Two things have happened lately that have made me realize that we’re not real farmers. (Other than the whole not growing tons of stuff to sell for our livelihood.)
Thing One: Gimpy Chicken
Andy was moving the chicken tractors last weekend, and I was watching to make sure he didn’t squish any chickens. White-spotty Jap got very close to the edge of the cage, so I hollered to Andy to stop and he did. I didn’t think she got her foot caught, but she sort of flopped on her side and wiggled her foot in the air. Andy said that white-spotty Jap had about a week ago gotten wedged in behind the perch and maybe she hurt herself then. She seemed mostly okay. The next day when we drove by on our way home from work, white-spotty Jap looked dead. We hopped out of the truck and I was sure we had another dead chicken. She was on her back with her feet straight up in the air. Andy went over and poked at her and she squawked, but she didn’t roll over. We decided we should kill her. A real farmer would probably have just snapped her neck then and there, but not us. Andy went up to the workshop and got a bucket and a rag and some turpentine (or paint thinner or something of that ilk), and headed back down to “put the chicken to sleep.” I went inside and hid. He came back pretty quickly and said he couldn’t do it. White-spotty Jap was up on her feet wobbling around and he couldn’t kill her. She’s made it through the week — though Andy has gone out a few times to flip her over when she seems to get stuck on her back.
Thing Two: Baby Bunnies
We worked on the garden today. Even though I know it’s probably a bad, bad time to do so, I dug up a bunch of the asparagus patch because it was sloppy and annoyed me. While I was digging, I saw what looked like dryer lint and was wondering how it got there. I scooped up a shovel full of dirt / dead plant stuff and pitched it and heard “WEEEP WEEEP WEEP WEEEEP!!!!!” I shrieked and looked down and saw a pile of baby bunnies. Oh no. Andy came over and we scooped the bunnies and their nesting material up and dug a new hole and put them in and put the nesting on and put some rocks around it so we wouldn’t step on it. Hopefully when night comes, mommy bunny will find her moved babies and feed them. Hopefully no one else finds them. Real farmers would probably have smashed them with a shovel.
Who could blame you for having a heart? I don’t know how I would do it either. Unless you’re raised to have a totally different outlook on animals, it’s just really sad to kill a living thing, even if “you should.”
Although, I can see you curse those bunnies once they get older and your veggie garden REALLY begins to grow…
Exactly! Those bunnies are the gardener’s/farmer’s enemy! I should do a little dance of joy around their grave or something. Isn’t one of the reasons farmers have dogs to eat evil bunnies?
Shhh…I better be quiet or Hop, Wibble, and Carla will hear me and attack!
I asked Hop last night if she would adopt the babies if their mommy didn’t come back. She just stared at me and wiggled her nose.
Wow, baby bunnies. So adorable. How’s the chicked holding up, now?
I grew up on one of those so called ‘non-working’ farms (i.e. not much money made off of it). When my grandfather had control over things, it was a bit different than when my parents took over.
He had four different garden spots (well, you know, it was a big family (my Mom had 11 siblings)), various animals. By the time I came along, things had whittled down to the 4 gardens, the beagles my grandfather raised and sold, my two ponies, various cats, dogs and bunnies that were pets (and that one injured hawk), and a hog. The only horrible experience I can recall was when we slaughtered the hog. I can still remember slopping him, mixing up stuff in a big ol’ witch’s cauldron! But, I also remember turning the hand grinder to make sausage. *sniff* There was also that time my cousin went frog gigging, skinned the frog and pulled on it’s leg muscles/tendons and make it dance around…. *shudder* My grandfather had fried frog legs for dinner that night and tried to make me eat them! Gah!
Once my parents took over, after my grandfather decided that one garden plot was enough for him, my parents decided to keep only two garden plots and turn the rest to pasture. For goats. Now, my grandfather kept on and on about how good that goat meat would taste, but my mother never let anyone kill one. So, we ended up with goats for pets, basically. Heh. We didn’t even milk them for milk or cheese (other than when a nanny wouldn’t take a kid to tit and we had to milk her to feed the baby by bottle). All they were were smelly lawn mowers and fence line cleaners, really. 😛
Anyways, my point in this ramble is, I think, you all aren’t horrible farmers or anything. My Mom was raised on a farm, where they got their food from the farm. They had chickens and pigs and mules (they didn’t eat the mules, though), and and and, she finally decided that she couldn’t do the same thing. But, I still consider my parents farmers, in addition to their other jobs. They raise animals and they have a garden and a big barn and a tractor and a couple huge fields, etc. Though, the property tax laws have changed recently, and a farm isn’t considered a farm, in TN at least, unless you make so much money off of it. 😛
Erm, does that make any sense, or am I just rambling and telling a bad pointless story? Heh. I’ll blame the headache. 😛
Gimpy Chicken seems to be doing okay. Still gimpy but eating and drinking and moving around just fine. Maybe we can make her a little wheelchair.
Wow. You are a real farmer! Only a real farmer would say someting like, “…when a nanny wouldn’t take a kid to tit…”
We need to get a lamb kit ready to have on hand in case or sheeps need help with their babies.
You were rambling, but it was a good, pointful story!
More stories!
hrm, I should have been more genteel and said ‘teat.’ 😛