Archive for September 13th, 2010

We've got  a routine in the mornings around the Rancho which, among other things involves feeding, freshening the water for and collecting the eggs of our multi cultural assortment of feathered enigmas.  It's always the same and always different. The escape artists continue to mystify as to how they manage to break out daily but can't for the life of them find their way back in. They stand there by the entrance waiting for the shiny swinging bucket attached to a large bi-ped to rain down pellets of ambrosia, not unlike Sai Baba's manifestations of sacred ash. So, we get them all tidied up and fill their gizzards for the morning and carefully collect the eggs. This involves trips to four separate paddocks with the same watering and feeding routine. Not particularly time consuming, although delving into the mystery that is chicken can keep one in a spectrum of observation ranging from enchanted to fully flummoxed . We leave them happily clucking and scratching and gulping down water. From time to time they get a bucket load of garden scraps and fruit peels which brings on heightened conversation and a visible adrenalin rush. True chicken skin. With the mornings pre breakfast bantering and blustering calmed, we go about cleaning up the eggs that have indeed been pooped on and pass along, without cleaning, the ones that are certified poop free by inspector general Joshua who knows his poop. I like this particular job. It's a meditation of sorts. Losing focus means fractured eggs. It means holding a cracked egg in one's hand and knowing that if you just throw it away, there's the danger of the free ranger posse getting a taste and being transported to a state of inner knowing. A revelation that only cyclic completion can bring. But alas, the experience fades as the tasty yolk and slurpy mucus are digested. But the memory, the memory lingers as she pecks away at the shell, instinctively reconstructing the shape from which this amazing nectar issued forth. The other option would be to get up, and deposit the broken egg into the compost, or carry it gently to the kitchen and put it in a bowl. Well, you lost me at "get up". Now one of the worst things to do with a flock of layers is to give them egg shells to eat that haven't been thoroughly washed. If they get a taste of their own essence they'll eat em' as fast as they lay em'. There's nothing you can do with a chicken that's hooked on eggs. Might as well fire up the grill and get to pluckin'. So in spite of the fact that I would always try to pitch the broken eggs into some brush or under a low branching tree, it turns out that Smarty Pantz, the one eyed wonder, managed to imbibe of the soma often enough to have figured out the mystery that is Chicken-ness. The other day after finishing cleaning and boxing up the days take, I left three slightly damaged (cracked but not broken) eggs sitting on the table and proceeded to take the cartons into the kitchen. When I came back outside after fiddling around in the kitchen for a few minutes, the pantzer was up on the table finishing egg number two. She had her blind eye to me and couldn't see me approach. She was totally transformed by the experience. Her feathers were fluttering like the eye lids of an ingenue in a swoon. You could practically see the yolk passing through the blood brain barrier. Her entire face was covered in goo. It looked like the money shot in a poultry porn film. I kind of snuck up on her and in my best distressed chicken voice said, "Bbuu Bbaaahhhhkk?!? She immediately went into hunker down mode, not knowing quite what she had done, but knowing that master was not amused. Its hard to get pissed at this poor little receptacle of human projections whose antics more than make up for small indiscretions. Fortunately for all involved, Smarty Pantz is queen of the free rangers and as such poses no danger to the egg population in the layer enclosures. I shoooed her off the table and suggested she get over it. We've consulted ol' doc Bebockbok the poultry puncturist and his lovely wife nurse Sally to see if there is a rehab facility nearby that isn't too expensive and doesn't have a wait list as long as your arm. Lot of paranoid birds out there after the big salmonella recall. He also suggested putting out a couple of busted eggs with a drop or two of essence of bobcat on the shell. Said that should do the trick. I think I'll just try to be a little more careful in how I approach this and all repetitive tasks and try to be ever more mindful of the spin off. Really nice to get some rain over the past week or ten days. Brings everything to life. The place breathes a collective sigh of relief. Been a lot of progress at the Rancho what with team Mcguire bringing their turbocharged focus to any and all tasks. Nurse Natty has passed into the realm of longest internship ever and makes her gentle and loving presence known in everything she lays her hands on. Given the big picture world wide, we're managing our little microcosm with an enthused amusement and hoping to move, step by step closer to feeling free of the ties that bind us to illusion. Free to do the hard work of fending for ourselves and doing what we can to build bridges to cultural memes that embody that work and embrace the idea that without making the connection to our place in the natural order of things, dark times approach. Can any amount of preparation make those times easier? Probably not, but that"s the beauty of not giving a shit 'cause your too busy eating mango's. If we're goin' down, we're goin' down with full bellies and sticky fingers. You can check us out at the Makawao farmers market on Wednesdays across from Rodeo General Store. Otherwise you will find us languishing in the labyrinth of growing ties that bind us to this creature called Rancho Relaxzo. The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp