It Ain’t Easy Being Dinner. Couldn’t’ve said it better myself.
Fred processed ten chickens (mostly roosters) Saturday. It took two and a half hours, but he shouldn’t have to do it again anytime soon – we get at least two meals from each chicken, sometimes more. He decided about mid-week that it was time to cull some of the roosters from the flock (you can only have so many roosters to so many hens – otherwise the girls walk around with bare spots on their backs, and the roosters fight each other all the time), and was dreading it so much that he woke at 2:30 Saturday morning and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He wanted to get it done and over with, but first we had to go to the dump, and then we had to wait for a woman who was buying eggs (she was coming with her grandchildren to see the pigs and chickens, and Fred didn’t think it was a great idea for some little kids to get THAT face-to-face with the farm life), and then he had a phone conversation with his sister, who wanted to come out and see the pigs (she and her husband are purchasing half of one of the pigs) and chickens, and when she found out Fred was processing chickens asked if she could buy a couple of them. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of selling our chickens to other people – like he says, if we get salmonella from them, that’s one thing; if he makes someone else sick, it’s an entirely other thing – but in the end she talked him into selling her a couple.
So, the woman showed up with her grandkids and got her instructions on how to hatch eggs, and then Fred started processing chickens, and I expected that his sister and her daughter would show up at any time, but he actually got the chickens processed and we put them in bags and got them into the refrigerator before they showed up. Fred showed them the big chicken coop and the chickens and pigs, and then I took them up to see the kittens, who were very well-behaved (well, except for Phinneas, who was startled by my sister-in-law when she bent down to pick him up, and he hissed. Nothing less terrifying than a fluffy hissing kitten, is there?)
When they left, since neither of us had eaten since breakfast, we went into town and got Chinese food for late lunch/ early dinner.
In and amongst the waiting and the processing, I made some white Amish bread solely because we were originally planning on having hamburgers for dinner Saturday night, and I wanted to try using some of the dough to make hamburger buns. The hamburger buns came out really well, but the loaf of bread I made with the other half of the dough didn’t actually get baked long enough, and when I went to cut up the loaf Sunday morning, I realized that. When I took it out of the oven, I suspected it might not be done, but I ignored that instinct, damnit.
Ah well – the pigs will enjoy it!
I also made a batch of dog treats using pureed vegetables, and cooked the chicken livers Fred had saved for me, so that I could make another batch of treats for the dogs on Sunday.
(The smell of boiling chicken livers: gag me.)
Sunday, I didn’t have to get groceries (I’m doing that later today), so I slept in ’til 6:15 (I KNOW! Slacker!), then puttered around the house, hung out with the kittens, and then went into the kitchen to begin some more baking. A few weeks ago a local reader (hi Jean!) sent me the link to this article about and recipe for whoopie pies. I was skeptical whether they’d be the same as my favorite whoopie pies – the outside cookie/ cake part is no problem, but I have yet to find a recipe where the inside filling is right.
So I made the whoopie pies, and while the filling was tasty, the filling wasn’t right, and so the pigs got themselves quite a treat. Ah well – like I said to Jean, finding the right recipe for the filling will give me something to strive for.
Then I made a batch of liver treats for the dogs, and if boiling chicken livers = gag me, then baking chicken liver treats = gag me x 2. Especially later in the afternoon when I forgot there were treats in there cooling (once they’re done cooking, I leave them in the oven and turn it off so they’ll harden and cool) and turned the oven on to preheat it. I am not loving the smell of the liver treats, but the dogs seem to like them quite a bit. I’m sure they were getting bored with the peanut butter treats I’ve been giving them.
The rest of Sunday was pretty relaxing, I got to spend plenty of time with the kittens, and any day that includes a nap with a pile of purring kittens atop you is a good day, indeed.
Today, I’ll be making a run to Sam’s, swinging by the grocery store, and later I’ll be starting to clean the house. My parents are going to be here Thursday afternoon, and so it’s a good time to get some Spring cleaning done, although the damn weather has turned cold again and it feels more like Winter than Spring.
Friday night, when we sat down to watch TV, Fred asked what I wanted to watch.
“We still have that movie from Netflix,” I reminded him.
“Oh,” he said, clearly not into the idea of watching Seven Pounds.
“Well, I’d like to give it ten minutes; if we don’t like it, we can watch something else.”
We started watching it, and about ten minutes in, he grumpily said “This movie is too confusing!”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’ll make sense eventually, ’cause they always gear movies toward the lowest common denominator.”
He laughed. “They do?”
“Will Smith movie, mainstream? Not one of those confusing artsy-fartsy we-don’t-have-to-make-sense-we’re-making-ART movies? They do. And we’re not the lowest common denominator. There’s someone out there watching this movie who’s dumber than we are, I guarantee it.”
During the scene about half an hour or so into the movie with Will Smith and Barry Pepper in the hotel room, I knew how the movie would end. Because I can’t keep knowledge like that to myself, I told Fred what was going to happen.
He looked at me appreciatively. “I bet you’re right! I never would have guessed that!” He laughed. “You might not be the lowest common denominator, but apparently I am!”
As it turned out, I was right about the ending. It wasn’t a bad movie, all in all – I’ve certainly seen worse.
I did the weekly weigh-in with the kittens last night. Phinneas continues to be the heaviest, at 1 pound 12 ounces, and Beulah gained a whopping 1.5 ounces this week and weighs in at 11 ounces.
Everyone else is right around 1 and a half pounds.
At the current rate, I imagine that everyone but Beulah will hit two pounds (and thus be ready for spaying and neutering) in three weeks or so. And that Beulah won’t hit two pounds until she’s six months old!
My sister-in-law and niece stopped by yesterday to see the pigs and chickens, and of course I had to take them up to admire the kittens. All the kittens were like “Yay! People to give us love!”, although Phinneas was startled by my sister-in-law, and actually hissed at her when she picked him up.
(Which, I think, kind of charmed her!)
I love this kitten. LOVE HER.
More kitten pics over at L&H.
Yesterday around mid-day, Fred said “Where does Upstairs Mama hang out during the day?” and I said “The top of the bookcase in the front room, or outside. Why?” He shrugged and said “I just wanted to see her.” He couldn’t find her, so we figured she’d found herself a hidey-hole. This is the cat, after all, who went up the chimney in the front room last summer and hung out.
Yesterday evening I realized I hadn’t seen her all day, and by 5:00 she’s usually hanging out in the kitchen giving me the hopeful “Is it Snackin! Time! yet?” eyes.
“When was the last time you saw Kara?” I asked Fred. I was worried that, despite her electric fence collar, she’d managed to get out of the back yard.
He gasped. “You don’t think she’s in my room, do you?!”, and he raced up the stairs. Opened the door. Said “Hey, Mama!”, and when I reached the bottom of the stairs, she came racing past me.
That poor thing had spent over 12 hours in Fred’s room without food or water and without access to a litter box, and didn’t make a single sound. She also didn’t pee in his room anywhere.
“That means she’s one of the good ones!” Fred informed me.
Indeed.
This picture makes me laugh and laugh.
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: Now, I’m sure I’d rather be skinny and bald than fat and hairified, but what I’d MUCH prefer to be is skinny and hairified, thanks.
2005: I think that a more accurate description would be “covered the annoyance of itching by making your skin feel as though you’re being set on fire.”
2004: Meme.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Fred’s such a bastard.