Whoopee! Our First Farm Produce.

This frosty morning after breakfast, Sir Bugga-Lot decided that he was going to check the chicken coop for an egg. Lately the chickens have been squatting when we approach which is a sign that they are maturing nicely. For some reason, I decided to give him a pre-egg hunting pep talk, telling him that more than likely the chickens will not lay their first eggs in the nest boxes, and to look carefully on the floor of the coop.

Tom Builder and I watched amused as he came running back with an excited look on his face talking very animated to Grace who had gone out to the coop after him. They started running back up to the house with giant smiles on their faces. And then I realized, Jack was holding something in his fist as he ran back up the hill. And I got very Egg-cited! Our first beautiful brown egg, found on the floor of the coop, more than likely courtesy of our Speckled Sussex "Sugar" or our giant Plymouth Rock "Mother Goose". It is a valiant first effort from whomever, since it is not too much smaller than a large egg from the grocery store.


Now the hard part...I can't get Sir Bugga-Lot to let me, as he puts in his words, "roast it".

Update! This just in from Knucker Hatch Farms. Another egg has been laid to make our first collection a two egger! This time, Grace spotted the layer hanging out between the two nest boxes, a favorite chicken from the beginning, our ever curious super flier "Ginger". Folks, we have an official breath taking Ameraucana blue-green egg.

I know it's going to probably sound silly to the rest of you, but I don't care, these eggs are gorgeous. The shells are works of art. There is something about holding an egg that is still warm from the chicken you've raised since Day 1. What I used to look at simply as a means to an end in my cooking, is now a real object of beauty.

Death Of A Delicate Flower

I knew it would happen. I just didn't imagine it would happen in THIS way. I made a true effort to rise this morning after Hope had her second feeding. It was 6:30am, and since my quiet time as of late has been out the window in the evenings, the early morning is clearly my only option. I showered. Had my morning coffee with some yummy coffee cake, and read all about Solomon during the peak of his days. Jack and Grace awoke, and we prepared breakfast. After that, I decided to get a jump on the chicken duty while the two littlest girls were still asleep.

With one foot out the back door, I knew there was trouble. Our rooster Silkie, Duke, was out. He was alone. And far from the coop. At a quick far off glance, I saw that the entire coop door was half open. NOT GOOD. With an "Oh, No.", I left Duke and headed toward the coop. It was empty. Not a single chicken. But enough feathers and tufts of feathers, to leave a tall story of what must of happened there last night.

Thankfully, I found alive chickens around the back of the barn. Hiding and clearly upset. At the looks of the coop, I thought for sure I had lost at least a few chickens. The girls were with Ernie, our alpha rooster. And he was not about to follow me into the coop at that time. So I went back out to see Duke, and see if I could coax him into going back to the coop.

Duke, was also very upset. It brought tears to my eyes, as I began to scan the scene, and realized that Daisy, our sweet Silkie girl was gone. Her feathers where everywhere, and made an obvious trail. Something had clearly gotten her. And then I heard him. For the FIRST time. Clear as day. A long sad, crow from Duke. He hasn't crowed until now. He crowed for a good while. Like a sad love song. Daisy was his lady. Since they both couldn't fly or roost, they would snuggle together at night in the corner. He was her rooster. She was his only concern. And now his life long partner was gone.

After questioning the kids, my heart sunk. Despite making the coop more predator proof than Fort Knox, I hadn't factored in human error. The chickens had gotten out of the coop yesterday, and for whatever fears, the children had purposely decided not to tell me. To my own fault, I hadn't checked in on the chickens that evening because I had been at the church. And, when Hope was finally settled at 10:30pm after a very fussy night, peeking in on the chickens was the last thing I wanted to do. Which means that the chickens probably returned to roost for the night, but they were all sitting ducks for something to waltz in and pick a dinner.

There is good news, and that is, that upon further inspection, Daisy is all we lost. We are very, VERY lucky. But we've learned more than one lesson at the expense of the sweetest chicken in the flock. The only chicken who was to be our pet.

Good bye little white Daisy...Why is it that the prettiest flowers are always the quickest to fade?

Free Ranging The Chooks

I was trying to stay away from another chicken post, but after I wasted a blog day and didn't post, I figured what's the harm in using a wasted day and posting a few more chicken pictures in its non-existent place? The girls and roo are getting really plump and fancy. Lately, I've taken my chances since we are not even close to building a chicken tractor, and I've let them soak up the shade and sun ungaurded. It is clear that chickens were never meant to be cooped up, as they all pile up at the door clucking in jubilee and hysterics when they know they are going to get outside time. The barnyard looks much more lively and festive with colorful chickens scratching it up.

Most of the girls have names including: Sandy, Alice, Penny, Ms. Delaware, Ginger, Leopard Head or Fuzzy, Zebra, and Scooter. The Silkies still don't have a name that sticks, but I'm quite fond of naming the female "Daisy" and the rooster "Duke". Our barn cat has a new favorite place to lay out: on top of the screened in ceiling of the chicken coop. She's also unfortunately discovered a new extreme sport, and has been caught on one occasion hunting down giant chickens. Our faithful dog, Hatch, has also been quick to get involved in the X Games scaring the absolute tar out of cats who chase down beloved chickens. The whole crew had us rolling in the dirt in laughter this week.

The silkie chickens are looking more and more each day like their distant cousin Elvis. "Duke" The Rooster is growing his wattles and comb, and starting to play more the part of a man, keeping a strong eye out for anything that resembles a hawk in flight (big birds, helicopters and airplanes). So far, "Duke" is a mute.

"Daisy" is our most delicate flower. She's always the last to get anywhere, more than shy and skittish. This, of course has me worried, as it is clear she would be the first to be nabbed by any lurking danger. Especially when she can barely see through her growing coif of feathers, But she is gorgeous. (If you can say that about a chicken.)

The Storm Before The Calm?

You know when you are trying your best to get organized over something, and how for a moment (or months in our case) things look even worse than when you had started? That is exactly where we are with this moving in and onto the farm process. And honestly, when you are gaining on a month away from delivering a new baby, the aisles of piles can start to make you a little crazy. I am so tired of trying to feel my way through mazes of unhung picture frames in the dark, just so I can get to the loo in the middle of the night. I should be wrapping up my nesting now for the little one, and instead I am inching my way around endless piles of wood and unfinished business.

We ARE making progress. It just doesn't quite feel like it yet. For instance, we have made the farm safer, by having a number of giant, but sick or dead trees felled. We had a magnificent 50 year old pine growing right by the side of the barn, but it was clearly ill, and would have squashed our barn and whatever else into mere splinters if it had crashed down on its own. In addition, there were already about 15 large logs piled up on the property. The pine has been cut into campfire sized seats, but as for the rest of it, we are surrounded up to our ears in bad wood. Mr. Incredible and I have dreams of hosting an October bonfire with friends, but alas, there will be no bonfire with a burn ban that threatens to last until 2010. So here it all bakes in 100+ temperatures.


Everyday, I have to walk by this ugly mass on my way to the barn, and I'm starting to think to myself, "And who lives here? I wonder what small animals are multiplying or slithering under that pile? The very same pile that was here before we moved in, but we continue to add to it...":


Walk around to the back of the pile, and it is a crying shame. Beautiful cedar wood from the sauna that the previous owners decided to build in our master closet. We tried to take it apart gently, but it was no use. The wood is gorgeous, and smells wonderful, but we really have no idea what to do with it in this state. And so it sits threateningly on one of many burn piles that encircle the property.

Inside the house, we have encountered an entirely new monster. Disgusting carpet and walls in need of TLC means new carpet and new paint. Sounds lovely doesn't it? However, putting the plan into action is an entirely different beast. Everything we put away when we moved, gets pushed back out to paint.

And then, me and dreamy self decide after all the painting is done, that it sure would be nice to have the closets painted as well. "I mean, now is our chance Honey. Our closets will feel so nice! It will help me want to organize. It's now or never." So I talk my patient Tom Builder into "Now", sweet man that he is, and all Closet Maid stuff has to be unscrewed from all of the closets so we can paint the walls of the closets. We were going to have to tear apart the closets anyway, to get the new carpet installed, so my pleas for painted closets weren't entirely ridiculous. However, the interim result is the center of our house gets stacked 5 feet high with pressed wood, along with everything in every closet. But the empty freshly painted closets are beautiful. :)


And here we sit. Waiting for our carpet to arrive that was at our house two weeks ago, but had to be returned due to a color mix up. This really would be fine and dandy, if it wasn't for the giant reminder in front of me outside and inside that the place is a disaster. And the other reminder that occasionally contracts into a hard beach ball, telling me that it is almost game time. Everytime I pull into our drive, I am in humble awe over the property the Lord guided us to. A tree filled treasure we now call home...even with the piles of junk everywhere. But for a moment ladies, I JUST WANT TO NEST LIKE A PREGNANT HUMAN. Instead I feel like the animal that must be trying to multiply under that burn pile outside.

The Chicken Coop de Ville

It would have to be a blazing 100+ degrees on the week that we are to complete the chicken coop and let the girls experience life outside of a TV box. Sheesh. The good news is that the coop is 95% done, and allowed for us to place the "Spice Chicks" safely out in their new Coop de Ville last Sunday. They still don't have a roost, but are using our ladder and some chairs as makeshift roosts. The entrance to the coop is the equivalent of trying to enter solitary confinement at Alcatraz - sporting multiple locks and doors. If anything gets to my girls, it deserves a free meal for brilliance.

The girls are now over six weeks old and, after three days in their new pad, are beginning to feel very much at home. They are enjoying their dirt dust baths in the coop corners and (probably the most entertaining) establishing their pecking order. Chickens have personalities. I never would have believed it myself, but they do. And they are much friendlier than I ever anticipated. Take a seat in a coop chair, and it won't be long before you have visitors landing in your lap and settling in for attention. The only one we really have to keep an eye on is our large Delaware girl (Ms. Delaware, pictured bottom right) who has an uncontrollable fetish for teeth. She can't resist a strong peck at the mouth which has bloodied the mouths of Grace, Jack and myself on a number of occasions. It hurts!


Faith no longer stands back to observe the chickens. Oh no....she's seen her siblings pick them up, and now she bravely does it herself, lifting chickens a few inches off the ground and then releasing them.

The chickens always put a smile on my face when I see them all lined up at the screen door waiting for visitors or for Mama to give them the O.K. to free range a bit around the coop. The satisfaction is setting in that we haven't had a single loss, everyone is gaining weight and feathering out lovely, and the coop is for the most part done. I've also found great pride in our dog Hatch who is doing very well with the chickens, often standing guard a good distance away. His presence alone, makes me more confident that a hawk won't be dropping in for take out when we are around.


We are still working on names, but to date we have Ms. Delaware, Ginger, Zebra, Sandy, and Spice Chick...a wide variety, clearly. We still don't have names for the Silkies who are going "poof" with their white billowy feathers. They are looking terrifically hysterical! Jack often says "Pish-Posh!" to things, so we've thought about naming one "Pish" and one "Posh". Any suggestions for two white puffballs are welcomed.

And now I promise, to spare you all from more chicken posts and move on to...ooooo...hold on.....going through a contraction...other more...pressing...matters.

Souping Up The Chicken Coop

I'm running to catch up on a number of blog posts for this week. This post is all coop baby. Tom Builder is a born natural at many, MANY things, but there is one thing I can always count on...phenomenal construction skills. I realize just how much I think like a girl when it comes to moments like this. And how limited I am spatially.

Tom Builder listened carefully to my list of needed upgrades to convert one of our barn stalls into a predator proof chicken coop, and then headed down to the stall with pen and paper. Thirty minutes later, he was back making final calculations on the amount of lumber needed. It would have taken me a week of obsessing to arrive at that same junction, with many errors close on my tail. And the small ideas I provide Mr. Incredible turn into bigger, much more substantial ideas. More than once this week, you could hear me saying, "I'm getting that? Cool!! I was thinking it would be like this...".

So last weekend, we worked on the coop, and we worked on the coop some more. There was a lot of coopin' going on. For good reason. There is a lot of poopin' going on in the TV box, and my nose can hardly stand it anymore. The girls are over 5 weeks old, and starting to out grow their welcome in the house. In the name of Knucker Hatch spirit, we tried to involve the whole family as much as possible in the building experience.

Jack was all about the guy stuff: measuring, making cuts, handing tools to Dad as needed. If Dad was at the coop, he had to be down there too. Grace was our cheerleader, always giving out a "That looks great!", or "Perfect fit, Dad!". When not handing out complements, she could be found hammering nails into spare wood pieces. Faith, was always quick to alert the family when a stray nail or tool dropped, with her new "Uh, Oh."


Predator proofing was an essential, that has involved rivers of sweat in the sweltering heat, yards and yard of 12 gauge hardware cloth, an additional ceiling, and 1 million staples. The entire stall is being wired in, so that the girls can sleep at night without having to worry about the coons, foxes, dogs, rats and snakes. The only thing we are not wiring is the floor, which has me a little concerned about something deciding to go on a digging spree underneath the floor to get to the chickens. The chicken coop already has a name due to the amount of metal going in, and the caged in feeling it exudes: The Panic Room.

In addition to the ceiling, Tom Builder added an entirely new door to go behind the stall doors so that the girls could enjoy peace and safety with fresh air in the evenings. I have since lined both sides of the door with hardware fabric. We finish up the coop this weekend, and I can hardly wait. I'm excited for the chickens, and I'm happy to have a chicken dust free house again soon. After this, we will begin a new project devoted to chicken raising: The Chicken Tractor.

Uh Rooooo

Wouldn't ja' know, that one of our Silkie chickens, just might turn out to be a rooster. Remember my compromise with the children? Short version: We might have to cull chickens down the road, but we won't cull your Silkie pet chicken. We were supposed to get ONE female Silkie, but the company we ordered from, threw in an extra. (Often a red flag that you've received a free rooster.) However, Silkies are known for being very difficult to sex in the first place. The joke around Silkie circles is you'll know what you have when it either crows or lays an egg.

Two days ago, I noticed something. The combs on my two Silkies were different. Pre-adolescence is starting to set in, which usually reveals itself most noticeably in the combs. We are looking pretty good amongst most of the ladies, with one or two "Hmms". But the Silkie thing was obvious since I had two to compare with each other. I ran my suspicions by the chicken forum that I have been reading daily, and it is looking like we may have a "Roo-fus". A Silkie rooster. Sheesh.

That would be a bump in the road that I hadn't planned on at all.

I guess this is where I get on my knees and pray. Please let Roo-fus be a rooster that shys away from speaking in public. And for everyone's sake, Roo-fus needs to be as good with the children as he is with the ladies. No chicken attacks. Cause it would be really uncool if I had to be a mean deal breaker and cull a Silkie. We wouldn't even want to eat him cause of his black skin and his smaller size.

Guess we better start really loving on that guy to increase our chances of a roo that is more of a lush and less of a He-man. Because right now, he is the loudest in the bunch, and he attacks fingers. Oiy.

The Simple Life....NOT

There is so much going on in our household right now, it is absolutely dizzying. Thanks to my brother, sending a sweet, hardworking man and his wife our way, the farmhouse is getting a complete makeover with paint, interior and exterior. New carpet is ordered and just around the corner. Boxes are still in every room. Chickens have long since outgrown their little brooder and flap their wings about in a giant TV box in the kitchen. Nana and Papa Don have come and left. My computer is still out of commish and getting sent into Toshiba tomorrow. And lastly, our new school year is to begin again in just over a week.

Craziness.


The chickens. THE CHICKENS. Oh my goodness, they can grow like weeds! The kids and I take them out of their cardboard brooder once or twice a day to practice free ranging in our front yard. Usually we manage six chicks at a time, which is much easier to keep track of rather than twelve. I've decided that chicks are cheap entertainment. I could watch them and their chicken antics for hours. And as they feather out, their new little chicken suits intrigue me. Above is one of our Silkies, and below is "Ginger", an Ameraucana, whose sproutin' tail feathers are cute as ever.

Faith greets all the chickens with a fairweather "HI!" every day. She loves them all and carefully flat hands their heads for a friendly pet. She knows she can not pick one up or hold one, and so she follows them around the yard at time with her hand shaking above them making long grunting sounds as if they were too heavy to pick up.


The Queen's Grace is forever asking to hold a chick, and gets a thrill out of giving them veggie goodies, which sends the chicks into cackling fits of madness and glee. I have to admit, it is really a funny site to see them go nutty over a little tidbit of this or that. The winner of any prize will quickly make her tasty treat known by all, which sends the entire flock on a mad chase after her to try and steal the prize, which eventually turns into a giant game of chicken "keep away".


I'm getting very nervous about putting the chicks out in their coop soon. The barn cat has made it clear that she would love to get her mitts on a chicken dinner. And the animals that have been around the farm as of late really have me racking my brain on making sure all is predator proof. Just tonight I walked in on a raccoon in the barn raiding the kitty food. I watched him collapse his body through a 3 inch gap at the top of the barn under the roof. Three inches!! And not that it is a chicken predator, but this week, I also came face to face with a beaver on our property. The animals are coming out of the woodwork.


The kids are ready to be back at it for schooling, but I'm still trying to muster up the strength to start a new year. I know once we get back into the swing of things, the moving in will go even slower than it has. But Baby Hope is on her way, and I'm starting to feel the squeeze on available time, so we'll press on, a box at a time, and hit the books in August again.

Pomp and Feather

This morning we all awoke to a wonderful message left by the post office on our machine. The baby chicks had arrived, and were ready for pick up! That was music to all of our ears. The sooner we could get the baby chicks home, the quicker they could receive their first meal. Two baggies of dry cereal and one bottle later, we hopped into the car to pick up our 10 clients who had flown in from New Jersey.

The baby chicks received as much fanfare from the children as from the post office crew. Everyone had to take a peek into the small white box that housed some very loud peeping chickies. I was thankful to witness that all chickies were alive and accounted for, but it wasn't until we got home and began inspecting closer that Grace announced, "Mom, we have twelve chicks, not ten." Despite my request for no extra chicks (in order avoid the "males for warmth" additions) we had two more chicks. But the news was good, as I realized that one of the extras was another Silkie, reserved for pet chicken status. Quite the bonus considering they cost three times as much as the other chickens.


After inspecting all bottoms for "pasting" and dipping each beak into the sugar water, the Knucker Hatch Twelve expolored a significantly bigger box. I made their first brooder out of an extended Sterilite bin from Walmart. For an hour we watched intently over the crew making sure all were drinking and eating properly, while taking in the musical chorus of peeping. It is a joyful sound. After one more hour, the children were allowed to hold the chicks.

Each visit with each client involved much inspection, nuzzling, and naming.


Below is Jack holding his personal favorite which he decided to name "Gosling". It makes no difference to him that goslings refer to baby ducks. This girl will be Gosling nonetheless. Nobody seems to be going for the grown ups idea of naming the chickens after food with chicken in them. (We still might get our way...how can you NOT name a baby chicken Fajita?)


As of this evening, everyone is doing lovely except our Black Australop who, I confess, was bopped on the head by Faith's hand while I was holding her. I'm not sure what came first, the bop to the noggin or her not feeling the best, but she just doesn't seem to be behaving as lively as the others, and we have a bit of pasting issues beginning, however, I am hopeful that another 24 hours and she'll be feeling better.

I am really thrilled with how much the children have taken to The Knucker Hatch Twelve. It should be a fascinating experience for all of us, and hopefully, a productive one.

There Are Good Layers and Bad Layers

I'll admit, that when I decided we should start out our farm with chickens, I didn't know a thing about chickens. I was in the department of thinking that in order to have a chicken lay an egg, you needed to have a rooster. How many of you non-chicken people knew that wasn't true? Thankfully, no roos are needed. Mrs. Layer does all the work herself. That's the good news.

The bad news is that Mrs. Layer is only really good at egg production for the first 1-3 years of life, despite the fact that she can live into the teen years. And really, after two years, you are better off...ehem....culling them. Which means that if I'm a smart farmer, I'll be slaughtering my chickens in two years, and starting again. I wasn't ready for that news.

I am practical in things, so I agree that it is not worth the price in chicken feed to keep a chicken around who is down to laying an egg a month. I've just never killed anything before purposely, especially where it is necessary for the animal to "bleed out". But I decided that at least I would know our chicken had a good life free ranging on a farm, as opposed to the anonymous headless chicken I buy at the grocery store that someone killed for me. But there is also the children factor. The children needed to know before they started holding baby chickies that one day, the mama hens wouldn't lay eggs very well, and we'd need to kill the mamas for the meat. BUT we'd get to have baby chickies again. Jack, my softie, wasn't liking that news much at all.

So I compromised. I ordered 10 baby chicks...nine of which are excellent layers and most of which can be used for meat production. And then I ordered a baby pet chicken. Kid you not they are the silliest chickens I have ever seen. More of an ornamental chicken really. And known for their unusual docile pet like behavior. Behold, an example of a White Silkie Chicken:


She looks like Elvis in a white polyester suit, doesn't she? What a hoot. I hope and pray that the Silkie chicken will survive and thrive, as she will be the one who is allowed to maintain her coop beyond her two year internship at Knucker Hatch Farms. Personally, I am excited about my rainbow of egg layers, who should be gearing up for their first laid egg in late fall/early winter. The funny thing is, aside from cooking with them, I rarely eat an egg. It just sounded like a good and easy place to start with our farm on the cusp.

Now, one more thing I bet you didn't know about lady chickens. You can usually tell on someone's farm who the good layer girls are. Why? Because they look worn out. In fact they go through a bleaching process in their skin that moves throughout their body depending on how many eggs they have laid. A pretty chicken, is probably not a dependable layer.

And something about that whole life analogy really works for me right now. Lately, I feel like the lady chicken who continues to lay the eggs, and to show for it, I'm looking pretty frumpy. Not much pizzazz going on in the feathers, but in the chicken world, that is a sign of a hard worker. There is something reassuring about that --- if only I were a chicken. However, I do admit that I am looking forward to a decade from now, when I might just have a little more time to turn it up a knotch and strut my stuff with the decked out Silkies!

Cluck, Cluck, Neigh

I should have been focused on the arrival of our baby chickens in two weeks. And I was to a degree. The makeshift Rubbermaid brooder still needs to be fully assembled, but I'm close. Nothing a pair of tinsnips and a few screws won't take care of. The feed, feeders, heat lamp and shavings are on standby. The only animal I should be losing sleep over right now are chickens. But I'm not. Prepare for a raging rant...

Instead, it's horses. I've mentioned before how we have given the horse boarders (who were boarding their horses with the previous owners residing here in March), the notice that we would not be boarding on the farm. All of them have heeded that notice and the last boarder left two weeks ago. We should have no animals left on the farm right? Nope. Two horses are still left. Five deadlines have been made and broken, by none other than the lousy owner herself.

Not anybody earns the name "lousy" from me. But this lady is down right LOUSY. Never returns a phone call. This week topped it all for me. Follow me carefully: The last boarder to leave (I'll call her Mrs. Sweet), actually was the one who fed Mrs. Lousy's horses for her. Mrs. Lousy has only shown up once in the last three months to see her own horses, and that was because of a deep wound one of her horses had incurred on the farm (lot of blood) and the vet had to work with the horse quite a bit. That's it. ONCE.

So...when Mrs. Sweet left, there was no one to feed the remaining horses. Mrs. Lousy, knew Mrs. Sweet had left. But Mrs. Lousy never came by to feed her own horses. For FOUR days. And for THREE days I called her six times letting her know that I was growing concerned that her horses were not being fed and there was no alfalfa hay available at all. Now, of course, I'm not going to watch horses starve on my own property, so I fed them with the remaining grain and pellets. But she didn't know that. Never once did she call back. Until today.

All of a sudden, she leaves a message on the machine that someone is coming over to look at the horses, and by the way, she was feeding the horses. A bald faced lie. But to be sure, I made sure to be down at the barn when she came by. We chatted for forty minutes after the man decided that he wasn't interested in a sixteen year old flat footed thoroughbred and a spitfire mean miniature stallion for his wife. After some warming up, I apologized for all of my repeated calls that she never answered regarding the welfare of her horses, and then lined up the bait and switch. "We must have been just missing each other. You must have been coming by in the afternoons." (I had been at the house almost constantly all week, but for the last four afternoons we had been on the property outside). "Yes...(her eyes dodged), in the afternoons sometimes and also at night I'd park on the street and walk down to the barn."

Two minutes later, as she walks down to the barn to "feed" the horses, she asks, "So how are we doing on our grain level?" And I watch as she checks the four garbage cans where the horse food is stored. She sifts around, "We still have some senior equine in there, and enough beet pulp..." For a person who has been feeding her horses for the last four days, she sure did a lot of checking, and asked some odd questions. I could tell you with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back how much of everything there was in those bins. My blood was boiling.

So here's the kicker. She moved her other horses off of our property to next door over a month ago, but she doesn't want to pay for the last two to go over there. So we are stuck with two horses, the owner neglects, and who rarely you can get a hold of, because she doesn't want to pay for boarding all of her horses somewhere. And we walk this fine line tight rope of what in the world do we do? We can't charge her boarding fees, because then we become a horse business and insurance must get involved. So she sits here for free. I am a finger dial away from calling a horse rescue place, but then their web site has a blip about how they are looking for more available stall space and has over twenty horses already listed. And I just don't know if we can call them truly abandoned yet.

How do you make someone take their animals off of your property when they weigh hundreds of pounds? It is the most frustrating situation I have ever been in with someone. And we're dealing with an unreachable bluthering idiot who is prone to lie badly. Tom Builder keeps telling me that he is two weeks ahead of me in frustration and anger. He still thinks the best solution is to park the remaining two horses in the parking lot of her town home. If I didn't have a heart, I'd do it.