The Rabbits' New Digs

I have finally started moving the rabbits into their new colony setting. I started with these two does, Sunfire and Solstice. Solstice is in front, Sunfire, doing her impression of rug, is in the back. I have had Sunfire since I started rabbits. She has just a great temperament and loves to talk to me in little contented grunts. I figure she'll have one more litter then she'll just live in the colony enjoying her well earned retirement. Solstice is her daughter. She's just like her mom in temperament and raising litters.

Both rabbits are having a great time in their new setting. They can hop up on the shelf and stretch waaaay up any time they want.They certainly do enjoy socializing with each other. They clean each others faces and share treats willingly and cuddle up together for naps. It's funny because when I mentioned to a few experienced rabbit breeders that I was hoping to raise my rabbits in a colony, I was told that they would fight and probably kill each other because they were so territorial. I found with gentle and slow introductions, there has been no problems so far. Perhaps it's because they have so much more room it's easier to share the space.

I've been raising meat rabbits now for a couple of years and I have to say, I'm enjoying it much more than I expected to. My rabbits are so mellow and laid back. There's nothing like doing mundane rabbit chores to the background noises of contented munching and hay being rustled into place for that perfect bunny daybed. Their contentment just surrounds me. It is amazing how their peacefulness permeates the very space they are in and somehow I absorb it and make it my own. Working with the rabbits is one of my favorite chores.

Originally my rabbits were in big roomy cages and had a little play area where they got out to run around. But I really liked the idea of colony raising rabbits. It sounded like it would be the best situation for having happy rabbits. After a great deal of research, I decided on an indoor colony instead of an outdoor colony. Outdoor colonies, while more "natural", came with a lot more problems from what I could tell. Rabbits were much more at risk from not only predators but from diseases. So I opted for the indoor colony setting where they'd be safer and it would be a lot easier to monitor everyone's health.

When we built the chicken coop, we partitioned off two areas, 5 ft X 8 ft. The walls separating the rabbits from the chickens are about 2 feet high and the rest of the wall is chicken wire. That way, ventilation is not impeded and the rabbits are not exposed to chicken droppings. I'm hoping to add shelves and runs to give them even more square footage. Each area will have two does, may-be three, and one buck.

Of course, there has been unexpected bonuses like the perk of low solid walls, they have made for some unexpected amusement on my part. It's kind of funny to walk into the coop and find a group of chickens gathered by the wall looking into the rabbit colony. With their necks stretched out to the fullest and cocking their heads at weirdest angles, they look like demented bobble-heads. The chickens are obviously fascinated by the rabbits and something as mundane as Solstice washing her ears is cause for great chicken interest and amazement. On the other hand, when a hen lays an egg and start clucking, the rabbits run to the wall, stretch way up and peer into the coop looking to see what all the fuss is about. I'm glad they can see each other, if nothing else it keeps everyone from being bored.

Memories of a Winter Storm

We got our first winter blast this week. Cold, windy, snowy and a pain to drive in. (Gotta get those winter tires on). Anyhow, it reminded me of our first winter storm here. We had been in PEI less than a month and still living in town while when the snowstorm hit. It has gone down in local history as "White Juan", referring to the Hurricane that had hit in the summer before we moved here.Here's the account I wrote to my parents (Colin & Eileen).

A couple of days before the storm hit, we had been told about it on the news. My whole attitude was, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Rather blasé, I admit; but having heard these reports before in BC about windstorms and nothing come of them, I’m prone to be skeptical. In spite of my non-believing stance, Wednesday night we did go out and do a grocery shopping and the laundry, just “in case”. P and T, barely 11, were pretty excited about the prospect of a big snowstorm. I told them not to get their hopes up.

At midnight, I went out for a walk with Dusk (one of the advantages of owning a BIG dog most people mistake for a pit bull, you can pretty much go where you want, when you want). The night was clear and mild. So many stars in the most interesting patterns decorated the sky. The waning moon was the barest of smiles. “Hah!” I thought, “Blizzard my left foot.” (edited for language).

By the next morning, I sort of change my mind. The wind is high and the snow's coming down sideways. “Well, it’s not that bad, I’ve seen worse.” Think I, proving once again that no matter how delusional my thoughts may be, I really stick to my guns. At 9:00, I take Dusk out for a walk. He is overjoyed. He pretty much figures this was all done for him and has a grand time. He loves to stick his face in the snow and then toss his head back, making the snow fly. When he lifts his head up, his face is completely white with two large black eye holes and two small black nose holes. He looks like the world’s stupidest KKK member (well, except for the nose holes I guess, but you have to admit, there is no such thing as a smart klucker). It's very windy and I notice when Dusk jumps into the air, he tends to stay up there longer than he should. I this point, I decide to head back in, knowing there’s a big difference between walking the dog and flying the dog. Besides, it was getting hard to see with all that blowing snow.

Inside, the kids all warm and toasty of course, are totally impressed by the magnificence of this storm. They look out the window, “oohing” and “aahhing”. “Oh, look, there goes our compost and garbage cans. They’re empty now.” “Look, there’s a mountain forming in our backyard, WOW!” Kids…so full of wonder and too young to shovel snow.

By 10:00, the only thing I can see is the tree in the front yard, it’s about 15 feet from the door. The wind is making the inside walls creak. At noon, I step outside and ask Dusk if he’d like to come. Dusk goes to the door and throws me a look that says, “Yeah right, you stupid human, keep dreaming, you’re good at that.” I try to encourage him and discover that dogs can go quite fast in reverse. I had never seen a dog run backwards before. The wind outside sounds like a subway station when a train is approaching. I was out for less than five minutes and I was caked in snow and pretty much frozen solid. Taking off my coat inside, I discover the wind blew a couple of buckets of snow up my shirt, well that accounts my frozen state. The kids have lost their amazement with the storm. They’re rather upset with me because they have home school while everyone else in the province doesn’t have to go to school.

Noon, I finally decide the weatherman is right and we have ourselves a bonafide winter blizzard on our hands. I start watching the weather station and find out Nova Scotia has declared a state of emergency – the wimps. From what I see, it’s a lot worse in PEI than NS; they look positively Hawaiian compared to us. The wind has us convinced there is someone walking upstairs in the house. Don goes to the washroom and notices the water in the toilet bowl has ripples. Remember that scene in the first Jurassic Park movie when the T-Rex approaches and the water in the drinking glass ripples? That’s just about what’s happening in my toilet. I can no longer see the tree in my front yard. But I did see a little of my neighbour’s garage siding flit by like a deranged bird with no navigational skills. P looks out the window, figuring pretty soon he will see polar bears…

3:00, the subway train has moved inside, it sounds like it’s upstairs. The cable and Internet are gone. I am so thankful we have power. 3:10 the power goes off. Oh well. I decide to take a nap – it’ll be better when I wake up. Note: Please refer to the above remark about my delusional tendencies.

By 5:00, the candles are lit and the sleeping bags pulled out. No one is wearing less than four layers of clothing. We discuss the options for supper, peanut butter sandwiches or peanut butter with BANANA sandwiches. Or may-be we’ll shoot ourselves a polar bear and have raw bear meat. T brightly suggests we go to a restaurant (well, at least she gets her delusional quirks honestly). We hear on the battery radio that the Confederation Bridge is closed and a state of emergency has been declared for PEI. “Well,” I think, “it’s about time!” (Notice the complete absence of bravado and smirkyness, making way for a smidgeon of commonsense). Now the subway train is going around in circles upstairs with increasing speed, I’m pretty sure it’ll be heading downstairs in no time at all. The kids are NOT sleeping upstairs and the dog WON’T go outside to pee. Yup, pretty much a state of emergency as far as I’m concerned. Can’t see outside, period. The windows are caked with snow.

At 8:00, we start getting ready for bed. We’ve been listening to the news and since we already know how horrible it is, it’s not really “news” to us. They say don’t expect power until late morning or early afternoon when the storm passes – well, DUH. Before going to bed, I decide to take Dusk outside. I haul him outside (and I do mean haul) and immediately get slammed against the railing by the wind. The dog panics and takes off. I start yelling for him. The end of the 15-foot leash tightens and suddenly goes limp. My heart stops. What if he broke the leash? How am I going to find him? Clinging to the railing, casting my flashlight over the night white, I yell his name. I decide to let go of the railing and search for my stup…uh…beloved pet then there he is! My beautiful brindle dog is completely white all over, snow inside his ears, up his nose and possibly … well, you get the picture. I start screaming, “Dusk, go PEE, go PEE, Dusk! He looks at me stupidly, “You’re kidding, right? It’ll probably freeze before it hits the ground.” I re- iterate, “Go PEE!! For the love of GOD, GO PEE YOU DUMB MUTT!” Finally, he takes the stance and proceeds to have the longest whiz ever recorded in dog history. This one is going to make the Guinness World Book of Records. My frantic cries of “Go PEE!” change to “OK, done? OK, you’re done, let’s go. Come on, let’s go, you can’t possibly still be peeing! OK, done?” Finally he’s done and I try to get up the stairs. No dice, I can’t get footing and the wind is blowing the wrong way. I get the dog in front of me and he pulls me in. Dusk is totally ticked at me, won’t talk to me, won’t look at me and has decided NEVER to go pee again. P and T snuggle down with me in bed. Don won’t sleep with two small, wiggling, kicking children and decides to sleep in the living room with the dog. Some guys get all the breaks. Just as we are all settled in, the power comes back on! I don’t know how, but the power company managed to hire a bunch of angels. We pretty much figure it will go out again but it doesn’t. As we sleep, the wind rattles and blows, not only talking the talk but walking the walk. Snow taps evil Morse code against the windows.

Next morning, we can see outside, kind of wish we couldn’t. Surprisingly, the stairs and front walk are free of snow; the road right in front of us is bare black top. Unfortunately, the bare road is book ended by two walls of snow. Yes, I know they are called drifts but when they’re over 8 feet, they’re walls. The front yard is covered in garbage and compost. Countless white plastic bags decorate the trees in the backyard. SIGH. The drift in the back yard reaches over the edge of our neighbour’s roof. The wind is still high and the blizzard warning is still in effect.

We all go outside. The kids think it is wonderful. The dog thinks it’s wonderful. He even goes pee in the fresh snow. The drifts are so hard packed that P and T scale them without sinking. Whee!! Down drifts they go, happy and carefree. Kids, old enough to slide on their butts and still too young to shovel snow. Don and I, snow shovels in hand, are anything but “carefree”. The drive way looks insurmountable.

But it’s over and we have about 24 hours before the storm from Ontario hits us. That should be enough time to teach the kids how to shovel and the dog how to use the toilet!

Originally written by Marnie, Feb.20, 2004

The Almost Season

I see Fall as two seasons. The first is Autumn, glorious, colour drenched Autumn. Crisp mornings bring gauzy mists that surround bare trees, seemingly tucking them in for Winter. Their bare grey branches soften against mist's blur. Then in the afternoon, achingly brilliant red, yellow and orange leaves perk up the dull brown of the ground. The air takes on that clear, clean smell that clears the mind and rosys the cheeks. That's the Autumn I have always known and it's just magnificent here on the island.

Come mid-November, the season that is never mentioned on calenders arrives. I call it the Almost Season. I only discovered this season since I moved here. As with the other season markers, Spring's robin or Summer's mosquitoes, the almost season is definitely here when almost every sentence I say contains the word 'almost'. I'm almost done the gardens, they're all clear, I just have to put the compost on. I'm almost done the pumpkins, they're all picked, I just have to bake a few more. I'm almost done the wood gathering; well, no - that's a big fat lie, as you can see by the top picture. Dead branches pile up year long and for every box I or the kids fill, three box loads of branches fall. Wood gather will never be done completely but I don't have a Never Completed Season so it becomes part of the Almost Season. It gives me some hope, anyway that may be some day it will at least stop growing.

The Fall Almost Season is a delight in itself without the color and fanfare. It's delightful because because it just doesn't matter if those last few things don't get done. I can always put the compost on next spring. The last pumpkins can go to the chickens who will enjoy them still warm from the oven on a winter's morning. It'll warm them from the cockles of their hearts to the combs on their little heads. The wood gathering, ah it's always there no matter what season. The pile is so enjoyed by birds, chipmunks and squirrels it would be a shame to get rid of it completely. So it's almost acceptable as is. And that's what this season is all about, what can be done and what can wait and why it all works out in the end ... or in the Spring, whichever the case may be.

Guinea Fowls

In addition to the little guinea in the brooder downstairs. I now have three more. I was told they were very interesting and great bug eaters and would be such an asset in the garden. What I wasn't told was Guineas are walking contradictions. If you look at their heads, they strongly resemble buzzards, very ugly right down to their ugly ruffled necks. If you just look at their bodies, they're quite pretty with light dots sprinkled liberally through the base colors. You can see some of the white dots on the middle bird. The light bird's colour is lavender, the two others are blues, which while not all that accurate, does sound better than light ugly and dark ugly.

Guineas have the prettiest voices, all soft whistles. They talk to each other constantly, sounding like the worlds smallest woodwinds. That is, of course, until they "sound the alarm" as Guinea aficionados quaintly call it. That's what they do if the see a predator or something they just don't like, like long grass blowing the wrong way. The first time I heard them sound off, I thought something big and heavy must have fallen on them. What a racket, imagine a duck with a sore throat and turn up the volume to ear-bleed level.

While they can fly and fly high, like 25 feet up into the trees high, they prefer to stay on the ground. They will only fly if threatened. On the ground, guineas are very fast, in fact when they scoot, you can't even see their feet. I think they curl the feet up and make little roller skates out of them.

Since they are originally from Africa, I have decided to call them after my favorite African American actor. Their names are James, Earl and Jones. James is the light one, Earl and Jones are pretty much interchangeable right now. If they turn out to be girls, I'll call them Jamie, Pearl and Janes. I have no idea if they are male or female. Apparently you can tell by listening to them; males have a one-note call, females have a two-note call. I can't tell the difference it's all Greek to me.

After a week long transitional phase, they seemed to have settled in quite nicely. That first week was quite the experience but that's another story.