"But it's Halloweeeeeeeen!"

That's what I heard a kid say in response to his parents scolding him for scarfing up the candy in his plastic jack o'lantern, as Greg and I were walking back home from watching the kids on the plaza. Every Halloween the stores surrounding Arcata's plaza hand out candy to trick or treaters, and folks without kids go down there to see all the kids (and parents) dressed up. And, you know, to shake hands and say hi to the Mossman.

Greg set up our ofrenda and I carved up a jack o'lantern and set it on our front steps. We had a bowl of candy—not too big, 'cause last year we hardly had any kids and we ended up eating the candy ourselves. We popped in some TV and waited for the doorbell to ring.

Our family ofrenda. For the big Sunday comida with the family both living and dead we added whiskey, boiled cabbage and potatoes, dead bread, water, and a sampling of fruits from the garden.

I don't know what it's like where you live, but here...well. I got compliments on my glasses, my two fine cats, the artwork hanging on the wall over the ofrenda, my jack o'lantern. But, we ran out of candy! True, it wasn't a big bowl, but we had a good turnout and finally had to turn off the porch light. But still the doorbell rang. I didn't want to be rude and not answer, so I'd show whoever was on the doorstep the empty bowl and apologize.

The doorbell rang again, and when I lamented running out of candy and asked the group of teens if I should blow out the candle in the jack o'lantern to let people know we had no more treats, they said no, leave it lit, it looks nice. Then one of the kids reached into her pocket and handed me a lollipop. So we wouldn't be empty-handed, she said.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

Jack says "Arrrgh! You kids stay offa my porch!"

PRU!

Yes indeed, we had a PRU alert today, but my neighbor Donna cornered whichever duck it was that shimmied under the fence and into her yard. Greg then had the boys put up a layer of chicken wire. That should take care of these duck dashes for freedom. It should also cut down on the cat wars that regularly take place along the fence.

And after the Poultry Response Unit mobilization? We had to call out the LLBRU. Yeah, that's right—the little brown bird response unit! For the second day in a row one of the cats caught and killed a songbird. Yesterday it was (perhaps) Vivani, although we'll never know for sure. What we do know is that Greg came home from running errands to find both cats in his office, looking caught in the act. He took the sparrow away from them and put it outside, but later, when he came back from a second set of errands, he found half the bird in the living room. (He then thoughtfully left the pile of feathers on the carpet so I could vicariously enjoy the action after getting home from work.) For the rest of the evening the cats kept looking for the remains of the bird, checking cupboard and drawers, throwing looks Greg's way as if to accuse him of hogging the bird to himself. Irritated enough that this morning Gina provoked one of her bulimic episodes, leaving the pile of hot, wet breakfast right in the middle of Greg's office, and stomping away when I scolded her.

Not happy with him at all, though immensely pleased with themselves.

So today after the duck adventure ("I don't know which one!") Greg was looking out his office window and saw Gina streak across the lawn and nab a goldfinch. As she toyed with it the chickens and ducks came running to see what was up:

They were quite intent on what Gina was doing. Were they waiting for scraps, as Greg thought, or were they taking in another facet of their backyard co-tenant's true nature? They're not telling.

Greg went out and released the bird, but again, later, he looked out the window to see (this time) Vivani sitting on Dan and Donna's lawn, munching the goldfinch.

Sorry, no pictures of that.

After I got home from work I went out back to do a little gardening and maintenance:

Our little flock, waiting for us to feed the compost pile. Yum! Squash seeds, stale bread—and the ever popular used kitty litter. (We use a wheat-based litter that's safe for composting and/or septic systems.) From left to right, that's Benny, Carlin, Marilyn, Pearl, Gamma Ray, and Greta. Or is it Greta and Gamma Ray? I'm never sure. Maybe I should've named them Mary-Kate and Ashley.

Well, hello! As I got ready to do some maintenance on the chateau des poules—change their straw, clean and fill their watering can, scrape the poop off the board under their roost—I saw my neighbor's dogs, Dinah and Hank, in the bailey. Huh. The gate's closed; how the hell did they get in the yard?

After making sure that the poultry weren't freaking out—they weren't. You can even see one of the chickens and both ducks standing between the dogs, checking out the action—I went to see if my neighbors were home. No. I then checked to see how the dogs got in our yard. Aha! One of them broke a board in the fence and pushed up the chicken wire. Probably Hank, but maybe Dinah. She's old, but she's wily. Since my neighbor wasn't home, I fixed the fence as best I could then continued cleaning the chateau while the dogs explored and hung out. Hank vacuumed up all the chicken feed, then Hank and Dinah searched the compost pile for edibles. Later, while Greg and I ate dinner, the dogs came in and Hank hoovered up every last crumb of cat food. Gina wasn't too happy about her empty food dishes, but hey. Not half an hour earlier she'd been complaining that I needed to put down fresh food...can't have it both ways kitty, not with a dog in the house!

Even though the dogs were in the yard, the cats felt comfortable enough to turn their attention to another potential interloper: Big Red. Grrr!

Hank, asking (after the fact) if it's okay if he polishes off all of the chicken feed. Yeah, that's bits of layer pellet stuck to his nose.

Dinner done, the dogs gone home, and out of cat food, we headed out to the store. Greg mentioned Donna saying she could use some more chicken eggs...but lately the chickens haven't laid hardly at all. Or, they are very, very good at hiding them. I'm not sure which, actually, but the upshot is I only had 4 chicken eggs, so I put a couple of duck eggs in as well and we took them over. Donna reached into her wallet to pay us, but I waved her off. Free eggs for the PRU!

WTF

The Employer giveth, and the Employer taketh away.

Greg and I have a running bet: he gets a dollar every time work calls me to come in earlier than my scheduled start time. The pot goes down a dollar when I'm scheduled for a day off and don't get called in.

The pot's quite large.

I got yesterday (Friday) off, all of it, as scheduled. No dollar for Greg. And it was sunny after mid-day!

Now, even though it's Saturday it feels like Monday. Especially now that I got called at 6:11 a.m. to come in as soon as possible.

Duck Eggs

Somebody—probably Carlin—is now laying an egg a day. She started last week, but was still perfecting her technique, squeezing out all sorts of shapes and sizes. Including a SAN-reducing super-egg with a nightmarish interior upon which I won't dwell.

But this week it looks like she's got it down, and every afternoon I've gone out to say hello and retrieve the day's production and there it is, one slightly-brown-tinted medium egg sitting on the straw of the chateau des poules.

For dinner one night we had an egg-off: in one bowl, chicken egg omelette. The other bowl had a duck-egg omelette. In a tortilla and with cheese, could we tell the difference? (My friend Dana says she can tell the difference between the Lakenvelder eggs and those from the Wyandottes.)

I don't know if my palate is that good. The backyard chicken eggs are so very, very...eggy. Take a tomato purchased from your supermarket and put it next to one pulled out of the garden. That backyard tomato packs a wallop of flavor and smells. The tomato from the supermarket has the form of a tomato, but really, not the taste. Not next to the homegrown example. It's the same with the eggs: supermarket egg looks right but has very little taste compared to an eggs squeezed out by someone with a name and personality and a mission to rid your yard of every last pumpkin spider. (Thanks, Greta and Gamma Ray!)

So the omelette in the first bowl tasted very strongly of, uh, eggs. But it was good. We grated some more cheese and prepared tortillas with the omelette in the second bowl. It tasted...different. I suppose people who dislike the taste of lamb or venison might describe the taste as "different" or "strong," and although I like lamb and venison, I now know that I do not like duck eggs, at least in omelette form.

Bummer.

They're probably fine for baking. Probably. Dustin suggested making zhong, which I like, so maybe, maybe...

Anyway, that's the story with the duck eggs.

"Put up or shut up"

What to do about Prop. 2, from The Thin Green Line in the SF Chronicle:

With opposition to Props 7 and 10 virtually universal among greens and progressives, let's talk about Prop 2, the measure that would outlaw caging animals in spaces too small to allow them to stretch their limbs and move around. In theory, it applies to all farm animals, but in practice, it will affect almost exclusively poultry producers in the state.

It's chief sponsor is the Humane Society, and has enough grassroots support not to be a pay-to-play ballot measure brought to voters through the financial might of a business, out-of-state individual, or special interest group.

Factory farming can be an ugly, ugly thing, there's no question about it. PETA's videos on feedlots and pig farms are difficult even to watch. The only sane question to ask is whether Prop 2 is too broad, and might end up outlawing some humane practices as well.

Well worth the read, especially the comments.

A little about Cap

This caught my eye the other day while reading the Eureka Times-Standard:

Kenneth L. Smith, known as "Cap", made his final roll call on the morning of August 12, 2008. He passed away on Fickle Hill surrounded by his sons Roy and Dan and daughter in law Paula...

When asked why he had chosen the Marines, Cap replied "Because I didn't want to be drafted into the Army." His superior's response was "WRONG ANSWER." ...

His regiment was given the assignment of capturing Mount Suribachi which was essential to securing the airfields on the island. He was wounded in battle on the fourth day of the invasion, the same day that his fellow Marines raised the flag on top of Mount Suribachi. ...

His combat experience was probably the defining moment of his life. Upon returning home, he told his mother and sister that while on the hospital shop he made a vow to never worry again. He kept this vow for the rest of his life. He once told his oldest son that everyday he lived after being evacuated from Iwo Jima was a bonus. ...

Cap, always one to enjoy "hoisting a few," directed that any money left over after his cremation be spent on "the winos down at Jimmy Dunn's."

For nearly eighty-four years, Cap lived life pretty much on his own terms. He had a good life. He will be deeply missed by his family.

Forget leaving a beautiful corpse! I want a kick-ass obituary. But now, on this holiday Monday, please join me in hoisting one in memory of all the cool old folks in our life. Cheers!

Dork!

Debate's Tonight!

PRU, stat!

Hustling around in the mailmobile near the end of my day, I got a call on my cellphone:

"Hi, Suzanne, the dentist across the street called to say the ducks are out of their yard..."

Apparently the dentist (across the street) also called two of my neighbors to try and round up the ducks, and Mr. Hauser said his wife also gave it a go. Mara (my neighbor and at work when she got the call), called her husband and my son-in-law, who both converged on my house to try and round up Benny and Carlin.

I thought briefly about deviating and getting them back in the yard myself, but decided against it, seeeing that three people were on it already.

They got the ducks in, we blocked up the hole under the fence (sorry, cats!), and when I apologized for the ruckus, everyone laughed and said, No worries, it was fun. And Brian found a secret Lakenvelder nest, and Dinah ate all the cat food. And we got a chirping parcel today marked "Life Crickets"—written on the label and printed on the box. Nice.

That is my animal report for the day.



PRU: Poultry Recovery Unit. Or Poultry Roundup Unit. I'm not sure which I prefer.