Maybe its the sneezy cold I have, or the low temperatures outside, but I look outside and only see messes and desolation. This is unusual for me. Usually I’m happy to greet each new day, enjoying how my activities change with the seasons here on the farm. I don’t mind winter too much, usually, because I like to read, and cook and the cold weather gives me an excuse to run the oven all day, making bread and cooking squash for the freezer, using up the last of the storage apples and so on. But today that doesn’t appeal to me. I’m in a bad mood.
This morning, early, the pigs went to the butcher, and yesterday we finished preparing the last of the meat chickens for the freezer. Butchering is my least favorite part of eating what we grow, but now that winter is settling in, cold and gloomy, (and did I mention cold?) it will be nice to have less animals to feed each morning and evening. Carrying the 12 gallons of water that the pigs drank twice each day was a chore, especially when the temperatures dipped down close to zero.
Now I only have to carry five gallons of water once a day, which is much more doable. Two gallons for the chickens to drink, and three gallons to fill the big black bowl that is the little winter ‘pond’ for the ducks. Unless the day is very, very cold, the water doesn’t freeze solid until after dark, so the evening chores are simple, with no heavy water buckets.
Each morning as soon as the sun rises, the ducks call for me to bring their water. They like to wash their faces, and get their beaks full of food. Then they dip their beaks in the water to moisten the food, dribbling food to the bottom of the dish. Later they’ll take turns washing up in the water, playing and preening.
But the chicken yard is messy. Each morning I have to dump out the frozen water in the black rubber dishes. I turn them over and jump on them and stomp on them to get the frozen water pucks out. There are pucks for each day its been below freezing, and since this cold spell has been a couple weeks long, there are ice pucks everywhere. I should have been more organized about where I dumped them, because now walking is hazardous with all those frozen bumps.
In the next couple of days our temperatures are supposed to get above freezing, and maybe rain, so the ice pucks and snow will melt, and everything will get slick and muddy— so even more messy. I have a bale of straw to spread in the walking paths, but the clay and muck will still goosh up and get all over my boots. Usually that wouldn’t bug me, but just thinking about it annoys me today.
I pour the feed in the feed bowl for the ducks and chickens and notice all the poop. In the summer, the ducks and chickens range all over the large chicken yard so it doesn’t build up in one spot, except for in the chicken house, but in the winter, the chickens resent that I make them walk through the snow to get to their food and water, so they stay close, and once they’ve eaten, head back to the chicken house to complain about the weather and wind.
The old park bench that they perch on and under looks charming to me in the summertime. I like how they perch on the back and the seat, and some underneath, so sociably. But in my bad mood today I just see how old the bench is, and I wish I had painted it last fall.
I also don’t like the way the ducks’ hut looks today. It is an old truck topper, and when I found it on a curb with “FREE” written on it I was so happy to have something for the ducks to stay in for the winter, so we didn’t have to build anything. It has windows that open and close, and plenty of room for straw bales to line it to keep out the drafts. During the day I prop up the front window and the ducks and chickens hang out in there on blustery days, peeking out the windows. I shut the window at night, and the ducks are safe from most predators.
On nice days the ducks sit against the outside, and the chickens jump on top of it to get the sun. This mood of mine must be terrible, because I don’t see how thrifty and useful it is, just that it might look trashy to the neighbors. I think I’ll paint it green in the spring, so that it is less noticeable when the grass grows up around it.
I go around to the rabbit cage. This is probably the source of my bad mood. Maurice, my boy rabbit, died yesterday.
Maurice and Poofy, a brown female rabbit, had a history of breaking out of their cages to be together, so last spring we moved them in together. I didn’t want baby rabbits any more, but we had attempted mating Poofy several times in the last couple of years, and none took. She and Maurice were both four years old -late middle age in rabbit years- so it seemed like a good bet that they wouldn’t have babies. But a week ago, I saw a little rabbit head pop up in the nesting box while I was feeding the rabbits. According to most rabbit pages online, the father rabbit is dangerous to the babies, so I moved Maurice into the cage next to the Poofy and the babies. I even asked on a couple of bunny forums, but everyone agreed that it would be best to keep him out of the family cage. There would be wire between them, but he could still be right there. They could even touch noses through the chicken wire.
He looked miserable, and hunkered down right against the side, and Poofy spent a lot of time against her side of the wire netting too. I gave him extra treats and petting, but it didn’t help. He had been out of the cage for three days, when, during yesterday’s morning chores, I found him. He was still against the wire fencing, but he was stiff and cold.
I can’t shake the guilt. I should have gone with my gut, and let him stay with Poofy. I feel completely responsible for his death. Its ridiculous. I started this diary saying that I had sent the pigs to the butcher and had butchered the meat chickens myself. I have even eaten rabbits that I’ve raised for meat. I feel a touch of sadness that some animals must die so that I can eat meat, but it is a quickly passing pang. But I can’t shake off the feeling that I did Maurice and Poofy wrong. Its foolish, and I know I’m being foolish, but its the way it feels.
During my morning chores today, I saw a baby rabbit peek its head out of the hole in the wall of the rabbit cage. There are four or five babies in there, but I haven’t tried them to count them yet. I don’t want to upset Poofy, the mother rabbit. I pet her, and give her a treat, but I can’t help but think that she looks sad.
Inside, I take solace in hot tea, and, perhaps as penance, start rereading Watership Down.