Thursday, May 31, 2012

Moving Day and Wedding Days


Things have been VERY busy on the Shawhan farm the past few weeks. Not only is it planting season, but it's also wedding season! So a congratulations to my friends Ashlie and Shane on their June 1st nuptials and another congratulations to Emily and Jeff on June 9th.

To take her mind off wedding trials, I invited Emily up to the Shawhan farm a couple of Sundays ago. We went to church in the morning and then to Frishes for a tasty Big Boy and fries. After that we came back here to relax and work some stress out of the bride-to-be.....

So I kind of USED Emily that day. My wheels were turning inside my brain after she told me she had packed a change of old clothes. We had been needing to move Flock 2 since the boys left but I wanted to be home most of the day and I wanted to move them in morning. I didn't know if cooping everyone up right away over night would have been a good idea. I don't know, maybe it all would have been OK, but I didn't want to take any chances.

Had I been thinking, I would have left the "chicks" (they aren't really chicks anymore...they are 3 months...old enough to inter grate into Flock 1) inside the brooder. That way all we would have had to do was lift the lid, remove a chicken and replace the lid until we came back for another. All along I had figured I'd be doing this solo, so I was very glad to have had some help!

I told Emily that in my chicken catching experience, it was easier to catch one when there were a lot in the pen. It gets harder when there are only one or two left. Also in my experience, you have to move fast and expect a lot of wing flapping and feather-flying. It also works well if you can corner the one you're after.

I'm sure there is a certain way experts or PETA would like you to handle chickens....I'm sure the pioneers would tell me I'm doing it wrong, but you know what I learned from my Ag classes in college??? If the way you're doing it now works, then don't change it. (Plus, there is more than one way to pronounce "tomato".)

I caught the first one, one of my nuggets (I love those...they are fast becoming my favorites). My heart was pounding as I put her down in the kennel area and to the birds of Flock 1. My little nugget looked so small compared to the older girls. I prayed she wouldn't get attacked as I left her on her own to go get some in numbers.

There was feather flying, there was squawking, there was wing flapping, there was running and chasing and giggles and cuss words....after handing Emily a few pre-caught chickens, she really got the hang of things. I knew Emily would be good at catchingchickens because she was excited to do it.

The chicks hated us for a few minutes, but after realizing how cool it was to run with the big dogs, they settled in nicely. Cadburry is a brave little thing...she was the first to venture into the coop and she's the first of Flock 2 to run after treats when I take them some.

The only bullying that I've seen go on is a speckled older hen telling the little ones they are getting too close....just a little peck that says "Back Off!"
I'm also wondering how many newbies get to roost on the roosting bars Grandpa Smith made everyone. At night when we tuck everyone in, it's all older hens roosting there and none of the new ones. Other than that, Flock 2 has blended in swimmingly. They have learned the routine and can't wait to venture out of the coop in the morning...though I don't think anyone has made it to the steer lot yet. With Flock 1 we had to literally throw them all out....then that night throw them all back inside. It's like you have to SHOW the chickens what to do, but once they learn, they don't ever forget! I'll see what happens as the months go has been very hot, so none of the chickens are really going anywhere.

If you are looking for the Chicken Lady the next couple of weekends, I'll be walking down aisles!

                                                                               ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Thanks to a Veteran; Happy Memorial Day


Happy Memorial Day!
Thank You Veterans, Past, Present, and Future!

This Memorial Day post (I know Memorial Day is tomorrow) is dedicated to my Grandpa Smith. Samuel Brooks Smith served in World War II and passed away when I was only 4 years old...on Father's Day, no less. For years on Memorial Day we would go to the cemetery and pay our respects. If there were wild flowers in the field I'd pick a bouquet and tolerate the long drive to the graveyard. Dad would stand there for a long time just looking at the headstone and I would get bored. I was bored, but at least I was part of an important tradition.

The last time I visited Grandpa, and now Grandma Smith, was the summer of 2010. I was in the area so it was convenient that I went. I do not remember the last Memorial Day I went and paid my respects, not just as a granddaughter, but as a thankful American.

Last Sunday I picked wild flowers in the fields....they are still out there now, back behind my house growing in full abundance. I have no plans to visit the cemetery tomorrow, and to be honest, I feel like chicken poo for it. I got to thinking about this and it bothers me. It also bothers me that a Navy veteran will lie somewhat forgotten tomorrow. That is why I want to dedicate this post to my Grandpa.

I have one regret so far in my life, and that is that I feel shorted that I didn't get the chance to know this man very well. After all he was part of the creation that went into forming the man my father is. (He had to have been pretty cool!) All I remember of him was sitting in an old rocking chair and begging him to take out his false teeth. Of course to placate a grandchild he did every time. I also remember the smell of a pipe and a Navy tattoo. Oh and the bananas the nurse would give me at the nursing home when mom and I would go to visit.

So anyway, PLEASE thank a veteran! Not just tomorrow, but anytime you see one. We all get the e-mails about how we get stressed out sitting in traffic but at least we go home to our families every night and don't have to sleep in a dugout foxhole. Some of us also complain about how America is a  piece of crap. I don't think it is, and I can thank a veteran for it.

We have chickens and dogs as pets and not necessarily look at them as dinner; thanks to a veteran.

We can drive anywhere we want; thanks to a veteran.

We can SAY anything we want, even about this great and wonderful country we live in; thanks to a veteran.

This can go on and on; thanks to a veteran.

Someday I'll see Grandpa again and I'll get to catch up on things I didn't get the chance to do here. I'll tell him how sorry I am for not visiting more often; however, he's still in my heart, everyday, not just on Memorial Day, the 4th of July or Veteran's Day...

I have SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO many veterans to thank. So thank you all. Because of you I have the freedom to write this and to post it.

And thank you, dad. You served in the most controversial of them all, Vietnam. I'm proud of you and you should be too! Love you!

Happy Memorial Day!


The Chicken Lady

Friday, May 25, 2012

Shawhan Clip~N~Curl Beauty Salon...Now Open!


SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry! for skipping a Thursday post!! but it is Spring and I live on a farm and am married to a farmer....this means Spring is the equivalent to retail Christmas and it's long days and late nights. That being said, I'll begin this post....

     It was a beautiful Spring day on the Shawhan farm. All the animals were bustling about their usual business. Jimmy and Charlie frolicked in the emerald pasture, their ebony manes flowing in the breeze... the steers lazed under the Walnut tree, enjoying the cool air that enveloped them there....the Spring chicks were chirping excitedly as they discovered how yummy grubs the grubs could be that were found in abundance in the dirt .... everyone was happy...except poor Henrietta.
   "Henrietta! Henrietta! Why do you look so sad?" Asked little Cadburry 2.0 as she came tottling up to the forlorn looking hen who sat staring at her reflection in the waterer. Henritta just sighed and layed her cheek in her wing.
   "Please, Henrietta..tell me what's wrong." Begged the brave little chick.
   "I HATE MY HAIR!" Henrietta wailed and buried her face in her wings.
   "OH!..." Cadburry was confused..."Is that all?"
  "What do you mean, 'Is that all?' If I have ugly hair, which I do, then my left is over!"
  "I thought your life was over if a weasel got in the coop or you ate the strawberries in the strawberry patch?" Cadburry asked, still confused and too young to understand grown-up problems.
   "Oh, what do you know? You're just a baby anyway!" And Henrietta turned her back on little Cadburry 2.0 and spent the rest of the day sulking.
     She was still sulking that night as everyone settled in the coop and took their places on the roost.
   "Good-night Prissy."
   "Good-night Smirnoff."

   "Good-night Hannah Jo."
   "Good-night Sam."
   "Good-night Cadburry."
   "Good-night Hot Lips."
   "Good-night John Boy."
     The next few days Henrietta's mood did not improve. All the hens in Flock 1 cornered me in the barn one day and told me their concerns about their friend. I waited a few more days to make sure it wasn't due to the moon changes and called my stylist and made an appointment.
   Henrietta was very excited as we walked into the salon and Janette greeted us behind the counter. Henrietta loved the magazines of high fashion hairstyles, the sounds of hair dryers, the snipping of scissors and catching up on all the small-town gossip. (She even told us things about Foghorn!)
    Thirty minutes later Henrietta walked out a new chicken who loved her hair. I drove her home, but not without stopping at Dairy Queen for a Blizzard, and as she jumped out the truck squawking with excitement, I couldn't help but smile and sleep better that night for making a hen happy.....

   IF ONLY this were the REAL story.... The other day my patience with these chickens officially ran out. I have spent two long, hot days in the sun mulching my flower beds and planting flowers...up until this point in our Chronicle story. At the end of my second day, after the blaring sun started to set and it got cooler outside, my two escapees decided to dig numerous holes in my mulch... I guess they decided it looked better in the driveway. They also didn't like where I had planted three flowers and so proceeded to demonstrate their protest by digging them up.

Enough is Enough!

As soon as Dan got home I marched outside in my P.J.s, (this is when I pray a Yoder doen't stop in) scissors and Chickens Magazine in-hand (they had an article on clipping wings) and announce, "WE'RE CLIPPING WINGS!" Yup, I made the decision to do it....on these two birds anyway. I can't have my crops eaten and my hard work thrown out the window for a bird's happiness. Plus according to my article, it is a painless procedure.

I did what they told me to do. I fanned out a wing and cut back the first ten (the flight feathers). They said if I do it on only one side the bird will be unbalanced and unable to fly.

The next morning, feeling smug, I went out to the barn and there she was...outside and laughing at me. Maybe I didn't cut down far enough, or maybe I need to clip BOTH sides. No worries, I will try again and this time I will win! Because apparently, an UN-balanced chicken really can fly.

                                                                      ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Two Birds in a Bag in a Bucket


I am happy to report that Chaz and Foghorn Stutzman are officially settled into their new home. Though I think it is funny that they were too scared to go outside the coop the first day... but I guess Eli and his family were blessed with the voice of Foggy on Saturday morning, signaling their acceptance of the new digs.... and the new ladies. Last Thursday we left the fellas chilling in the cat carriers and getting a good look at their new home. Even though there is a language barrier, male tendencies translate through all languages.

So in case you don't remember, the deal we struck with our Plain neighbors was that they would take Chaz and Foghorn and keep them since the boys were only over a year old. Eli already had two  roosters but they weren't spring chickens anymore so he said he would kill and process his old roosters and keep our younger ones. We are also giving him an old fuel tank and he his giving us meat.

Thursday he asked when I would be home on Friday to return the pet carriers and drop off the chicken. (Amish don't have freezers.) I said after 6:00 P.M. I figured they would show up at either 6 or 7. Well 8:00 P.M. rolls around and Friday was our date night night out means Becca doesn't have to cook...I usually demand at least one weekend evening off from my pots and pans... and still no buggy. (My stomach wins every war, so we ended up leaving before they showed.) I had debated on saving them the trouble and driving on down to their place to see if I could just pick the stuff up, but then I thought maybe they didn't get around to whacking off heads that day. Low and behold when Dan and I returned home the cat carriers where by the door..OOPS. (Guess I should have left a note!)

Saturday morning I drove on down, like I should have done the previous evening, and picked up my two whole processed chickens. I was handed a bucket with two birds in a plastic bag and freezer ice packs on a few stray hairs. I was told to let the bigger one cook longer since he was older and is going to be more tuff. Once I got home I spent at least 10 minutes wrapping the birds in wax paper and aluminium foil.  I was wondering if they were even safe to eat given the amount of time they weren't in a freezer.

I really don't know what I was expecting....I knew I wasn't going to be handed a Tyson fryer wrapped in plastic with an ingredients label on it. Admittedly, I wasn't expecting two birds in a bag in a bucket either.

Now my mission is to find a good chicken stew recipe and eat these things...since this is the thing to do with old birds, so says The Old Fart. Part of me wants to invite people over and join me in this experience, however, I don't want to be at fault for others possibly getting sick.

Anyone know any good chicken stew recipes???

Oh, but I did get to see either Chaz or Foghorn in the chicken lot that morning!

                                                                        ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Foghorn and Chaz Leave the Nest..Literally!


"As we go on,
We remember,
All the times we've
Had together...."
-Vitamin C

It's a little bittersweet and very quiet tonight here on the Shawhan farm. This evening Chaz and Foghorn departed their childhood home for a new lifestyle and a new last name...oh and 200 new ladies!

Dan bravely seized hold of the two roosters wearing only a sweatshirt and gloves. (I would have worn a full suit of armor, but then again Foghorn never intimidated Dan like he did me.) As per his nature, Foghorn made it difficult to catch him by running hysterically around the steer lot, and then making the mistake of going inside the coop where he always felt safe.

(Chaz, being the gentleman he always was, went willingly and without a fight.)

A cool evening ride and a mile later, the fellas disembarked at their new digs, and their new mistresses clucked excitedly in Dutch about the new arrivals. Chaz and Foghorn looked a little nervous, a little confused and a lot of excited as they saw the little ladies for the first time. I think I saw a silent conversation going on between them as they asked each other if they had died and gone to cluckie heaven. "No." Said Chaz, "If we were in heaven, then Ms. Fluffy Feathers would be here. And Molt and Cadburry (the original Cadburry) and all our other friends who departed before us." Foghorn was too busy licking his chops to hear and respond to Chaz.

I said my goodbyes and sent my first-borns out into the big scary world. I hope I did a good job and was a good mom. They needed to go but it still hurts a little. They were my babies at some point after all. I am very glad we could work it out to where they will still be alive and well, running around chasing the girls and crowing like crazy. After today, I'm not sure I could eat my own chickens....I know that if I needed to I could, but it was sad to see them go. And I can say with great pride, what beautiful birds Chaz and Foghorn are.

So the thorn in my side was that Foghorn could get to me and plant that seed of fear...then he gets the reward of 200 new ladies. Well Karma is a you-know-what! and the thorn in Foghorn's side, is that he has to sit in his cage all night and LOOK at those 200 new ladies without being able to do anything about it!

                                                                                    ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Happy Mother's Day!



From all of us here on the Shawhan farm. We know we couldn't do it without our mommas! We weren't given a very pretty day, but that doesn't mean it hasn't lost it's special meaning.

I need to go out tonight and say Happy Mother's Day to all the ladies in Flock 1 since they are newly made mothers every single day... or at least they probably are..for a couple more days anyway while the roosters are still here.

Take today to spend with your mom or call her or think about her and all the things she does for you!

                                                        ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Thursday, May 10, 2012

For the Love of Strawberry


Things just keep on ticking away here on the Shawhan farm. Foghorn and Chaz are still gracing us with their presence, though they are starting to sport some awesome chin hairs. We never did make it to the library for those English to Dutch translation books. I think Foghorn is mad about that because he ran after Dan several times the other day. (I think he's just demonstrating some frustrations...he was told he was going to get 200 new ladies and so far no steps have been taken in the Amish direction.)

After we think we have solved one problem, another presences itself. As you all know I went to great lengths to keep my strawberry plants from freezing to death. I labored and toiled to bring bricks across the lawn in order to keep my feed sacks from blowing away. Then I braved hurricane-like winds to secure those feed sacks that wanted to fly away, half the time taking me with them...I could have showed Mary Poppins a thing or two... all the while my Yoder and English neighbors were probably busting a gut with laughter at my feats. I know the chickens were. At first I thought they were laughing at how stupid I looked and enjoying the effort I was putting into it. I now have come to the conclusion they cashed in twice for their merriment....I looked like a fool out there in the wind and they were plotting and scheming all the while how THEY were going to enjoy those strawberries too.

Ever since the first berry turned red I have been religiously going through the patch each night and getting the ripe ones...and OK, sometimes the half-ripe ones. I am saving Every. Single. Berry. My goal is to make at least one batch of strawberry jelly.

On the first day of picking I allotted Dan and myself one berry for personal consumption and that was it! every berry from there on out went to the sink, cutting board, baggie, freezer. I thought my daily visit to the strawberry patch was a clever idea..."I'll get them before the bugs do," I told myself, greedily rubbing my hands together and cackling with evil laughter.

Do you want to know who was snickering even more behind my back? My two regular escapees, not Samantha and Kailyn but another pair who daily fly the coop. The evidence is there, in black and white, plus I had to run them out of the patch twice just this evening.

This is a pecked at/half-eaten strawberry. I love how they only eat the red parts...maybe I'm still getting the last laugh in that I just cut around the eaten part and desperately salvage any berry bit that is left. Besides, sugar adds the sweetness to jelly, right?

So I searched my trusty Google on how to keep chickens out of your garden. I was a bit peeved when all I found was YouTube videos of chickens eating strawberries and articles that say how much chickens luuuvvv them. Well DUH! but the problem is I LOVE them too! Maybe a little bit more than I love my chickens. My strawberry plants never destroyed a flower bed or ran me out of the coop.

Short of putting up an unsightly fence and finally giving in to clipping wings, I'm up a creek without a paddle on this one.

I expect to be at full-out war when my future tomato plants begin to ripen...

                                                                               ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Monday, May 7, 2012

Chaz and Foghorn Yoder...


That's right's official. Chaz and Foghorn Shawhan will be, in the not so distant future, Amish roosters. Though to be fair, their last names will not be "Yoder", it will in fact be "Stutzman". The boys have been given an opportunity of a lifetime....literally, a LIFEtime since at 7:30 this morning I decided they would be a Sunday dinner. The man upstairs was listening and an answered prayer came riding in in a buggy at 6:30 this evening. Oh what can change in a matter of a few hours....

Let us rewind to 7:15 A.M. It was a lovely Monday morning as I walked half awake out to the barn to do the morning routine of feeding and letting out and bringing in. I normally make my way logically through the barn during the morning rituals. I begin by opening the kennel to let the chickens out. Easy enough, one simple step in chicken the opening of the kennel door is like Jimmy and Charlie's dinner bell. Since my first chase with Foghorn in the coop, I take my pink cattle stick in with me so I feel a little bit safer. I also keep the kennel door open in case I need to escape. This morning it was a GOOD thing that door was wide open!

Try as I might I can't quell the butterflies in my stomach. Darn animals and their way of sensing things. You do not want to be nervous around a cocky rooster, nor do you want to be bent in a vulnerable position. In order to open our coop door, you have bend down with your freckled face in the door and stand there even longer as you prop the door open with a two by four so the wind doesn't blow it shut. I was in this stance this morning as Foghorn comes charging out and in my face. I quickly drew back and extended my stick, waving it frantically in the air, keeping it between me and the testosterone-loaded fowl. I figured he was indeed coming at me since no one else followed him out. I think he was waiting for me....hopping in place listening to his iPod playing "Eye of the Tiger" while Chaz was wiping his brow and feeding him sips of water with a water bottle that had Gatorade written on it.

So he comes barreling out and keeps on chasing me clear out of the kennel until I end up in Jimmy's stall. (I couldn't decide if I should go in or climb the gate like a rodeo clown during bull riding.) As I'm deciding this, he's getting closer and closer, all the while I'm waving my awesome pink stick. It was like a fencing match for crying out loud! Finally he quit chasing me after he realized he was outside the kennel and his ladies were inside. That distracted him long enough for me run by and up to the house to awaken a slumbering husband by the shaky words, "Will come outside and take care of this d@*n rooster! I'm done! You can deal with him from now on."

Three strikes and you're out. It was then we decided to put the hammer down and take the necessary steps to rid the roosters. Strike One: You broke our respected relationship and now you know you own me. Strike Two: The hen humping is so bad they're bald. Strike Three: I don't want my new chickes physically hurt by constant coitus.

I made this decision with a very heavy heart. No mother wants to send her troubled son off for good no matter how bad he screws up. Plus we had decided to let go of Chaz too. (Too bad for him, talk about getting the short end of the stick by association alone!) No, we don't know that if Foghorn isn't around that Chaz would become a problem or not. Plus the new chicks getting closer and closer to being intergrated into the flock and we have the potential of a new rooster...

All day I was depressed and thinking of funeral arrangements. I was going to have people over for a baked chicken dinner and send out invitations for Chaz and Foghorn Shawhan's Going Home Party. Then I heard a buggy turn in the driveway this evening as I was weeding the strawberry patch.  It was Eli Stutzman, the Amish chicken farmer who lives maybe a mile down the road, and who has been referenced before in this blog.

To wrap this up, we are giving him an old fuel tank and two roosters. He was interested in Foghorn and Chaz because they are just a little over a year old.  He has two roosters that are a few years old. So instead of him killing ours and giving us the meat, he's going to kill his and give us the meat, take the fuel tank and keep Foghorn and Chaz for HIS ladies! Talk about a win-win solution! Hopefully my hens will become pretty again and the newbies won't get mauled by over-sexed roosters. Then, IF R.W. really is a rooster he will have almost 30 hens to himself.

Want to know the real-kicker to this story....Foghorn and Chaz will still think they have died and gone to chickie-heaven. The Stutzman farm has 200 hens!!! That's 100 a piece!! Or, if I know Foghorn, that's 189 hens for Foghorn and 11 for Chaz.... They had already thrown away their razors tonight and are starting to grow out their beards. They also want a ride into the library tomorrow to get English to Dutch dictionaries.

The only thorn left in my side is that Foghorn gets to screw up here and is rewarded for his bad behaviour with 200 new ladies..... but I guess it is what it is, huh?

                                                                                     ...cluck... cluck... cluck...

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Saddle Up!


"'Cause I saddle up my horse and I ride into the city!
I make a lot of noise 'cause the girls, they are so pretty!
Riding up and down Broadway on my old stud Leroy,
And the girls say...
'Save a horse, ride a HEN?'"

I really hate to admit this, but we need to address the issue that is Foghorn Shawhan. The above Big & Rich lyrics are his theme song and have been for quite some time. I purposely did not add a photo to this post for two reasons: ONE if it's not mine I have to credit the source and I'm not 100% sure how to do it 100% correctly. TWO my hens have not been photogenic for a few months now. (I don't need PETA on my farm...)

My poor hens have not had feathers on their backs for a few months. Several reasons ran through my mind: they were molting, they had bugs/lice/mites, something was lacking in their diets. After all they don't get the roam of the property anymore like last summer. They were such beautiful birds...but I don't believe pain is beauty. As in I'm not going to watch the destruction of my flower beds for the chickies to have beautiful feathers blowing in the breeze...

So after some wonderful Google research...what would we do without Google and Youtube?...I found out that the above was not the problem at all. My problem is a nymphomaniac  rooster! (YES people, this is a SEX post...cover the children's eyes, but I live with farm animals after all and the birds and bees gets seen and discussed as casually as the weather.)

I try to correlate the time of the weasel massacre with the disappearance of feathers. I know I named Molt because of that...she looked like she was molting and maybe she honestly was. We have 2 roosters for only 9 hens...maybe that doesn't satisfy them enough. My fear is that Flock 2 will get raped the second they walk into the big girl pen and I don't want them damaged because of that. If that can happen...

So the answer for the feather loss, according to the trustworthy Internet, is over-breeding. A rooster's spurs can cause damage too, especially if the feathers aren't there to protect the skin. Plus the birds look like crap. Some say you can trim the spurs...but that won't cure the over-breeding problem. And I really don't want to try and even touch Foghorn. Chaz doesn't intimidate me as much.

The solution? I can order chicken saddles to put on my birds that strap on and cover the back promoting feather re-growth and spur protection. Do I do this at $5 a pop? That's $45 for my adult hens. (Plus shipping and handling. Then if it's Fed-Exed and I'm not home, my "saddles" end up at the neighbors, who think I'm a freak for ordering "saddles", or the post office where I have to go in and ask to pick up my "saddles"...sounds a little dirty doesn't it? Basically a "sex saddle"...I know what you perverts are thinking!)

I'm not sure that adding the newbies will help or not. It may help take the work load off Flock 1. It also seems to be condoning the rooster's actions. (Knowing Foghorn he'd think it would be kinky...HAHAHAHA..sorry.)

OR I can have me some chicken dinner....

While I wait for my answer, Foghorn Shawhan is on probation. He has installed a slight fear in me, which is not good. He came after me that one night collecting eggs, though he didn't actually attack me. He ran after Dan one morning even though Foghorn was in the kennel and Dan was outside. I even get a little nervous opening the door for them in the mornings because it's usually a rooster that comes out first. (I think Chaz steps out first.) I really don't want our chicken-sitter, Kaleb, going in one night and getting attacked. And I don't want my new babies getting torn up by him either. And OK...sometimes I yell at him to shut up because the crowing gets old!

Dan's solution is to take him on a little drive to Eli our Amish chicken farmer down the road and get him processed for dinner. While I'm partially on board for that I still have a hard time with it. I did, after all, raise him from a chick. It wouldn't be much different than when the others got killed...he's still my little boy! So what to do, what to do...$45 dollars isn't all that much...

"'Cause I saddle up my Percheron and I ride out of the driveway!
I make a lot of noise 'cause the girls, they are so pretty!
Riding up and down Sinking Spring on my old stud Charlie,
And the girls say...
'Save a horse, ride a Foghorn!
What? What?
Save a horse, ride a Foghorn!'"

                                                                               ...cluck... cluck... cluck...