Christmas Bunny

I think I overdosed my husband on animals early in our marriage.  It wasn't intentional; some things just happen.  It was really Chris who started the whole thing, anyway.  He once had a blue and white parakeet and he suggested that perhaps we could get another one.  Pitou joined our household early on and started off a long line of pets that would include:  another parakeet, dogs, rabbits, hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs, rats, cats, ducks, geese, goats, and a donkey.

It's not surprising that Chris eventually put his foot down and set some limits on our pets.  "No more dogs and no cats," he informs me on a regular basis, just in case I come across a puppy or kitten that is irresistible.  He hasn't mentioned other animals.  This leave room for some creative pet possibilities.

Georgia, the lovely young woman who works with a local rescue organization, knows she can't call us to foster dogs or cats.  I let her know we'd be willing to help out with other animals, if she ever, possibly, once in a great while, needed that.  To my dismay, we were immediately offered the opportunity to foster a couple of llamas.  We have a nice big yard, but it's not that big, so I put the word out to everyone I knew who had land and experience with animals, including the entire list of Alpaca breeders in the state. I trust someone gave them a home.

A couple of weeks later, I agreed to take the three roosters that the municipal animal shelter was anxious to have taken off their hands.  Before we could take them, however, a rooster rescue group had sprung them from their prison, offering them a life free from the possibility of ever ending up as rooster noodle soup.  I immediately pictured little old ladies taking their pet roosters for walks and hand feeding them bits of cookies.

It was quiet on the animal front for a long time.  Then, two days ago, Georgia contacted me again.  This time, there was a rabbit and a couple of hamsters that needed homes.  Fortunately, Chris and just finished reading the book, Enslaved by Ducks, by Bob Tarte.  Chris agreed that we could adopt the rabbit and I suspect that he was grateful I wasn't suggesting adding a parrot or a turkey to our family.

We already have two rabbits, Bunnicula and Carrot, and they are 9 and 10 years old.  Another one  wouldn't be much trouble.  We'll foster the hamsters until we find a home for them, which I'm sure , will be very, very soon; not more than a day or two.

The rabbit's name is Inky, which poses a problem as we have a niece, Ingrid, who goes by that nickname, and our son's cat is Enkidu, or Enky for short.  We're not up for the energy it takes to deal with all that confusion, so we'll change her name to Binky.  Binky is an honorable name.  We borrow it from the Terry Pratchett "Discworld" novels.  I always loved the character of Death in these books. Death is much less foreboding when pictured as the tall, skeletal being with a permanent grin, a love for cats, and a horse named Binky.

The hamsters' names are Pip and Squeak, by the way.  If anyone in interested, call right away.  Now.  If you call before Christmas, I'll throw in our old (but in perfect condition) hamster racetrack and race car.  What a deal!

The Boss

While we go through ups and downs with our kids and my parents, it's comforting to have the daily routine of taking care of the chickens, ducks, geese, and rabbits, and preparing the garden for winter.  There's always something happening and it's always interesting.  Sometimes it's entertaining, too.

Today I heard loud squawking and looked out the window just in time to see our miniature rooster, Napoleon, pick a fight with our giant goose, Augustus.  Napoleon loves to assert his authority.  Whenever we go outside, he insists on accompanying us, just to make sure we won't do anything to threaten his hens.  Maybe he wants to make sure we know who's boss.  He will perch on the fence right next to us then proceed to crow loudly, two or three times, just in case we didn't know he was there.  He's not the loudest rooster we've had, but when he is less than three feet away and on the fence, which is ear level to me, it's startling, to say the least.

If he's on the ground without a high perch close by, he will inevitably go into attack mode.  He goes for our shoes with a vengeance.  Most of the time, we experience this as "something just bumped into my leg", and instinct kicks in, literally.  I'm afraid that Napoleon has gone on several short trips flying backwards after my leg shot out, unintentionally, at his first attack.  Never one to give up after the first go, Napoleon comes right back for more.

He reminds me of the chicken hawk in the old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons.

He got more than he bargained for today when he picked a fight with Augustus.  With wings flapping, he jumped at the goose, over and over, with claws out.  Augustus simply bent down and picked up Napoleon by the feathers on his back and stood there, holding him, while our little rooster protested and kept on trying to get at the goose with his claws, wings, and beak.  Haven't I seen something like that in a cartoon?

I didn't let it go on.  Augustus is incredibly strong and might have hurt or even killed Napoleon, without meaning to.  I ran outside in my bedroom slippers.  This sight alone must have startled Augustus into dropping the rooster.  Whatever it was, the goose was content with letting go.

Napoleon, however... that was another story.  He puffed himself up, mortally offended that I had come to his rescue.  He looked at me as if to say, "I was doing fine.  I almost had him there.  Why'd'ya have to ruin it?"

I suggested to Napoleon that he might be a bit more grateful.  I had just saved his life, after all.

He pretended to ignore that comment and glared at me sideways...

until I turned to go back in.  That's when he attacked my slippers.

We know who's boss.

When is Dementia not Dementia?

Modern medicine is amazing.  I know that first hand.  As much as I respect and prefer natural and homeopathic remedies, and a holistic approach to medicine, I also know that modern medicine can be nothing short of miraculous.  I take a miracle drug called Sinemet.  When I take it regularly, I can walk, talk, breathe, and move, in a relatively normal manner.  If I am without it for a full day, all of those tasks are more difficult for me.  In fact, walking is not possible.

I also know that modern medications can cause as many complications as they cure.  That is why we look to the doctors to tell us what medicines to take.  They are the experts, or should be, anyway.  Sometimes they get it pretty mucked up.

For the last year, we have been helping my parents cope with my mom's diagnosis of vascular dementia.  She has had major ups and downs, times when she didn't realize what city she was in and thought my dad was her older brother, George.  Sometimes she packed her paper bags and purse and demanded to go home, even though she was already at home.  This sounds like typical dementia.

I wasn't totally convinced but I trusted the doctors' judgment.  They've had experience with many patients with dementia; they ought to know.  What confused me was that Mom could remember many details about conversations that she'd had over the previous week.  She could remember what was coming up in my schedule and remind me about it.  She might not know what town she was in or what year it was, but she knew that I was going to the eye doctor the next day.  This does not sound like typical dementia.

An attempt to convince our parents to go to geriatric specialists didn't go over well.  They had gone to their doctors for years and that was that.  At last, things progressed beyond what we could handle without support and we were able to sign both our parents up for Total Longterm Care, a managed Medicare/Medicaid program. 

This has truly been a blessing.  Their new doctor, Dr. Pham, is a geriatric specialist and the first thing she did was to meet with a pharmacist and go over all of the medications that my mom had been taking.  They made a number of changes.  I had the opportunity a couple of weeks later to talk with a psychiatric nurse practitioner, who confirmed the importance of the changes that were being made.  The previous combination of medicines were, according to this nurse, a "recipe for delirium". 

This means that we don't know whether Mom really has dementia or whether her confusion issues were solely due to the medications that had been prescribed to her over the last years.  Mom has been clear and not confused at all over the last couple of weeks. 

Our new challenge is the withdrawal symptoms she is experiencing after going off certain drugs.  She is extremely anxious, nervous, shaky, and at times, she goes through deep depression.  She is still on medication to treat these symptoms; however, until some of the old drugs clear out of her system, there will be some withdrawals.  She understands what is happening and, though she sometimes says it would be easier to be confused, she is determined to get through this challenge.  At least, she was more determined last night than she has been so far.  It continues to be a day to day battle.

We've all learned a lot.  Doctors are good but not infallible.  It's important to ask questions and to seek another opinion, especially when you are taking a lot of medications.  At 81, going through drug withdrawals is hell.  I keep telling her that this will be worth the effort.  She might just buy some time to actually enjoy life for awhile. 

That would be an incredible gift.

What's in a name?

Chris and I went for a walk today.  We enjoy walking through one small park that is planted all in native grasses, then meandering through the lovely area that is by the Wheat Ridge Senior Recreation Center.  We are lucky to have this place so close to us.  We don't make use of it much now, but we probably will as we get older.  They have lots of activities, classes, and trips for those of us who are over fifty years old.  I suspect, however, that most of their participants are somewhat older than fifty.
Something has changed since we last walked by.  They've changed their name from "Senior Center" to "Active Adult Center".  Huh?  Is "Senior" not an appropriate term anymore?  Maybe the city thinks they'll get more fifty-somethings coming to the center now that they've changed the name?  Or maybe they think the current participants will feel younger if they are now known as "Active Adults"?  It certainly doesn't make me feel younger, just tireder.  It brings back the memory of getting up early, getting children ready for school, working all day, driving kids to after school activities, coming home, cooking dinner, going to a school meeting, coming back to dirty dishes and that last load of dirty laundry, then going to bed to start it all again in a few hours.  That's an active adult.  Chris was hoping for an "Inactive Adult Center", with plenty of recliners, free beer, and a large screen TV.
I thought that "senior citizen" was already the politically correct term for "old person".  Just for the sake of research, I looked up the synonyms for "senior citizen" and found no mention of "active adult".  There are a few other synonyms that might work.  We could have the ""Antiquated Adults Center" or the "Venerable Time-worn Adults Center".  I'm not so sure about "Moth Eaten Old Fogey Center".  That might offend a few people.  Compared to these names, "Senior Center" doesn't sound so bad!

It was comforting to know that there was a senior recreation center around the corner where I'd be able to go and be social with other creaky old timers some day.  I hope the city remembers that the people who most make use of this center are the matriarchs, patriarchs, golden-agers, doyens and doyennes, elders, and old folks - not fifty-somethings.  I'm not sure I'd look forward to going to an "Active Adult Center"; an active SENIOR adult center, maybe.  At least that changes the picture for me a little.

I know!  Let's call it the "Center for Older People who have Time to Do Things They Want to Do".
The new "Invesco Field" is still known and called "Mile High Stadium" by nearly everyone in Denver.  I suspect that the new name of our center will not be used much.  Fortunately, whatever it's official name, it will undoubtedly remain our Wheat Ridge Senior Recreation Center.  At least it will to me.

Battle of the sexes

When we got our chicks, we made sure we were buying females.  We wanted hens for their eggs and that was that.  Of course, when we arrived at the farm and I saw the ducklings... so cute... well, we just had to bring a couple of them home.  It's not so easy to tell the sex of a week old duckling but we took our chances.  The young gal who chose the ducklings for us was experienced enough with birds that she could make an educated guess.  

I had already decided that we needed to have geese again, too, though we had to wait another week or two before the goslings were hatched and ready to sell.  Our same young gal chose the goslings for us, again hoping for two females.  Our backyard flock was complete.

Then I saw the ad on Craig's List for a banty hen and rooster.  They were almost giving them away and, well, they were right on my way home.  Why not stop and take a look?  Banty hens are marvelous setting hens.  We could certainly use a good setter if we wanted to hatch some eggs next spring.  We used to have a banty rooster named Bertie.  He was really gentle and let Patrick (age 7) pick him up and carry him around the yard.  A banty rooster should be no trouble.

Fast forward six months.  We got lucky and, other than Napoleon, all our chickens are hens.  We are getting between 8 and 12 eggs per day.  The ducks and geese ended up being pairs.  We have one male and one female of each.  This will be great if we want ducklings or goslings next spring, but what do the males contribute the rest of the time?

Most of the time, they are a pain in the neck.  Our male goose, Augustus, started nipping our ankles when we walked through the yard, especially if someone unfamiliar came into the yard with us.  At first, I would chase him down and hold him upside down by his feet for a moment, and scold him.  I was determined that we were not going to have a biting goose.  Now he's too heavy to hold upside down, so I put him by himself in our garden.  He's in time-out for a bit.  

Napoleon has gone on attack now, too, jumping and pecking at our feet as we walk by.  He's so small that he seldom can do any real harm, unless we're wearing sandals, but he's in danger of being accidentally punted across the yard, just by startling us with his sudden desire to do battle with one of our shoes.  That doesn't slow him down at all.  He comes back, just like the little chicken hawk in the cartoons, and attacks again.  

Augustus would be in danger of becoming Christmas dinner, if he didn't have a name.  How could we possibly eat something we've named?  One of my friends suggested we rename him "Dinner".  Napoleon is not in danger of being eaten, at least not by us.  He wouldn't make more than an hors d'oeuvre.  

Now, we're stuck with two really annoying male birds (the male duck is okay) that I insisted we have.  What good are they?  

I had considered the options of giving them away or keeping them penned up all the time.  They were of no real use to us, anyway.  Then one day, I saw something interesting out back.  The geese had suddenly started running back and forth across the yard, flapping their wings and making all sorts of loud noises.  I looked for the chickens and they were all heading into the chicken pen!  Napoleon was standing on top of the ladder, inside the pen, making a noise which we hadn't heard from him before.  I think he was calling the hens back in.

It was then that I realized we hadn't had any foxes or other predators in our yard at all, ever since we've had the birds outside.  After seeing this scene repeated numerous times, I had to conclude that the geese had seen a predator and had chased it off while Napoleon made sure the hens were safe.  That's a big accomplishment for a goose and a miniature rooster!  I silently apologized to our goose and rooster for considering eating them.  They have a job to do, protecting all the female birds and they're taking it seriously.  Augustus will still go into time out if he bites me, but I'll be more understanding.  

They're just watching out for the girls.

News from the yellow brick road and a few farm adventures

I'm almost finished with the plum chutney.  The recipe said it made 8 pints.. my first batch made 10 pints.  I'm running out of jars and I can't find my handy dandy little tool with the magnet on it, so I'm fishing lids out of boiling water with a fork and burnt fingertips. 
Aaahhhh!  The end of a lovely and long day.
Mom now has a ride down the yellow brick road.  It's a big bus with Total Longterm Care written on the side.  The bus driver helps her on and takes her into a center where she will see her doctors, eat lunch, have physical therapy adapt her walker so it doesn't slip, take part in activities, and then her driver will find her and take her back home.  For the moment, she is going once a week.  Soon, we hope to increase those days. 
Dad got a welcome break today.  He rested and then went to the store.  Mostly, he was able to spend a few hours NOT worrying about Mom. 
Total Longterm Care is a PACE program (Programs for All-inclusive Care for the Elderly) in Colorado and I am sold on it already.  Even throughout the process of applying, they provided invaluable support for me.  I am grateful, especially, to Janice Morrow-Siebenaler, for so much, including numerous long phone conversations. Now that Mom is enrolled in the program, she also has an aide who comes out twice a week to give her a bath.  Maggie came out yesterday for the first time.  Mom LOVED her bath and thoroughly enjoyed being spoiled by her aide. 
Now, I can spend a bit of time not worrying about Mom.
The rest of the chutney should be done before long.  I have 4 quart jars, 2 pint jars, and 1 half-pint jar.  Hopefully that will be enough.
We got ten eggs today from our hens.  The hen house desperately needs to be cleaned and the yard needs to be raked.  I didn't get to it today because we spent the afternoon watching our grandson.  Teo discovered just how entertaining his Grandfather's beard can be.  Chris was so patient as Teo repeatedly tugged on his beard.  They will have a special relationship. Tomorrow we'll watch Teo, too.  I guess I won't clean the chicken house tomorrow, either.

Now...back to the chutney.....  

Plum Chutney Recipe

The best plum chutney:

12 cups sliced plums (I used Italian prune plums from our tree)
1/2 - 1 finely chopped green pepper (I prefer the larger amt)
1 1/2 cups raisins
4 cups sugar
3/4 cup grated ginger - I freeze my ginger root so I can take it out and grate it easily when needed
3 cups vinegar
1/2 tsp salt
3 or 4 cinnamon sticks
1/2 tsp whole cloves
1/2 tsp whole allspice

Combine all ingredients except spices.  Tie up the cloves, allspice, and cinnamon in a double layer of cheesecloth or just put the cinnamon sticks in the pot and put the cloves and allspice in a tea ball.  Tie a string on the tea ball and let it into the mixture.  Tie end of string on the handle of the pot.  Bring it all to a boil, stirring frequently, unless you want to spend lots of time scrubbing the pot later.  Turn heat down and simmer for about 2 hours. 
Prepare clean jars and clean tops!  
Remove cinnamon, cloves, and allspice.  Fill the jars.  Cool and store.

Cleaning the jars - I put the jars in the dishwasher.  The lids, I put in a large stainless steel pot and pour boiling water on top.  Cover the lids completely with water and bring to a boil.  Simmer till time to use them.  I got a nifty little gadget with a magnet on top to lift the lids out of the boiling water. 

This should make at least 8 pints of chutney.