I am enjoying the two hens I have left. Each of them lays an egg about 5 days out of a week; the hens are pretty well synchronized, both laying about the same time of day. That time-of-day will gradually get later each day, then they'll skip a day, then lay an egg in the early morning after they've had their day off. When we have leftovers that remain longer than leftovers should, the chickens get anything we don't want, at least as much of it as they can eat. You'd be surprised at how many table scraps two chickens can put away: moldy bread, leftover sweet corn, almost any sweet dessert. The raw apple cake I made was just too much for me and Cliff to handle, and the grandson is still losing weight and only eating every other day. There were three smallish pieces left. Cliff said, "Are you sure this is moldy?" "No," I answered, "but considering the nature and color of that cake, it would be difficult to see mold until it turned hairy."
That seemed to diminish his appetite for cake.
I remind myself that these hens could easily get killed just like their sister did, and I hope/wish/pray it won't happen again while telling myself not to be too angry or sad if it does. I don't turn them out now until after 4:30, and with the days getting shorter, that only gives them two hours or less before it turns so dark that they go to to the chicken house for the night. When I let them out of their house in the evening, they immediately begin eating grass; I often see them running after bugs, too. I'm getting over a dozen eggs a week from Corona and Spook. If I didn't bake so much, that would probably be enough for us, but I love to bake.
I have been wanting a goat lately, one I can milk. Cliff has had so much trouble from goats in the past, he has always said "No more goats!" We've had them eating fruit trees and killing them, climbing on top of cars, getting stuck in fences with their horns on one side and their head on the other. They're mischievous and curious, but they are also very loving. I have lately been telling people, "If Cliff dies before I do, I'm getting a goat." I say it mostly for the shock value, and perhaps to joke around with Cliff, but I truly would like a milk goat. Yesterday he announced I could have a goat, although I never actually asked him for one. I could hardly believe my ears!
So he wondered today if I have checked out goats for sale online. I did a brief search yesterday, but I don't want one now. Goats kid in the late winter or early spring. I actually want to wait until early 2021 to look for one in earnest, and I want to start with a baby, which means I wouldn't be milking my goat for another year after that. At my age, that's allowing a lot of time pass. By the time she could have babies, I might not be able to walk, let alone milk a goat! But the thing is, baby goats are so cute and affectionate, and even if I only had one for a pet, I don't think she'd be much trouble. We have some adequate fences that would keep her where she's supposed to be, and if worse comes to worse, it's possible to use four livestock panels as a goat pen. I'll have fun thinking about this project, whether it comes to fruition or not.
Gabe is at the groomer's. I keep forgetting he isn't in the house with me: I was cooking dinner, slopped something onto the floor, and called for him before I remembered he wasn't here for cleanup duty.
It's sunny, cool, and lovely. Jacket weather, for sure. A day goes by so fast any more, it almost makes me dizzy. I always thought it would be boring to be old, but I haven't been bored in years! Somebody needs to slow this little black train down.