. General Stormcloud still sits at the top, spending all day and night worrying about his flock. He'll herd some away from one area, come to the rescue of his hens when they're upset about the constant attention, or just stand watchfully on guard for predators.

But some of the other roosters are just a mess, never letting the hens rest for a moment and being generally cranky and evil. I've been charged a few times, but have worked my way back up to being on top after spending some time retraining our boundaries. That and a few handfuls of food every time I walk to the coop has helped.

On the other side are my sweet hens, who have given up foraging most days to sit on the deck railing and try to ignore the swimming sharks below. I am getting usually two eggs per day, sometimes three. One is light brown, one chocolate brown, and one white. They're so tiny, but the shells are strong and the yolks are large. And they taste AMAZING!

But the hens are stressed, and many roosters need to go. I knew this day would come, and I've picked out my favorites to keep, as well as the ones that aren't pestering the hens or giving me the stink eye when I walk near them. First on the list was one of the Seahawk twins, as he was the biggest troublemaker. After being exiled for a couple weeks and driven off into the woods each day by the other roosters, he finally made his way back into acceptance. Then he decided I wasn't allowed to walk near any of the hens and charged the boys a few times, firming up his position as "first to be eaten".

And, when yesterday he attacked Alex, he found himself in the oven within 3 hours. The boys have been schooled on what to do if that happened, and he acted quick while I jumped in so he just has a small scratch. Seahawk #1 got a much larger one.

I was so brave for the first 8 innings. Then when I pulled him from the oven and the time came to eat, all the smells and wonder of the day came rushing in at full force. I managed a small bite, but that was all the dinner for me that evening.

The flock has settled a little, and the heavy rains are taking away any reminder of yesterday. Except his twin, who sat under the gardenia bush in the rain most of the day.

I hope it gets easier.