My pet spider

I used to be afraid of spiders. A spider sighting would cause me to yell, "Pat!" and expect Pat to come running to deal with the thing, be it large or small. Well, since moving to Hawai'i, and especially to the Big Island, spiders have become my friends because of their natural pest-control attributes. The passing of a large wolf spider receives the same greeting as a mild-mannered gecko. I even have a pet spider that lives in the lamp by my bed. Well, I don't think it's the same spider it was originally. We are on about the third generation. Occasionally it disappears and then reappears, smaller. It lives in the lampshade. I just have to be a little careful when turning the lamp on or off. I used to be very irritated by the buzzing of the occasional fly in my bedroom at night. I would spend hours with the fly swatter trying to swat it, usually to no avail. Now, I just listen to the buzz, bemusedly, until it stops, accompanied by a small rattle. Looking over at my pet spider, he will have the fly in two of his eight arms, and he is sucking the life out of it. Easy to feed, no muss, no web, highly recommended as a pet.  Here's a photo of my pet:

Bad, Mohawk, Bad Piggy!

This morning, I walked up to the pig pen, leaned on the fence, said, "Hello, Mohawk!" to our boar, and.... he bit my finger! Hard enough to draw blood! I was angry! I spent the next few minutes berating him, telling him how bad he was. after awhile, I settled down, and I tried to hand him a mac nut. I said, "careful now, don't bite the hand..." He took it so gently, he dropped it on the ground after he got it out of my hand. Oops. I guess pigs are also sensitive.

The Tale of Two Floaties

In this story, the names have been changed to protect the pride of the participants.

I have hesitated to tell this story to protect my own pride. However, some stories beg to be told, eventually. What it boils down to is just this. I am forever grateful that I do not have a job where I am required to invade anyone's private actions, thoughts, or behaviors, or in any way humiliate them. Jobs like searching people, accompanying them for urine tests, etc. Anyway, now the story...

I have had stomach/bowel problems all my life. Unfortunately, as I age, they get worse. Sometimes, when I need to go, I mean "now!" Which can be really embarrassing, if I don't get to a Ladies' Room in time. So I know most public restrooms in town. Well, I had just driven into town, 1.5 hours, and stopped into a shop to buy some things. Well, the need hit me. There were signs EVERYWHERE that said "NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS". Yeh, I get it. But I have found that, sometimes, if you ask nicely, the 'no' can be an 'okay'. So I asked the nice lady at the counter if I could use the restroom, because it really was an emergency. She said, "Well, let me check. We were just talking about that." And she promptly got on her walkie-talkie and said, "Clovis, I have a customer here that needs to used the restroom. It's an emergency." Yes, walkie-talkie, not phone. Yes, loud, all could hear. When she heard no response, she tried again, a little louder, same phrase. Then, she got a response, "I'll send Johnnie up." I'm thinking, "huh? who's Johnnie?" Anyway, up comes Johnnie, and says, "Are you the customer that has to use the restroom?" And I answered, "Yes, please." After all, I was asking a favor, and I was in dire need. "Follow me," he says. And I dutifully follow. We go through the store and into a big back room. Over in the corner sits a....yes....a toilet. No partition, no screen, just bare toilet. He points, and I..... say, "Thank you." He leaves, closing the door. I walk over to the intended receptacle, and realize there is a woman doing laundry in the washer/dryer right next to the....toilet. Hmmmm. I say, "Um, excuse me, I'm going to used the facility...." And she replies, "Okay, I'll be out of here in a minute." (By now I realize they do not really understand the nature of bathroom emergencies, and I am willing my body not to release anything at all prematurely.) She finally left, and, feeling very exposed, I sat and did my business, as it were. When finished, I duly flushed. I held the handle down, but (OMG!) two little floaties didn't go down. Well, I tried to wait until the toilet stopped running to flush again, but it kept going and going, and I was impatient, so I just closed the lid and washed my hands in the little sink nearby and zoomed out. Well, standing outside the door to the big room was none other than laundry lady Clovis. She stopped me and said, "I'm sorry, but you have to go back in there with me and inspect the area." What??!!??
Which is what I said. "I have to WHAT?" And she explained that they closed their restroom to the public because customers had smeared feces on the walls. I was infuriated that she thought a was a feces-smearing type, but at the same time I thought, "Damn those floaties!" So in we marched, and, we looked in the pot together, and there they were, damning me, the two little floaties. She nodded at the handle, and watched as I properly flushed them down. And we had to wait while they sailed away to be sure they cleared the bend. She also made some comment about there being some spray for the smell somewhere on the counter, which I chose to ignore - they can install a fan.

Having completed my humiliation, I proudly walked out to the main store, completed my purchases, and left. At first, I just felt humiliated. Now I am mostly grateful that I don't have her job.

What kind of dogs are you, anyway?

Since our two older dogs have passed away, we only have the young pups left. The new generation, if you will. Kai is the oldest, about 2, a husky, malemute, wolf mix and Panter is the daughter of an American bulldog and something else. She's about 1.

The older dogs ate anything we fed them. Put it in their bowl, they'd eat it. Or just leave it on the counter, they'd find it. Or leave a bag of kibble in the closet and don't close the door completely, they'd find a way to stick their noses in and gradually empty the bag. (Their fun was over when I caught one of them walking away from the closet discreetly munching. It caused me to investigate and I found the opened half-empty bag!) When they got older, we started making their food so that they wouldn't be so overweight. Less fillers, etc. But they never complained.

Now we have the new generation.  We were already making food for our dogs, so we continued in the same tradition. We also augmented with a little high-quality kibble. I don't know when this started, but it seems that after they eat the same mixture twice, they don't want it the third time. They want something new. Say what??? You're dogs!  We have to beg them to eat! Ludicrous! These are the dishes we have served them:
Plain kibble
Kibble with raw egg
Kibble, brown rice, broth, chicken
Kibble, brown rice, broth, hamburger
Brown rice, chicken, cooked egg
Brown rice, beef, cooked egg
Brown rice, pork, cooked egg
Brown rice, pork, pumpkin, kale, broth
Brown rice, chicken, pumpkin, broth, kibble
Raw beef, brown rice, kibble
Raw beef, brown rice

And probably other combinations also. As you see, we even tried the raw meat option. The liked it the first two times, but lost interest the third time they faced it. Is it really possible that they get bored with their food? They are not thin, but they're not really overweight, either. That is, I don't think that we are over feeding them. They don't eat anywhere else, except for sticks, bones, bugs, and leaves from the yard! They do posture a bit over the bowls and the right-of-way at food time, though. That may have something to do with it. I just don't know.

It is very undogly behavior!

Dinner at home, inspired by restaurants....

Here we sit, fully sated, enjoying our Tuesday evening, watching the next episode of Fargo. We decided to treat ourselves to a really good meal, and rather than eating out, after I found myself drooling over the Red Lobster commercial (yes, the one with the piece of steak with a creamy lobster chunk sauce on it), and Pat said, "You could make that, cheaper, and it would taste better,too!" So, when I was in Costco, yup, I sprang for a lobster tail and a big ribeye (we always split one), then thought, well, if we're going all out, might as well make 'bread pudding ala Bob'. Now, you may be wondering what Bread pudding ala Bob is. We call it that because our friend Bob told us about it, but I guess he found out about this marvelous way to eat bread pudding from Hawai'i's own Zippy's! Bread pudding, topped with vanilla ice cream, then topped with caramel sauce. My homemade version is... Bread pudding made with sour dough bread (yes, homemade), fresh farm eggs, organic milk and agave, homemade vanilla ice cream with agave, and home made caramel sauce. Yum. Then, yes, we are not done, Pat said, why don't you made the cheddar cheese biscuits we get at Red Lobster, too? Ok, and I made the gluten-free version! A little heavier than the originals, but yummy, nonetheless. A little leaf lettuce and mango salad for color and health, and we feel like we've been on a date!

Farm education part 1. The origin of the word screw.

If you have been reading my blog, you know we have three little piggies. They are growing and growing, and now are quite sizable pigs. Mohawk and Mother are together, with the thought that they would mate and produce more little piggies.....well, when they grow up. Surely not now, while they are still only babies themselves! But Mother keeps getting fatter, with some large, suspicious nipples, and we caught Mohawk mounting her repeatedly. Very shocking. But that's not the worst of it! We were watching Mohawk harass poor Mother, and out came the pig penis! We almost died laughing! It is, literally, corkscrew-shaped! Hence the origin of the verb "to screw." That was yesterday evening, and his aim was horrible; we saw about 3 inches of it and naively thought that was all there was to it. Hahahahahaha. This morning at feeding, Mother got tired of running and just ate (food being her primary motivator), while Mohawk did his business (sex and procreation being his primary motivator). When they were done, i.e., Mother had had enough, she ran to the corner, and Mohawk was disengaged, revealing over a foot of dangling penis! We have to separate those pigs! We almost fainted! Who knew?

A hectic day - start at dawn!

It's 6:30 pm and we're on our way home from the Ali'i Farmer's Market with a truck full of of chicken and pig food. (Consists of papayas, avocados, chicos, mangos, and lettuce, all too ripe, too green, or too bruised to sell.) 

Our day started 12 hours ago, as we tumbled out of bed. We had a quick cup of joe from last night's brew with a bowl of cereal and yoghurt. We then prepared the chicken and pig food. The chickens all shared a 5-gallon bucket of chopped butter leaf lettuce, a 5-gallon bucket of papaya cut into quarters, and a 3-gallon bucket of brown rice mash. This morning, their mash contained cooked brown rice, chicken skins, crushed chicken bones, and soy milk. They also received some layer pellets and scratch. The pigs got some cracked Mac nuts and a 3-gallon bucket of mash. Their mash contained brown rice, molasses, roots, lettuce, papayas, onions and peppers. They also got a few scoops of pig pellets and cracked corn.

After feeding the livestock, we picked out 4 of the meat birds and butchered them. Final weights, 5, 5, 5, and 5.25 lbs. We cleaned everything up, froze the birds, grabbed our pot luck dish and some eggs in a homemade shopping bag for a housewarming gift, and jumped in the car to drive north to a bridge party at noon. 

After the party (around 5 pm), we went by the farmer's market to pick up our truck load of fruits and veggies.

A long day.

6 more chickens will find their way to our freezer tomorrow morning....