M is for Murder

As I water the garden with my brand new multi-option jet sprayer, I realize the dog is jumping at the chicken fence more than usual. "No! Bailey, no!" ... back to watering. But she just won't quit! Again, I scold her from afar like a parent in the grocery store who yells just for show and turns back to scanning the chip aisle as their kid rips open a cereal box. Bailey usually comes when called and definitely stops whatever she's doing when she's told no. Unfortunately, I have recently taken a position at a corporate entity which is effectively extinguishing my acumen. Hindsight being 20/20...this was the moment the female intuition should have kicked in.

As I round corner of the raised-bed tomato jungle, I see the perp. An over-sized rat tail is attached to something that hides behind a wide sunflower leaf. Quickly switching the hose setting to "jet" mode, I give a 5-lb possum a direct and thorough shower. But it's standing with its paws laterally clinging to the fence and its body tilts at a 45 degree angle as it is pummeled with the steady gush of water. When I let up with the spray, it gently sways upright again and freezes for a moment, looking like it is trying to figure out if what just happened will happen again.

I know that one can't take Old Yeller behind the garage in St. Louis City but what about pests or wildlife? Hunting permit needed? I switch on the garage light and go in for a closer look. Dripping wet with a mosquito taking advantage of separated fur exposing fresh skin on its nose...the scene is so pathetic that I immediately feel guilty for trying to work up the courage to shoot it... Damn You.




The damage has been done in the coop (and I still didn't know the extent) but I have to get rid of this thing so tomorrow it won't return for a full-blown homicidal spree. It no longer has murder in its eyes but it definitely looks crazed and lost. I wonder if possums can take abilify. They probably have the dexterity to open a safety-seal. Anyway, this thing has gotta go.

Bailey is instructed to sit at a distance that keeps the thing frozen and I retrieve a box from the garage which is obviously too small for the job but it's all I've got. As I knock it loose from the fence with a pitchfork and attempt to scoop the thing into the cardboard transportation device, it starts to bite the rungs and climb up the handle! A shriek, arm flailing and swift but purposeful move later, the culprit is now in a box closed with the "left, bottom, right, top and tuck" method... and no air holes. This thing has claws and teeth that have evolved for trash-scavanging and chicken-killing so a box is definitely not going to contain it well... ah yes! A log should do the trick. So the person who had a C in high school physics puts a big heavy log on top of a rather flimsy box top but it works for the time being.

I call Jerome outside and he helps me scoop one rigor-mortised hen into a Jay's Internatonal Food produce carton. I was actually thankful for the calcium-ion induced stiffness because it made it pretty easy to roll the thing out. I let Jerome in on the plan: he drives a few miles away as I hold the box (already wearing leather work gloves) and I'll dump it a safe distance away so it can rummage in peace through someone elses yard. The log drops through the box top now shaped like a funnel, not only almost squishing the traumatized mammal but breaking the cardboard so there is no longer a lid to the cube. Quickly coming to terms with the fact that I may very well have to aid in putting this animal out of its misery (and it's my fault), I remove the log to see a shocked but intact little possum.

I wonder if anyone saw me walking 10 blocks in 100 degrees wearing my long-sleeved, long-pants scrubs, lightly shaking a cardboard box (after trial and error, this kept it scared enough to not move and come to bite my hand off but didn't seem to have long-lasting ill effects). To a bystander, I'm sure I'm now the one looking like some abilify wouldn't hurt. After an arm-exhausting walk, I released the literally and figuratively shaken little creature, making sure it was a relatively nice house with an unkept yard so it would feel at home despite the relocation.

And then there were three...

Phew!

So apparently blogging is for those lucky individuals who have between scant and moderate amounts of free time to dedicate communicating with an unknown public. That has not been me for the past oh...six months? Speaking poorly of my social life but positively delightful towards the prospect of backyard chickening for newcomers, I still have had time to collect eggs, feed, water and occasionally clean. Moving a few months ago was a breeze thanks to the back garage at Jay's International Food Market, two of their plastic produce containers were taped to each other, creating an open cube which was the perfect size for chicken transportation. They love giving them away - go get some for your farming and gardening needs! Just walk into the back and ask for them, receiving a smile and a small attempt at cross-cultural communication. I can't even understand accents from England, though so I'm not a good gauge.

The new garden on Juniata is in full swing. Now weighing the food produced and the number of eggs documented, the urban farm is fruitful...well...veggieful. The grapes, apricots, figs and raspberries are coming soon. The oh-so-wonderful boyfriend Jerome has repurposed some cedar fencing and built a smaller, much cuter fence to contain the chickens with freshly clipped wings, avoiding turning the yard into an airport once again.

Growing our own food has made me more conscious of where the waste goes and I have noticed that the kale, parsley stems, etc. are hard for the chickens to simply peck and swallow. With maybe 5 extra minutes a day, I have been putting the extra compost into a food processor and cooing with delight as the chickens devour the greens like they've been starved for days.

Small P.S.: Trying to pry myself away from the cereal aisle, I've discovered a tasty, raw, enzyme-filled alternative to Joes-Os:

Soak buckwheat groats for 6 hours, changing the water at 3h. Sprout for 1-2 days. Dehydrate until crispy.