Chinese New Year

In our last episode, we had Bella in a kennel to give her vitamins twice a day for her crookneck/stargazing. Later that afternoon, I went out to give the girls their Sunday carrot peels and noticed that poor Gracie’s head had been pecked bloody. Nadia and Gracie are the only survivors from the previous flock, and they have not integrated well with the new girls. Their crazy head feathers are an attractive nuisance, inciting the peck response. Open wounds are not something you can ignore. Chickens are not bright. To be fair, they probably don’t have enough intellect to be mean. Still, their instincts drive them to peck in general and to peck at red/blood in particular. If we left Gracie in the run, it was more than a little possible that she could be pecked to death.

I set up the rabbit hutch in the greenhouse next to Bella’s kennel. Hilda went in the coop while I chased Gracie in and shut the door. She grabbed her, and we took her to the greenhouse. Upon closer inspection, I was relieved to see that much of the blood was coming from the feather shafts. Her skin looked pretty good. I rubbed her head with antibiotic ointment, and into the hutch she went. With the cat, that brought the number of animals in cages to three. If I had to deal with one more animal in a cage it seemed likely that I would lose my mind.

Poor little bald Gracie after a week in isolation

If you look carefully, you can see the shafts of the new feathers growing in. They are bluish and about 1/2" long.

We had ups and downs with Bella. Here is a video from yesterday morning. It begins with her having a good moment followed by a reversion to stargazing.

But lo and behold, this morning she looked good. Even after we took her out (and she is getting her feistiness back) for her pill, she didn’t relapse. Previously, the stress of being handled would set her off.

Bella back to normal after 8 days

Gracie’s feathers grew back with amazing rapidity. We put her back in the run yesterday, but put both her and Nadia in protective custody overnight. Hens will stop laying with less than 12 hours of light. Thus, we have a light in the coop that goes on at 3:00 in the morning. We don’t let them out until after sunrise at 7:00. My hypothesis is that Nadia and Gracie get pecked when the light is on in the coop but they cannot run away to the outside. Perhaps when the days are longer, we can leave them to roost with the rest of the flock.

Gracie and Nadia in protective custody

We celebrated the Chinese New Year early on Thursday. Every time we’ve gone to the Green Garden in Woodstock, we have promised ourselves that we would come back some day for the Peking duck. The menu said it was a whole duck, which seemed like a lot for two people to take on. Not surprisingly, Hilda was interested in trying it. She’s always up for something new. Dad was not, but didn’t mind coming along for cashew chicken.

Thinking that cooking a whole duck would take some time, Hilda called for reservations on Monday and asked if we needed to order the duck ahead. The wonderful thing about Green Garden is that it is a family business run by genuine Chinese immigrants. The downside is that communication is sometimes dicey. Hilda thought the woman said, “Order when you get here.”

I told Hilda to take heart. I have ordered Green Garden take-out several times, and they have never gotten it wrong, which suggests that they can hear English better than they speak it. Secretly, I hoped that they would not be defrosting Peking duck in the microwave when we arrived.

Indeed, when we were seated and working on our spring rolls, the waitress told us that the Peking duck had already been started. We would not have to wait 40 minutes like it said in the menu. Dad got his cashew chicken. It seemed like we needed to eat something besides duck, so we also got an order of house special fried rice (house special = pork, chicken, beef, and shrimp) and an order of house special lo mein, each enough to feed three to four people.

We wondered if the duck would arrive as in A Christmas Story with the head still attached. It did not. In fact, it was boned and sliced, with only the two little drumsticks on the platter for decoration. After our table was essentially filled with the other orders, the waitress appeared with a huge platter, which she set on one of those pipe-and-strap folding tables. The duck was on one plate garnished with julienned scallions to the server’s left. Another plate to the right held four large, thin pancakes. There were two empty plates, one between the plates with food and another off to the side. Above the empty plate was a small bowl of dark plum sauce with a small spoon. With a flourish, the waitress lifted a pancake with two enormous spoons and put it on the central empty plate. She spread a spoonful of plum sauce on the pancake with the small spoon. She picked up the two big spoons again and filled the pancake with duck and scallions. Then she folded the pancake expertly, still using the giant spoons, and set it on the second empty plate. When she had all four pancakes filled and rolled, she put them and the remains of the duck (more than half) on the table. It was a performance worthy of applause, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

The Peking duck, the rolled pancakes, the giant spoons

Here’s the thing. Duck is not my favorite. It has a stronger flavor than dark chicken meat, and I’m a white meat girl. This duck had delicious crispy skin, I’ll give it that. I expected the duck to be seasoned more than it was. It just tasted like duck. Apparently, it is the crispy skin that makes a duck a Peking duck. Well. I can check that off the list. Plus, we had enough leftovers that no one had to cook the next night. Terry is still working on the duck.

Skippy is getting quite comfortable with us, although he still will not sit on Terry’s lap. He hasn’t spent much time around men. He’s on my lap every chance he gets. I went to a lecture in the evening last week, and when I got home, Terry told me that Skip had been lounging in my chair with his left paw up on the arm. I didn’t get a picture of that, but I did get this one.

Make yourself at home, Skippy--my chair is no longer mine.

Right now, he is wedged between me and my laptop. It is not easy to type, but he is adorable. He’s snoring little kitty snores.

Stargazing: a chicken disease

Nothing good came of Friday. I steer away from political commentary in my blog, but, well, there it is. It was a foggy, rainy day at the end of a foggy, rainy week.

The fifth oak in the fog

The maple trees were under water.

Maples in a big puddle

The garden was soggy. I hope the slugs are drowning.

The garden

There was a lake by the willows and fog, fog, fog everywhere.

A shallow lake by the willows

The retreat of the snow revealed a massive network of vole trails and tunnels in the lawn.

Vole tunnels in the lawn

It was also the first week of classes, which for me brings an unwelcome adjustment to rushing around all the time. No more leisurely cups of tea in my recliner every morning.

I nearly always go to Elgin on the weekend. I prefer Friday if I can manage it because Woodman’s is crazy busy on Saturday. Jane makes us lunch, and we do our grocery shopping together.

I was already blue from the weather, feeling old because the damp chill made my shoulder ache, as I set out for Jane’s house. As I mentioned, Jane is in Florida for a month, but I promised to check on her turtle and water the plants. There are better groceries down there anyway. This week, Jane sent a picture of a bald eagle in the top of a tree.

Jane's picture of a bald eagle in Florida

I meant to leave at 9:30 so I would have plenty of time to run my errands and get to campus for a 1:00 workshop I’d signed up for at the last minute. One thing led to another, and I didn’t leave until 9:45. I turned onto Maxon and drove into heavy rain. As I reached the stop sign at Graf, I realized I did not have my cell phone, and I’d promised to call Jane when I got to her house. Damn. I turned around and went back, making myself an additional 10 minutes late. Now I had to rush on my day off. This did not improve my mood.

When I got to Jane’s the house was dark and cold. All the lights were off, and the furnace was turned down. There was no beef vegetable soup simmering on the stove, no Jane sitting in her chair with a cat on her lap. The turtle was hidden under her bark. I felt more depressed than ever. I called Jane to ask if she thought I should put out more cucumber for the turtle and to tell her the ceiling in the bathroom had not fallen in even though she’d noticed a water stain spreading from the ceiling fan just before she left. She said no to the cucumber and was happy about the ceiling. After we hung up, I put in fresh water, took care of the plants, and looked for something that Jane put out for me. I was not successful in the latter because I couldn’t remember what it was or where she said she’d put it.

I had three stops to make before 1:00. From most to least urgent, they were Woodman’s, Trader Joe’s and a gas station. Earlier in the week, I stopped at Jewel in Woodstock on my way home to get milk. I had a few other things on the list including Charmin Essentials and sesame oil. Jewel had only Charmin Extra Soft and Charmin Extra Strong. Is extra strength in toilet paper an appropriate goal?  Really, it’s pretty much a unitasker, and at my house it needs to break down in the septic tank. I liked the Charmin Basic but they don’t make it anymore. In addition, Jewel did not have even one bottle of sesame oil. How was this possible?

I was delighted to find at least three brands and several sizes of sesame oil at Woodman’s, as well as Charmin Essentials and everything else on my list. On to Trader Joe’s where I bought what I usually end up with at Trader Joe’s—chocolate and a case of Two Buck Chuck. I always feel a little silly at the checkout.

I even had time to get gas, although it had been so long that I forgot what side of the car the tank was on until I had parked and gotten out. And I got back in a drove around to another pump.

I got to my office with just enough time to eat lunch and go through the mail that I’d retrieved from my box Thursday afternoon. It had been awhile since I’d checked, but I was surprised to find a card that went back to Thanksgiving. I didn’t think it had been that long.

The workshop only took 40 minutes. I was the only participant, for one thing. It promised to be an update of what I already knew, and not much had changed.

Then I talked to Pat S. for 40 minutes, so I was late getting home anyway. That sort of day.

When I got home, Hilda reported that Bella was looking poorly. We went out to the coop, and sure enough, she was cowering in a corner with her neck retracted and her beak pointing skyward. We assumed she was terminal, as chickens often are. Should we move her or leave her? “If she dies in the night, the others will peck her,” I pointed out.

Our first thought was to put her in a large plastic bucket. We quickly discovered that she was still pretty lively. She flailed around vigorously but did not seem to be able to keep her balance. When she settled down, she pointed her head back up and looked back and forth, back and forth. She seemed to have vertigo.

Stargazing--in chickens, not so fun

We took her out of the bucket and put her in the rabbit hutch in the greenhouse for the night. I started researching. The problem seemed to be something variously called wry neck, crookneck, and stargazing. Furthermore, it was caused by pecks to the head, vitamin deficiency, and/or genetic predisposition. Many chickens made a full recovery, but it could take a lot of weeks of fairly intensive care.

I was pretty low last night. Skippy did his best to comfort me. A cat really trusts you if he lets you rub his belly. It’s hard to feel bad with such a cute kitty on your lap.

Skippy in my lap

Bella was still alive this morning, although she was tipped over in the cage and not looking good. Still, after breakfast, I headed into town for supplies. Dad had vitamin E gel caps, so I would only need the B complex and selenium to help with vitamin E absorption. Also, a syringe to give the medicine would be nice, and two bowls to attach to the kennel for food and water. The rabbit hutch would never do. It’s fine for isolating a broody hen, but the door opens in, and if you have to get the bird out two or three times a day, it would be a big pain.

I struck out at Tractor Supply. The only kennel bowls they had were stainless, expensive, and a design I didn’t like. Furthermore, there was only one large and one medium bowl on the shelf. If I wanted two medium bowls (I really wanted small), I would have to find someone to ask and wait while he/she checked in the back. I went to Walgreens, which has pet supplies, but no bowls at all. I got the B complex. No selenium. The bloggers had not said that selenium was difficult to find. What if it was?

In the end, I was forced to go to WalMart. Had I gone there first, I could have been home 30 minutes sooner and saved money on the B complex vitamins. I soon and one small and one medium plastic kennel bowl (together they cost less than one of the bowls at Tractor Supply), an infant syringe, and a bottle of selenium. Done. It is clear why WalMart is so good at putting all its competitors out of business.

I got the kennel set up and Bella installed in it. I mixed up the meds according to the instructions. We were supposed to give the vitamin B and selenium once a day and the vitamin E twice for the first week. I cut the vitamin B in fourths and the selenium in eighths. I ground one portion of each to powder and mixed it with a little water. I thought I was supposed to squeeze out the contents of the vitamin E gel cap in with the water soluble vitamins. What a mess! I knew it wasn’t going to dissolve, but I thought I could at least stir it in. Not so. It was thicker than regular oil. I broke it up the best I could and put the mixture in the infant syringe. Meanwhile, I had been soaking some chicken feed in water with a little plain yogurt, since we were not sure Bella was eating or drinking on her own. This we had to put through a tea strainer in order to suck it into another syringe that I already owned.  And yes, by this time, Hilda’s kitchen was a big mess.

Hilda held Bella while I administered first the syringe with the vitamins and next the syringe with the food/water. She tolerated it well. I was glad we’d at least gotten some fluids in her.

That took us to lunch time. The whole damned morning shot to hell. I was exhausted, mostly from the stress and uncertainty.

Later this afternoon, I could tell that Bella had been pecking in the food bowl. About half the food was either in her or on the floor, hard to tell how much in either location. I also witnessed her drinking. Excellent. No more syringe feeding. She could stand up for and hold her head in a more normal position for brief periods of time before she flopped down and began scanning the sky again.

I did more research. Can chickens swallow pills? Why, yes they can. At 4:00, we went out again and popped a vitamin E gel tab right down her throat, followed by 5 ccs of water from the syringe.

So some things are looking up. As a bonus, the sun finally came out today. The chickens enjoyed running around in the mud and soaking up the rays.

Chickens frolicking in the sunshine

We are cautiously optimistic about Bella. At least this time, we have a little hope.

Cat sitting

Jane has gone to Fort Myers, FL for a month. “It’s 80° and sunny here,” she said when she arrived.

“It’s 15° and dreary here,” I replied.

She sends pictures of sunsets on the Gulf and tells me of nesting eagles, roseate spoonbills, and brown pelicans. I, in turn, send her pictures of her cat, Skip, and tell her how cute he is.

Skippy on my lap being cute

In fact, this post will mostly be about Skippy because I have done hardly anything except be a lap for him all weekend.

Jane dropped him off on Tuesday, which turned out to be a good thing because she and Jan left for Florida on Wednesday, a day before they originally planned so they could avoid the anticipated ice storms in St. Louis.

Skip was nervous for the first two days. We keep him in a big kennel when we aren’t home because he has a history of chewing wires. When we let him out, he spent much of his time cowering under the futon with brief lap walkovers.

Beginning on Thursday, he became lap greedy. He likes to stretch out between my legs, which makes one appreciate what a large cat he is.

Stretched out between my legs on his favorite red blanket

When I’m trying to work, he is fond of worming himself in between me and my laptop. I am getting better and typing with a cat lying on my forearms. It’s a skill.

Typing with a cat on my forearms

He was on my lap all morning today. I finally bumped him at 11:00 to go get my lunches ready. He stood in the doorway and meowed in a tone that clearly communicated, “What the hell!” Eventually, he gave up and settled on the top of the futon for a nap.

Napping on the futon

Later on, he found a new spot to hang out, which is on a chair under the table.

Hiding out under the table

The sun was out today, and the temperature edged above freezing. I thought about Jane hanging out on the beach while I put on my coat, boots, hat, and mittens. I tried to reposition the row cover that had blown off the garlic bed, but it was still frozen to the ground. It is supposed to be warmer tomorrow; maybe I can do it then. I walked all around the property, being careful not to slip on the icy spots. The creek was completely frozen. All was quiet. No wind, one bird called. It was a nice afternoon, as January goes in Illinois. I was a better person for having gone out.

Tangzhong

It’s the dead of winter, and a middle-aged woman’s mind turns to…carbohydrates. In the wake of the holiday binge eating, it probably isn’t the best idea to be reading cookbooks. Oh well. It’s Hilda’s fault for giving me the Cook’s Illustrated 2016 Annual (yes, the same one I got the Christmas roast pork recipe from). Yesterday’s experiment was “the fluffiest dinner rolls.” The recipe used a Japanese technique called tangzhong, which is cooking some of the flour with water to make a paste before adding the rest of the flour and other ingredients. The author claimed that the paste made rolls that were moister and longer lasting than the usual dinner rolls.

I followed the directions to the letter, especially with regard to mixing and kneading time because the dough had an egg in it. You can abuse non-egg doughs all you want. Overmix an egg dough, and you end up with tough rolls that refuse to rise. The dough was supposed to be sticky, and that tackiness was helpful in rolling it out, the recipe said. Don’t flour the surface.

It certainly was sticky. Here is my best attempted at getting it into an 8”x 9” rectangle, cut in four strips, and each strip cut in three pieces.

The dough should be sticky. Check. 

I stretched each piece (a rolling pin was out of the question with no flour) into a 2”x8” strip. The only way I could roll it into a cylinder was to pry it off the counter with a bench scraper. The surface was not at all smooth like it was supposed to be.

Trying to form the very sticky rolls

But yeast dough is forgiving. The final product looked good. I can’t say they were the fluffiest ever, but certainly a fine dinner roll. I can also attest that they did keep their moisture overnight, although they are going in the freezer soon.

The final results

Today’s experiment was scallion pancakes, another Asian recipe. I’d never had scallion pancakes, so I would not be able to judge if I made them correctly or not. I would only know if I liked the final product. This dough was entirely boiling water and flour. After kneading it and letting it rest for half an hour, I cut it in half and rolled each half into the closest approximation of a circle that I could manage. I brushed the surface with oil and sprinkled on salt and sliced scallions.

Dough rolled out, oiled, and sprinkled with salt and scallions

Then I rolled it up and rolled the cylinder into a spiral. This was supposed to create layers. 

Rolled up and spiraled

The next step was to roll the spiral into an 8” circle. I can only describe the dough at this point as “squidgy,” with all the oil and scallions squirting out everywhere.

The spiral rolled into a circle again

Finally, I fried the pancakes in more oil. I do not fry, generally speaking. Stinks up the whole house for days. I found it difficult to put such a large, flat surface into the skillet without splashing hot oil all over, including on my person. Turning the pancake over had the same problem.

Frying the pancake

It tasted good with the dipping sauce but sat heavily on the stomach. I can say without hesitation that it was an excellent way of turning my entire kitchen into an oil slick. Not sure that’s a keeper.

The hens went outside yesterday for the first time in several days. It was brutally cold and blustery Wednesday through Friday, but yesterday the wind was less and the sun was out. Hilda was hesitant, so she made me do it so that if anything bad happened it would be on me. I was of the opinion that the girls would really enjoy some fresh air and exercise. It turns out I was right. I let them out when the temperature got above 10°. Five of them crowded into the dust bath at the edge of the coop, scratching, rolling, fluffing, and jockeying for prime position. They were in and out of the coop all afternoon, walking over the top of the frozen snow.

The girls scratching in the frozen ground and walking on the snow

They also used the kennel to get out of the wind if they needed to.

Angelica and Bella by the kennel

Here is a video I took this morning of the fight for the Sunday carrot peels and Blanche having a dust bath. The fact that she can get any dust out of the frozen ground is a testament to her claws.

Happy New Year (Observed)!

Breakfast was the best part of New Year’s Observed. I made the traditional pecan caramel rolls, which were greatly appreciated by all and sundry.

Pecan caramel rolls

We watched the Rose Parade. In a striking break with tradition, I stayed awake for the whole two hours. Every year the commentators become increasingly lame. I stopped watching the Thanksgiving Parade years ago because it was nothing but thinly veiled advertisements. There may be a day when I give up on the Rose Parade as well.

The weather has gotten drearier and drearier as the day passes, as if to make we notice that the holidays are over, and we have to hunker down until spring. Bah. In a few weeks, we will be looking wistfully through the seed catalogs and ordering way too much.

For those of you who envy the long vacations of instructors, let me remind you that our work is never really done. Over my vacation, I have been making chromosomes out of craft sticks. There are two kinds of people in the world, those who look at genetics problems and say, “Of course. This makes perfect sense,” and those who struggle. My craft stick chromosomes are an experiment in helping students visualize what goes on when each parent gives half their chromosomes to an offspring. Should I have to do this stuff in a college class? Probably not, but it is obvious that they can’t make the picture in their heads on their own. I have to teach the students I’ve got. No idea if it will help or not, but if they could just understand that each parent gives the offspring one yellow chromosome and one red one, we will be a little further along.

I started by spray painting the sticks in the glass greenhouse on a nice day when Terry thought it was warm enough in there for the paint. I then did my best to paint letters on the sticks with squeeze bottle acrylic paint from the craft store. It was kind of blobby, but I think everyone will be able to tell the capital letter from the lower case.

Red chromosomes (dry)

The red paint dried better than the yellow paint. I thought each side was thoroughly dry before flipping them, but after several flips, the yellow sticks were still sticking to the newspaper. Remembering the “stickering” process at Hedstrom’s Lumber Company, I stacked them up for better air flow. I restacked them today and hope I can pack the up tomorrow.

Yellow chromosomes stacked for drying

Happy New Year!

Waking up on New Year’s Day without a hangover makes you wonder what you were thinking all those times when you woke up with a hangover. Growing old has brought with it a bit of wisdom along with the dry, crêpey skin and lumpy thighs.

2017 is freaking me out somehow. It seems so much further into the 21^st century than 2016 did. I realize there’s no logic in that. It’s just how it feels to me. I am beginning the New Year with an important item checked off the list, namely, Terry and I have finally met with a lawyer about updating our wills and doing our estate planning. We will sign everything on Tuesday. Also, I finally got a smart phone on Friday. I was resistant. I loved my flip phone. It made me feel like Captain Kirk. The new phone is much larger and hard to slip into a pocket, but it has a keyboard. I have been texting more, and it’s a right pain in the neck on a number pad. So here it is—my smart phone.

My new smart phone--welcome to the 21st century!

We had a lovely family celebration of New Year’s Eve. Another aspect of the wisdom of age is reticence to go out on the day of the year with the most drunk drivers on the road. When Jane declined my invitation, I didn’t press her.

I wore my festive champagne socks. At least, I think of them has champagne socks, although they might be fishing lures. Jane gave them to me.

Festive champagne socks

We had hot oil fondue, which I’m not sure really is fondue. The root of fondue is fondre, to melt, as with cheese or chocolate. This version would be more appropriately called frit, from frire, to fry. Nevertheless, we did it in a fondue pot with fondue forks, so there you go. This is the table before we began.

The table before supper

Our selection included shrimp, steak, and breaded chicken breast, mushrooms, and zucchini. Hilda made her incomparable curry dip. We also used prepared hoisen and wasabi sauces.

Steak and breaded chicken, mushrooms, and zucchini. The shrimp was in a separate bowl

Here’s the action shot. There are two advantages to eating this way. Every bite is hot (in fact, some patience is required to keep from burning one’s mouth), and one must eat slowly and enjoy every morsel.

Forks in the fryer

We drank our champagne from wine glasses, which Hilda suggested because they had a lower profile and were less likely to be tipped over in all the activity of arms and forks going back and forth to the fondue pot. Indeed, we managed the whole thing with no tipped glasses.

After supper, Terry and I watched one of the Pink Panther movies and had milk and Christmas cookies for dessert. I went to bed at 10:00. Terry held out until 10:20. I heard this morning that Jane stayed up until midnight. She watched the ball drop in New York and the midnight celebration in Chicago. She reports that both were lame. I am vindicated.

We’re holding off on our traditional New Year’s breakfast of caramel pecan rolls because 1) the Rose Parade isn’t until tomorrow and 2) I forgot to get the butter out of the freezer yesterday, and the recipe really does need softened butter. I could have made them this morning, but it’s so much nicer to make them the day before and just bake them when I get up.

We will have our traditional pork and sauerkraut dinner today to bring us good luck in the New Year. Here’s hoping for the best!