Ivy Delves Into The World of Metaphysics

Can someone please tell me what this is? As far as I can tell, it is "black." Mike and I were going about our daily business and we kept finding a trail of slightly spongy/slightly crispy black chewings. Which led us to Ivy standing proudly by her pile of "black" looking as if she had just invented fire. It is absolutely unidentifiable and is limited to its very few visible characteristics. So evidently "black" is a Thing Great Danes Eat. I know, how very metaphysical. I believe the two questions striving to animate the metaphysical argument, i.e., 1) what is there? and 2) what is it like?, are definitively answered and satisfied by "black." Yes, that's Professor Ivy, if you please.

Things That Eat Great Danes

Evidently Great Danes are not as high up on the food chain as I once believed. Last week, while playing with her pals at the dog park and being just generally adorable and perfect, part of Ivy was turned into a light snack for an Akita. I don't have anything against Akitas as a breed in general, I just say this so that you, dear reader, can have a proper visual idea of what preyed upon my sweet girl. Ivy didn't make a sound when it happened, so when my friend Christine asked me how in the world Ivy had started bleeding spontaneously and I looked up and saw the Akita and his human running for the gate, I was befuddled. It was only after some friends told me that they had seen what had happened that I got a wee big angry at this display of degustationary gumption. Food chain, indeed.

Vengeance, Thy Name is Potato

Just today I was [sort of] lamenting the fact that the Danes haven't done anything of real interest lately, i.e., they haven't eaten anything off the counter, from the top of the refrigerator, etc., that warrants posting. I should have known that I would jinx myself in a most serious manner.

I have been super sick recently and Mike has taken very good care of me. So naturally I wanted to show him how much I appreciate his medical ministrations by making his favorite meal, which consists of homemade gnocchi and roasted kale. I made the gnocchi, which took about an hour and a half, then rolled it out and cut it on the counter. Have you ever made gnocchi?!? It's not one of the easiest or quickest meals to make. Then I trimmed the kale, and, thinking the chickens might like a leafy treat, ran down to the coop to give them the scraps. Upon my return to the kitchen - literally less than 30 seconds later - I found the counter top completely wiped clean and Ivy looking only slightly abashed. One solitary gnocchi remained.


So now I am vacillating between hoping that she experiences mild to medium discomfort and worrying that she experiences mild to medium discomfort. Luckily we had her preemptively gastropexied so I'm at least not worried that she is going to explode like an unforked potato in a microwave.

I am an Easy Mark

I said farewell to Astrid the Rooster a few weeks ago. After a fairly terrifying drive down to meet Aimee in Denver, during which time I literally feared for my life due to the way Astrid was staring me down, she now has a new home where I was promised she won't be eaten. As I was walking away from Aimee's car, I heard the seductive words that all animal lovers both crave and fear, aimed specifically at the target on my back that states I will take in any of your stray and/or unwanted animals: "These poor [insert animal species name here] sure do need a home." So I slowly turned around and saw two hens in the back of her car. How could I resist? Poor Mike. I came home that evening with two new chickens. Persephone is an easter egger and Athena is a dark brahma. I had never heard of a dark brahma. After some cursory research, it appears that I have adopted one of the largest breeds of chicken available. I am afraid that I may have a chickizilla on my hands.

Athena

Persephone

I get a lot of inquiries about chickens. Evidently the backyard chicken movement is a global phenomenon. In that spirit, here are my girls rockin' out to Cibo Mato's Know Your Chicken.

Note to self: refrain from feeding the chickens red bell pepper. It just makes them mad.

Heartbroken

Yesterday I drove to Southern Colorado to meet Andrea so that she could take Moses home with her and officially adopt him.

Milo and Moses have not been having an easy go of things lately, and Sunday night they got into a terrible fight. Milo did not win. As the emergency vet said, "Looks like Milo starts the fights and Moses ends them." That pretty much sums it up.

If Steve and Andrea weren't the wonderful people that they are and hadn't so readily agreed to take Moses back into their home, we may have been living in a split household, with Milo in one half of the house and Moses in the other. It would have been close to impossible to give Mosey up to people we didn't know and love. But we know that Steve and Andrea love Moses like he was their own, and there is no better home for him. When I called Andrea on Monday morning, she did not hesitate to say that they would love to have Moses again. Thank you, Andrea. You are my hero.

We are completely heartbroken over this, especially me. Milo is Mike's dog. Ivy is Milo's dog. And Mosey was truly my dog. He followed me everywhere I went, and either had his head in my lap or was laying at my feet. I don't know if I'll ever find another dog who I feel so connected to, but being an eternal optimist, I know I'll keep trying.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

Counterclockwise from top right:

Pidgeon Red Flowering Kale;
Italian Flat-Leaf Parsley;
Italian Large-Leaf Basil;
Thai Lemon Basil;
French Lavender;
Dirt.

It takes a super long time to grow anything at this altitude, so when I see sprouts I get excited. When I see actual herbs I'm pretty much over the moon. When I see a giant dirt hole where the lovely Purple Sage used to be, it's not exactly a red-letter day for me. But it seems that it was for Ivy.

You Have Got to be Kidding Me

Last night I was hanging out with the chickens, sitting on my stump in their chicken run, getting pecked at by Vivian/Bitchian and loved on by Esmé and Marcheline, and I looked up to see Astrid coming out of the coop. She normally stays in the coop so I don’t see her that often. At any rate, I noticed that she has these looooong iridescent green feathers cascading down her neck, and curly feathers at her tail. She also has a notably red comb. And she is a BIG chicken. This at only three and a half months old. And so I think to myself, “Expletive! More expletives!”

Astrid doing her Sam the Eagle pose

Astrid is a rooster. Thus, she has to go. I can’t imagine the bloodshed we would have if both Ruthie and Astrid were to remain. Since Ruthie was here first, Astrid is the one who will have to leave us. And I’m really bummed because I saved that pretty name for a while and now after only three and a half months I have to let it go. Dammit. Luckily, the lovely lady who runs Manifested Wings always told me that if any of my hens turned out to be roosters, she would take him back. I think I’ll have to do this on the condition that he/she doesn’t get eaten. That would break my heart. And Moses would not approve. He’d rather eat her himself. I’ve seen him eyeing her.