I’d like to ask y’all how shit’s going at your house. For me, on this gorgeous So Cal Sunday, the shit factor is just outta’ control.
I’m talking about chicken shit.
And chickens free ranging amongst dog shit.
Since we all think our own shit is crazy interesting I’m ready to gift you with a thorough play by play of my crap slappin’ Sunday. I do this only so that you may find solace in the fact that no matter the intensity of dirt you dealt with today, it probably wasn’t as rank as the real live animal shit scattered all over our patio. Did I say I wanted to be an urban farmer? F me, I did. Let’s begin.
We made the kids do it. A hundred pennies well spent!
Don’t let that face on the left fool you. He was only sad until I explained that in exchange for shoveling dog crap he would be receiving a boatload of good character.
As soon as dog duty was done, these little ladies decided to remind us that I promised to shovel out their coop, to which I was like, “Oh hell no, this is Sunday, biatches!” and they were like, “Woman, tomorrow is a holiday yo, we know you’re not workin’!” To which I was like, “Ummmm, contrary to popular belief I work 24/7. Or some similar ratio. Maybe like 8/2.3” Chickens don’t do math so that totally shut them up. But my chickens are smart, see, so Penny retaliated by sneaking her fluffy butt up under my potting bench…
…and dropping a couple of these. At which point we had to launch an egg hunt underneath every freaking bush in our backyard in case she had coerced any of the other girls to join her anarchist movement. Eggs belong in the nesting boxes, girls. Where you are supposed to be nesting. Ugh. The whole language barrier is becoming a problem.
The kids dug it though, despite the fact that we didn’t find any other rogue eggs around the yard. They then took this photo opportunity to strangle each other. If mom’s behind the camera lens anything’s legal.
It was at this point that I realized we couldn’t squander the day away enjoying the gorgeous weather – there was shit to be done, for real! We started by feeding the ladies. Then I put the kid to work shoveling more shit. Pseudo-farm life rules.
This healthy pile of chicken poo and kitchen scraps goes into the compost bin. Gardens love chicken shit! More on that later.
This is a picture of real work. On the right my hardworking six year old is ankle deep in chicken diarrhea. On the left I’m pulling out all of the old pine shavings from the nesting boxes and replacing it with fresh, clean, allergy inducing new pine shavings. Pine is the tree I’m second most allergic to after pepper trees. Next week I’ll be taking volunteers who I’ll pay in eggs and good character.
A quick note for those of you who actually give a hoot about chickens – before replacing the pine shavings in the coop I always sprinkle in a few shakes of this stuff. Diatomaceous earth is fossilized algae that we use for natural pest and mite control. It’s food grade, and totally safe for the birds, and us, to eat. No chemicals here, mom!
I interrupt this regularly scheduled programming for a special announcement from the four year old. A chrysalis has been found, I repeat, a chrysalis has been located. Over and out.
Now back to the poop. So that was all the front of the coop before – welcome to the dirty backside. My hunk of a man is a lumberyard genius and installed this trap door in the back to help me dig out the poop shavings. I’m so freaking appreciative, really. So generous, that one.
Here’s the cleaned out coop.
So I think I’ve justly proven that I got my shit together today. How ’bout you?! Toilet overflow? 9 month old twins with the stomach flu? Messy hangover moment? Or maybe it’s just your thoughts that are dirtier than mine? Noooope. Not possible.
Still, check in, peeps. Lemme’ know something horribly wonderful about your weekend so we can move on to Monday.
xo, from Penny &