Why spray it on when you can roll in it

Number One Son ready to go somewhere.  Anywhere.  The trip in the car to a sandy beach or a garbage tip.  Equally exciting with untold smells.  He's always been a good passenger and whilst a whining Neil Young on the radio might put some of us off, not him.  He's come from a life of cafe culture and prestigious puppy schools to a farm yard with strange birds and woolly dogs that won't obey commands.  He must wonder how he went from a regular appointment at the local groomers having him blow dried and smelling of scent to now sporting a solid layer of dried up chook pooh and smelling of something dead.  The pooch pamperer has been replaced with a bucket of warm water and a rinse under the hose followed by a quick dash to get in front of a roaring wood heater.  Those city dogs have it too easy.  Now where did I see that dead thing.

Who votes for the outdoor decking and a patio?

Not wanting to break up a chicken conference I did stop by to wonder what the topic was.  We don't know much about chickens.  They hold all the knowledge and we don't ask questions.  We didn't even know what sex they were until it was too late.  We were warned about having too many roosters.  We probably do have too many.  But they've worked it out.  Each one has a job to do.  Some manage this better than others but they all get along.  Now spring has arrived and we've got a whole bunch more.  And more on the way after those.  New pens will need to be erected with sufficient perching and nesting requirements.  A dark room for laying, warm areas for the winter months, a library, an indoor/outdoor kitchen and home entertainment room - or not.
Being of the pekin variety they are not too disruptive to gardens and whilst they will redistribute your bark chip coverings liberally they won't really dig up much.  They did wonders on ending the grasshopper plague that destroyed my kale.  But then they ate the kale.  This year I'll be netting a little earlier.  So with a booming chicken community we'll be abundant with small fresh creamy golden eggs.  Just better get the home reno people in soon.

It takes a community to raise a potato

The Humble Spud poked it's head up as part of our first serious planting of, well anything really.  It took a community effort from much valued knowledge and man power from our neighbourhood but black soil was found under a carpet of some of the toughest weeds known to man.
We're on weed alert now and are putting a task force together to combat the problem - over a glass of something at the kitchen bench.  I'm new in the spud game and being new to this island have only just become acquainted with the vast array of potato varieties available.  Having been subjected to only supermarket interpretations which can only be described as spud looking variety either washed or not, to hear people having passionate discussions over their preferred variety is remarkable.  At a market stall last Sunday a fellow shopper piped in across my conversation with the farmer about which potato was the best for baking. It was the voice of experience you could tell, probably having tried and tested so many.  She had strong feelings about her side of spud variety as the best and fairest and by far the better bakers.  And now our own trusty pink eye and kennebecs have risen to the challenge of some novice farmers with much help from our chief farm cat who stuck her paw in almost every hole, our trusty number one son Cocker Spaniel who stood guard should any brazen rabbit get too close, our farmyard chickens on a rotated grub removal roster and the neighbourhood observers who looked on over the fence, snorted - then went back to grazing.  Happy days.

Whiskas rare varieties

What could an indoor cat and and outdoor farm cat have so much to talk about.  Maxwell the indoor ragdoll who will remain the indoor cat having had one too many beatings by the local pigeon hood in his last home would only find a farm bewildering and be assaulted by the nearest wattle bird for just asking questions.  Minnie on the other hand as the outdoor farm cat holds rank as chief mouser and lethal lizard killer (well skinks actually) will spend only so long at the door listening to tales of soft beds and Laura Ashley blankets before hunting prevails. Max is fussy on food Minnie eats it if it moves or you move.  Max is sick of every variety of cat food on the market with our only options now being endangered species in a tin.  Minnie eats Max's leftovers.  They've stitched up a deal and it's a win win. So this conversation could be along the lines of "no beef and liver was yesterday, I promise it will be salmon today..."

A big day at the hairdressers for the four black faced Suffolk's. I'd suggested a light trim with some short layering on top but it fell on deaf shears.  We were very grateful for the much experienced hand that gave our girls a much needed do for the summer.  And whilst we can all uncover many things at the hairdressers, it turns out that one of our girls is actually a boy and got mixed up in the girl bunch when selected.  Lucky we established pet status in the early days or our newly found Shaun the Sheep might have ended up  - well just ended up really. Now...I wonder if Myer have a scouring and spinning department?

It's a boy. Or a girl.

After weeks and weeks of our having a chicken in a wine box leaving us unsure if we were hatching a batch of fluffy chicks or a decent bottle of bordeaux, then finally 8 arrived all at once.  To our little farm.  Then another lot and now there's two more chickens out of rotation and in the maternity ward.  Cages bought and borrowed to keep possessive mothers apart and straw strewn to ensure little feet don't get cold.  Phew.  Visitors hours over for another day.  Mums and bubs doing well.