The Bunny Bunch

I'm really liking how the indoor colony for my rabbits is working out. And the buns seem pretty happy with it, too. Here's Solstice's bunch, they're just about four weeks old in this picture. They are, all six of them, lounging on top of their nest box. They are at that awkward age, wanting to be independent but not wanting to be too far away from the safety of the nest. So they sit on top of their home, all big and independent in the world until a strange noise sends them diving inside the box.

A real perk of the colony is I'm able to give them much bigger nest boxes that have a bit more resemblance to a burrow. The doe will often collect hay and wood chips and build a bank up to the opening of the nest box, something that was impossible in a cage. Now the the nest boxes can have much higher sides, little kits don't fall out before they are ready to cope with the great big world. And the nice mound that Mama Rabbit makes up to the nest box makes it much easier for wee ones to manage to get back in.

I have also found it to be much less time consuming as far as cleaning goes. Rabbits are by nature, tidy and neat animals, leaving their droppings in corners. So I have put cat litter pans in the corners. It's a simple matter to dump into the worm bins, rinse the pans and pop them back in.

The mature does get along well together. I think there may-be some shared nursing going on but all the kits are roley-poley, alert and happy. I'm hoping to be able to expand on the colonies as time and experience permits. One thing I'd really like to do is have openings from the colony to enclosed areas outside so the rabbits could go out in the warmer weather. It's still in the planning stages and there's a few kinks to work out.

March

I know we're more than halfway through April, but I'm going to talk about March.

You got to feel sorry for March, everybody hates it. March brings occasional warm spells and things soften up and melt. On the island, that means mud. Squishy, splashy, jump-up-and-cling-to-your-clothes mud. And it's red, and it stains and you can't wash it out. But like the blood it so resembles, mud means life, but we'll just ignore that because it's so messy. Everyone complains about the mud, it looks ugly, what a mess, tracks everywhere and so on and so forth. On top of the red mud, there are the snowbanks hulking by the roadsides, leftovers from storms past. The snowbanks have lost their pristine white and have taken on the grey pallor of death. On muddy country roads they begin to form black edges that spider-crawl over the bank's skin, making deep inroads into that once impenetrable crust. As the grey and black snowbanks melt, the red mud leaks out beneath them.

Then March, probably fed up with all the human whining, freezes up and coats everything with a nice layer of new, so-glittering-it-hurts-your-eyes snow. Everyone complains about the snow. It's cold again, it's icy again, and so forth and so on. Poor March, it's either warm and ugly or cold and pretty and nobody appreciates either.

But the days are longer, the suns' smiles are a little bit brighter, the wind's lost its teeth and doesn't bite anymore (I'm not saying it's not nippy, it's just not painful). Things that I thought would never thaw out again, actually do; the river, the ground, my sense of humour...

So welcome, March, uncover the yellow, dead grass and the good, black squares of my garden so April can revive and green them up. You may not be loved but you're needed.

Pretty Mocha

Mocha was the very first hatchling every on the DaM Farm. She is a cross between a Buff Orpington and and Partridge Chantecler. When she was first born, she was yellow with brown markings and we got to calling her Skid Mark. She's turned into quite the beauty. She is a lighter brown than the Chanteclers but not yellow like the Orpingtons. She does have some brown/black markings vaguely like the Chanteclers, though.

I'm hoping she's a she. It's hard to tell with crosses. If she is a she, she'll become the matriarch of the DaM Farm flock. A nice thing about the crosses is that it seems they have the rosebud combs. Rosebud combs do not typically get frostbitten. Tobias, our Buff Orpington Roo, did get frostbite on two or three points of his comb this winter. The comb turned black and then the black parts fell off. It didn't seem to bother him a bit. But if it could be avoided I'd like that.

I'm anxious to see how the mixes eggs turn out. I'm hoping they will be about the same size as Buff Orpington eggs which are HUGE. Mixes also tend to be very mellow and laid back. Mocha, in particular does not seem to get ruffled easily. She's an observer, she watches the antics of the others with curiosity but stays detached. And she isn't the least bit bossy. Now if she just stays a she, I'll be happy.

Ice Storm

Last Thursday the weather got very mild and it began to rain. Throughout the day, the temperature dropped and the rain turned into ice pellets. The wet trees collected the ice pellets on their branches and made them their own. We had ourselves an ice storm.

Funny how changing the order of words can alter the mood completely. "Pretty dangerous" sounds cautionary. It's a warning to proceed carefully but you can proceed; you can go forward slowly, gingerly and with great care. "Dangerously pretty" sounds more ominous. Something to stay away from, don't proceed, stay very, very still and wait till it passes. Being careful doesn't minimize the danger. So you just have to sit back and hope nothing horrid happens. Freezing rain is dangerously pretty.


The branches look as if they have had the most delicate of work done by most talented of crystal makers. The trees show off the this art form to perfection. As the sun catches the icy veneer, the tree glistens fearfully. Because that thin, fragile ice can cause great damage. A skimming of ice that would crack easily underfoot on the ground turns deadly on a tree. It can weigh down a branch so much that it will break off from the tree. First I hear a groan as the branch gives way then there is a crash and the tinkling sound of the ice shattering along with the branch, if not the whole tree. It's amazing to me how much damage a thin layer of ice not even a quarter of an inch thick can cause. Ice laden branches can block a road, crush a roof and tear down electrical wires with half the effort it takes a summer storm to do the same thing.

Thankfully, this storm did not cause too much damage. We lost power for a few hours but all our trees and building withstood the weight of the ice. Walking is not much fun and we do stay out from under the trees but most of the danger has passed and now we can begin to appreciate the beauty without the dread.

Wistful Whisk

Hidden amoung the green is a certain creature with a longing for warmer times. This is Whisk, formally known as The-Throw-Away-Kitten-Who-Nobody-Loved-Let-Alone-Concerned-Themselves-About. You can see why we changed her name.

The large floor potted plant in front of one of our bedroom windows is a favorite haunt of Whisk's in the winter. As she looks out the window at the white, blustery winter, I think she finds solace in the green, growing plants.

Whisk is the first semi-outdoor cat I have ever had. All my cats were strictly indoor kitties. Unfortunately, Whisk, likely coming from barn or feral cat parents, will not be confined indoors. In the winter, however, it's a different story. She hates the season with a determination only cats seem to possess, all claws, spittle and teeth. I'll open the door and she'll peek outside, throw me a dirty look and walk haughtily away. Not only does she take the weather as a personal insult, she also seems to thinks it's all my fault.

But life with Princess Pissy Pot of the Universe does have its rewards. She's an excellent mouser but she leaves the young bunnies and chicks alone. And sometimes, when she feels like slumming or the weather has really gotten her down, she curls up beside me in bed, all purry and furry and warm on a winter's night. My favorite furnace has four legs, a tail and purr.

Our First Hatchings

Once upon a time I had a broody hen so I stuck a few eggs under her to see what would happen. Twenty-one chicks later... Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I ended up with three broody hens and the result are these little chicks of varying ages. The last eight are in the cardboard box so they won't get trampled by the bigger chicks. Once they out-grow the box, I'm thinking I'll section a bit of the brooder off for them until they are old enough to mingle with the bigger chicks.

The practicality of chicken management hit home with this experience. Don't let hens go broody in the winter. It's too cold for the chicks to survive. Breaking a hen's broodiness is fairly easy. Stick her in a pet carrier with food and water for a day and she'll promptly forget all about her maternal yearnings in a bout of self-righteous indignation of being enclosed. I've done twice since the chicks and it works like a charm. And if I am going to brood chicks, I'll time it so all the chicks hatch at the same time and use an incubator. Because taking away dear, fragile, newly hatched baby chicks from their moms makes me feel like an axe murderer. And a baby snatcher. And a store-the-bodies-in-the-freezer-eating-liver low-life. The chicks' shrill and distressed peeping permeate the house and the hens wander around the coop clucking non-stop, desperately looking for their babies. Both the chicks and hens get over the experience in a day but I'm apologizing to them for weeks. So I figure if my chickens sit on eggs, it's only fair they raise the results of their efforts. Unless a hen goes broody when it's warm enough, I'm going to break her broodiness.

I also discovered a bit more about the secret life of chickens. I never knew that chicks peeped while still in the shell. It is a wondrous thing to hear life before life itself is born. A hen will 'talk' to the eggs once she hears the peeping. She uses a unique and special voice, low and quiet, encouraging and comforting the little chicks out of their shells. I can sit there and listen to a gentle mama hen and wonder over the how she can express such caring in one quiet note. Some things transcend species and intellect.

A Touch of Green

This year, I decided to try something new for my rabbits. I'm growing oats, barley and sunflowers in pots for them. I figure I'll cut them down when they are about 6 inches high. I might let the sunflower shoots grow longer.

I try to feed the rabbits as much variety as I can. They get timothy hay and pellets but I like to give them fresh food in the summer and I do dry a lot of herbs and other things for them to give throughout the winter.

So today, I gave them some oat shoots. At first, the little ones stayed well away but as soon as the older rabbits went over and started eating, the kits came bouncing in to check out the new menu. They were pretty funny, they'd grab a shoot and run away with it to eat it. Two grabbed the same shoot and started eating it from either end. Pretty much the rabbit version of the Disney move, "Lady and the Tramp". The rabbits wasted no time in devouring the tender green delicacy. By the time I picked up the camera to take a picture, this was all that was left.

Feeding the rabbits oat shoots caused a hurriedly called chicken meeting. They watched the rabbits and there was a great deal of clucking conversation that sounded grumbling and discounted if not downright jealous. So I decided to throw the leftover shoots to them. To my surprise, they jumped on the oats. May-be they thought the shoots were skinny green worms. By the time I reached for the camera, all I saw were chicken butts as the hens snatched up the treat. The only exception was Tobias, my roo, who looked over the antics and decided he'd rather look regal that show his backside. Besides, he grabbed the choicest pieces before the hens ever had a chance.

So my animals are certainly enjoying the little bit of green in the winter time. And I have to say, so am I. It's nice to have pots of green in sunny windows, they may not the usual houseplants but in the long run, they tend to be a lot more entertaining.