I ended up going to the stable early yesterday---and so I got there at about 12:20 instead of 1:00. I got home sometime after 9:00.
It was very busy! Though I had a great time. I helped feed the horses, bring them in, separate them, and halter them---releasing the ones we didn't need. First, we had a group of five beginners to take out, and while we were out with them, we had two others groups of riders come by. (One group persisted of 3 people, and the other was just 2 people: a man and his daughter.)
So after we finished the ride with the first group, which was conveniently coming to a close, we took out both the smaller groups on the same horses. Miss Terre doubled with the youngest members briefly to make things easier, and though we had a few hectic moments, it all went pretty good.
I rode Jonesy, and was so pleased---he did much better than he had the day before! He only bucked a handful of times, and even started to trot fairly willingly. I got him to canter for just a tiny bit, but that didn't last long (because in the hunt seat English saddle I was riding in, I couldn't stay in as easily and got unbalanced enough to slow Jonesy unintentionally.) He also racked some, though I pressed him through it and into a trot, mainly because I wanted to focus on trotting and cantering at the time. However, after I get better at them---and he stops bucking so frequently---I will see if I can get him to rack.
I've been thinking about calling Miss Terre and asking if I can come up to ride Jonesy and help out some (if she's there,) but it's getting later now, and I generally stay there for several hours. I'd really hate to miss dinner tonight---because Mom's making Navajo Tacos!
But, I have cleaned the medium-sized saddle that we got from our Aunt Susie. We actually have three---of varying sizes, though I decided to start with the one that I would actually ride in. It's looking much better now, but wow is it squeaky! We're pretty sure that being worn will work some of that out, but I'm fully prepared to use some baby powder if I must!
I plan on taking it up to the stable sometime in the near future (we are going to get a cover for it) to see what Miss Terre thinks about it, and maybe try it out on Jonesy to see how it fits. It's still awful stiff, but now that I've cleaned it it has loosened up quite a bit, and I'll keep flexing the leather some to help loosen it further. :)
I going to ask Miss Terre and my parents if I can go riding tomorrow. I don't want to leave Jonesy without being ridden for too long, especially after I've seen that he can make progress quickly. Yesterday, besides a decrease in the bucking, he was easier to halter as well. I plan on working with him on all those things, and also "standing." Or even better "standing still." He doesn't always wait calmly to be mounted, and tends to try and stray when on a lead and being held from the ground. I will probably work on whoa-ing him on a lead, then working with standing for being mounted and groomed. Actually, grooming isn't much of an issue to far---he really likes it!
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This is the horse I rode/worked with yesterday, his name is Jonesy, and he has lots of spirit.
In the picture, you may notice that we are a little wet.
That would be because he laid down with me in the pond.
We always ride the horses into the pond while trail-riding because it is good for their hooves, and their legs, and so I went out there with Jonesy, and he kept walking further in, until the water was nearly up to his belly, then he kept splashing, and they're me, thinking---oh, he's just cooling off his belly.
Then he flopped down onto his side. On purpose, the little bugger! :)
I had to climb out from under him, and get him to stand. Then I led him out of there, wet up to my hips, with my boots full of mud and water. I had to take them off to drain them out! Meanwhile Miss Terre is laughing, and cursing herself for not getting a picture. It took me a while to get back on, because the saddle I was riding was English, and my boots were so muddy that I couldn't get up on up Jonesy's 16-something-hands self!
Want to know what else Jonesy likes to do?
Buck.
That little bugger bucked and fussed for a good part of the ride, mostly whenever I encouraged him to pick up his hooves and move. He's not ridden nearly as often as the other horses, mostly for this reason, so I'm thinking he could be worked through it. But after the trail-riders I was helping take out (there was five of them this time) left, and I cleaned out my boots a bit and got dry socks, and helped unsaddle the other horses, I went out into a different field with Jonesy, and he was really something. He was all over the place, refusing to pick up into a trot until I fought him for quite sometime, making him do circles---because he wouldn't go forward half the time. And I never could get him to canter.
There were only a few good big bucks that unsteadied me at all, the rest were just powerful enough for me to have to correct him fiercely enough to make him stop, which made out progress very difficult. But like I said, I think he can be worked through this. I do not consider him, like Miss Terre, to be a problem horse. He's just a big stubborn thing, but he really is a good boy.
Miss Terre actually offered to give him to me, because she's having a hard time feeding all of her horses for money reasons. It's very expensive, because there just isn't enough graze out in her fields. They all get hay, and a mix of two different feeds (sweet feed, and pellets of alfalfa, I think, though I may be mistaken). I'd just have to pay for feed and board, but he'd be mine, (leased to me for 99 years, because apparently she cannot actually quote: "sell" him.)
I don't think that's going to work---especially not yet. Maybe by next year, if we having fencing out here (so I wouldn't have to board or pay as much for feed, once he adjusted to grazing) I could get him. I'd also like to see if it's possible for him to be worked through his bucking issue.
And see if I can make it any easier to catch him to put his halter on. He trotted the whole length of the indoor stable back and forth several times before I finally went all horse-whisperer and was able to approach him.
Miss Terre has another trail-ride booked for 2:00 in the afternoon today, so I'll be going up there around 1:00 to help out again, and I may just see if I can ride him again. In a Western saddle, so I'd be able to hang on a little better!
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Blue
10/18/2011
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This is a picture of Blue and I that Miss Terre took during the trail-riding on Sunday!
The ladies that we took out all say they had a great time, so that's good. :)
Remember I said he has two glass eyes? You can sort of see that in this picture---and you can see that I possibly do not know how to smile properly---I look dazed. Plus, can you believe me in that helmet? Can you say: HOT? It just completes my glorious look. Also, I think it turned some satellites that are in orbit.
This is everybody at the pond:
(Paint, Saber, Sky, Foxy, and Blue.)
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I may be going out riding with Sarah again today!
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The stable I'm now going to for riding lessons is excellent, and I'm really enjoying them so far! I've only been up there twice: once on Saturday (first lesson) and Sunday (trail riding), but it's been very nice, and already I have ridden four different horses.
Now, first off I'd like to thanks (again!) my parents and Grandma for buying me these horse lessons, because they're just great. :) I do like this stable, which is called
Peavine Creek Farm. The instructor knows her stuff, and is quite the character; her horses are very nice, and so are her dogs which always make a fine point to greet you when you come by.
My first day there I was introduced to the instructor, Miss Terre, and one of her students who has been there for two years, and boards her own horse at the stable. Then after we haltered (funny how I was confused how to do that at first... I'd knew how---I read, you see---but had never done it,) the horses we, and also another student, would be riding, I brushed them down and she helped me tack up (never done that before either). Then we worked inside for a few minutes, while Miss Terre introduced me briefly to her assertive manner of informing the horses what you want them to do. I swapped horses (I had formerly been riding an old gelding named Saber) with the third student, Brooklyn (a nice little eight-year-old), and then we headed out quite promptly onto the trails.
Sarah and I trail rode (walk, trot, canter; up and down hills, through trees,) for seven hours.
I was very thankful to be able to ride for so long with Sarah, because she was able (in response to my many inquires) to help get my form up to shape somewhat before my "riding lesson" even began.
We went back to the stables to remove the tack from Sky (whom I was riding) and Sarah's horse Apollo, then I went to fetch Paint, Sky's full brother, whom I would be doing my lesson on. We tacked him up, and I rode for another two hours inside the barn.
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I could not figure out what to do yesterday.
After riding horses for nine hours, what exactly can you do the next day? I was very, very close to pulling out schoolwork (that way I would have extra done, and I was really bored) when Miss Terre called and said she had beginner trail-riders coming out, and that I was welcome to come as well.
So I went, knowing that she had been talking on the phone Saturday to a lady who had a group of eight beginners who wanted to trail-ride together. Luckily, they decided to split up, and only four were at the stable. These ladies were very nice, but had pretty much no experience with horses for around fifteen years. At Miss Terre's directions, I haltered the chosen horses and tied them to be brushed down and saddled. The whole while Miss Terre is talking to these ladies and getting their papers ready. I helped them fit their helmets on, carried tack around, brushed the horses, and checked their hooves quickly.
None of their horses that I have seen so far have shoes, and Miss Terre doesn't ever mess with their hooves, though I like to check them anyways if I have time.
So then I went around with each of the ladies, and introduced them to their horse, talked a little about their blind spots, where they liked to be touched, and so on. I also told them that two of the horses---Sky and Foxy---will kick at the other horses, and each other, so you have to watch carefully when riding. Sky also likes to be close to his brother Paint, if possible, who was also going out on the trail.
Miss Terre gave a ridden demonstration on the does-and-don'ts, then got everybody up on their horses.
Going around behind her, I re-explained everything she'd told the ladies (sometimes in a different manner, because Terre certainly has her own style :) ) and then helped them adjust.
Then for the next two-or-so hours I ran around with them each in the stable, correcting their hands and reins, explaining, re-explaining, giving pointers, and helping them move about some. Meanwhile, Miss Terre saddled up the horse I would be riding, who is easily spooked, and led him out. He is really a pretty thing; his name is Blue and he has two glass eyes. I mounted him, and rode him around a little to try and re-practice what I'd been working on the day before. Then I went back to the ladies and was able to show them much easier what to do, and we all went out on the trail.
We trail-rode for a couple hours with Terre on foot, and myself supervising the ladies. Then we went back to the stables, and got there about the time my Mom came to pick me up. We took care of the horses, and Mom and I left. I must have been there at least five hours that day.
So unsurprisingly, I waddle a little when I walk.
But oh, I am enjoying it. I've actually done extra schoolwork today, so hopefully I will be able to go back up to the stable again soon this week, even if it's just to brush the lesson horses for her other students and trail-riders. Miss Terre kept telling me yesterday that I was heaven-sent and that she really hadn't called me into work...but was it really work? I mean, brushing the horses and helping the newer riders? I was just happy to have something I knew how to do---and to be there also. It doesn't feel like work at all.
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I believe I they can fly--
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Smile
10/15/2011
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The movie night went great, and we certainly had a nice time---even though not many people came!
Andrew, Timmy, and John came, and so it was just them plus myself, Quinn and Dad.
Just enough people to sit around the fire with plenty of room!
The movie was really cool, and wasn't at all as "gory" and everybody made it sound to be. It was actually pretty funny, and I think I'm going to like these later-year movie nights, because we can start them so early! After we finished the Thir13een Ghosts, we started watching Sherlock Holmes (the one with Robert Downy Jr,) and watched that until everybody had to leave. We had lemonade, popcorn, candy, and cookies/root-beer on the courtesy of Timmy and John. It was certainly very fun, and we'll be having a double-feature "family" movie-night on the 29th.
Thanks so much to everybody that came!
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Also, I'm starting riding lessons today!
I hope it goes well. :)
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It's movie time!
Tonight we'll be watching the Thir13en Ghosts and will be dining fine on candy, lemonade and popcorn.
We will also have a fire, and hopefully people to watch the movie with!
Now I've got to go get some logs from the chicken lot to burn... We're all quite excited! (Okay, well, Quinn's not looking forward to the movie...but I am!)
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Dane trotted rowdily away from Luke Davis's secluded, well-trimmed house, and cut away easily into the forest, unsettling a few bushes as he forged his own path through the thick, untamed brush. It was apparent that Luke had long since given up on trying to handle the wild vegetation, for many dense blankets of vine hung from the tree branches and twisted among the hedge. But the unruly domestic rgobe was nothing compared to the deeper sanctions of the DragonDust Kingdom and everywhere else between. Dane had personally trudged through many more dangerous territories, and found no trouble getting his bearings and finding a decent trail to lead the trio towards his home.
They'd been traveling for nearly an hour when Dane paused, his head canted at an angel, ear cocked. “Do you hear that?” he asked, laying his palm against a nearby tree.
They were stranded in a seemingly unrecognizable area of forest, where the trees were so tightly inter-knit and the leaves so lush that the fading light of dusk was filtered to mere glittering specks above. The only sound wafting on the grand, flavorful autumn air was the clandestine chirping of insect life, and the distant, high-above singing of cardinals and bluebirds. Dane was very at ease; this section of forest was as normal as any Outside nature park. Songbirds and crickets? That was nothing compared to what the feral black sanctuaries of Jjay Forest beheld.
“The river is close,” he told the girls reverently, slowly edging around the broad oak tree beside him, feeling the ridged bark as he slid his hand across the armored trunk.
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The “river” was no spring brook.
Was it even a river, really? Could it called that lightly? It was dark; a long, graceful swell of shifting, oily liquid colors, surrounded by lavish vegetation and twinkling white asters. The river had a fathomless presence, and though it was clean it held many mysteries, and you could see no bottom anywhere. It had a steady, drifting current that trickled and winked like bells. It was bewitching and exquisite.
Dane's eyes glowed as he staggered down the mossy ravine and towards the bank, which lie patterned with pebbles and small weedy grasses, lapped at by the lulling current.
He squatted down and laid his palm on the water's sleek surface, obviously enjoying the frigid liquid luster. The dappled splotches of failing sunlight that spilled in between the leafy sky canopy seemed to be swallowed by the river, leaving a trail of glistening orange lights to drift solemnly underneath the surface like the drowned souls of a million fireflies.
“Isn't it nice?” Dane straightened, eying his damp hand.
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The lake was fed by the nursing hand of the River of Shades, and was---at the risk of sounding childish---a wonderland among waterholes. It was serene, nestled in the wooden ocean of greens, coppers and blacks. Its darkened waters held an infinite number of lights, flickering like candle flame beneath warped glass, blurred and haunting, but beautiful beyond human description. The air was heavy with the invigorating smell of pine, and the guided cloth of an early night washed the lake with a faint mist as the double suns from well past the seemingly endless field of ancient trees sunk into their midnight cradles. Dane took a deep breath, gliding down the bank, his eyes wide open as if he'd never seen before.
“The stars are even coming out,” he said, craning his neck to gaze towards the heavens. Between the clamoring tangle of branches, twine, and leaf, you could indeed see hundreds upon thousands of tiny pinprick stars peeking out from the dusky orange swill of sky, to be swallowed by the lake's black abyss, their reflections swirling.
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It was lunchtime.
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“Awh man,” Dane groaned, slapping his palms down on the thick wooden bar, his green eyes squinted shut as if he was suffering some deep inner agony. “I...I can't believe this!”
The girl beside him laid a hand on his arm, concern flicking across her face as she carefully balanced a wide dinner plate in her other hand, adorned with a pair of spicy chicken tacos and a small salad.
“What's wrong, Dane?” she whispered in a low, tremulous voice that could only be heard by him; the large dining hall was full of rambunctious clamor, packed to the walls with students, teachers, and visitors, and nobody seemed to have noticed Dane's moan of defeat.
“I...” he whimpered, blinking, his vivid eyes flashing like jewels behind dark bangs, “they.... I can't stand for this. Melodia, back me up!” Impulsively, slamming a clenched fist on the bar, he jumped onto the broad counter and howled in a loud, authoritative, accusing voice that wasn't much like him---"OKAY, listen up!”
When only a few people turned their heads, he gritted his teeth, and pointed around the room, “HEY! LISTEN UP!”
Melodia covered her face and stifled a shaky sigh.
The room fell deathly quiet, and Dane Judge jerked his head back sharply, his dark, chestnut-brown hair brushing his neck, “now, I don't wanna hear no lies---that means tell the truth---because this is a matter of life and death. A serious crime has been committed here!”
Dane seemed oblivious to the growing tension in the room, and didn't appear to notice the teachers and hall guards walking towards the serving table he stood on, his sneakers hidden by plates of fruit, salad, and sandwiches.
As his voice slowly grew to a gravelly rumble, he shouted, “Who took the last tater-tots? Hunh? HUNH? Who did it? I've been waiting since breakfast to eat. SINCE BREAKFAST. And while in all my classes, I've been dreaming of those tater-tots. And now, after waiting in line like a civilized student to get my turn at the food, I find that they're GONE. Thanks a bunch guys, yeah, thanks, I hope you're satisfied you buncha dream-killers!”
Melodia was surrounded by still, silent classmates, her thin red hair hanging around her shoulders like limp cobwebs, her brown eyes wide and disbelieving. A laugh broke out somewhere towards the far side of the room, but she didn't know who it came from.
All she was aware of was the deep, furious blush rising to her cheeks, turning her white skin an unusual pinkish color. She could feel the heat from her mouth to her ears, burning in her temples and jaws. Why did he always have to draw the attention of the entire school? It was so embarrassing! She'd only been living at the School of Learning for three months, and had become good friends with the fourteen-year-old joker who seemed to find a divine pleasure in making her miserable. Could he not just accept that she wanted to lie low under the radar?
Dane seemed to be holding back tears, “I don't know how I can go on with life, knowing that you---my supposed friends---have betrayed me like this! How could you!” His voice reverberated unnaturally off the stone walls, wavering in pitch as his words rose and fell, like it was searching for a way out of the place, which was a strange, but cultured mix of modern style and medieval essence.
"How could you?"
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Inkling stood frostily in her room, slowly taking in the plain, but comfortable bed, and the thick red drapes that hid the domed window and sunlight, clothing the stone walls in shadow. She was perched close to the door, her wings kept clasped near her body as her red eyes, glittering with steel, roamed the humble sanctions. There was matching wooden dresser, chest, and wardrobe, along with a broad, sturdy table of alder that looked as though it had seen much trauma. It's surface was scratched, and chipped in some places, but very clean. In fact, the whole room was polished immaculately; not a fleck of dust floated through the air, and the sleek floor shone a glossy orange color from the flicking candles that dripped hot wax on the wooden dresser, and from the single torch that burned on the wall.
She stalked with considerable disgust past the fires, swiping them away with a toss of her hand, which whisked harmlessly through the flames, extinguishing them. It was noon, and she'd asked them to close the window so she wouldn't be burned by the light, but their weak eyes hindered them in the new-found dark, and they'd lit the flames without her request. She could see fine, her razor-sharp, horizontal pupils revealing in the black. And besides, the heat from the blaze was unbearable. Much too warm for her taste.
She set her pack in a lonely chair near the table, and walked slowly, firmly, about the room for a moment, taking in the white sheets and the red quilt on the bed, and the ancient authority of the wardrobe, which was well-crafted, with elegant clawed feet. Taken by an impulse, she strode over to it and pulled it open to examine the inside. It was empty but for a long copper bar that would hold any articles of clothing she cared to hang there, and a silver plate that was clasped tightly to the inside door. A mirror. She stared into it for a long moment, then closed the door and turned away.
Some crazies said that you were never really alone as long as you had yourself. They were the ones in mental institutions, hunched in the corner, even clutching a mirror to their nose, staring into it with wide eyes, or they were the ones that feared their own reflections for loathing of themselves.
Inkling ran her hand compulsively over the budding horns that grew near her temples, and thought grimly that she really was alone in this new place. She knew nobody personally---she'd only heard of some of the teachers before, and knew none of her fellow students---and she was so far from home. She figured she would have to keep her wits about her, because without her mind and intuitiveness, she really was lost in this brand new end of her life. She didn't even know what she looked like, besides what she could see of her body with the turn of her head. The mirror would offer no comfort, no reassurance, no answer to her many questions, and she feared that she would lose herself in the crowd of unfamiliarity.
Inkling decided she would take the mirror down later, after she'd settled, because the thought of it being there bothered her. With it there, it reminded her that she could deteriorate and become a mere reflection of herself in this strange place, and that is---absolutely nothing.
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Inkling stayed in her room until nightfall, unpacking her few clothes and other possessions; but most of the time was spent storing away her few items in the dresser and chest, which she arranged to her liking across the plain, timeless room. She spread out her inks, pastels, markers and paper on the table beside a stack of old, well-used books from her home library which all had dark, musky covers and were inscribed in an ancient, foreign tongue.
She set about the remove the mirror then. Inkling inched her hard, sharp nails under the frame, then yanked it viciously from it's latches, splintering the door. With it in one hand, and her eyes diverted from its reflective surface, she strode to the formidable ruby curtain and threw open the drapes to reveal an impressive window which blurred her view of the shaded sky with bubbly contortions in the glass. She undid the primal lock, and pressed it open with a grinding creak that made her teeth grate painfully. It took an effort to open, but as soon as it did she felt more relaxed, staring out into the black sky with the full, unearthly silver moon, and her starred disciples.
A nightly fall breeze slunk into Inkling's room, whispering around her body and tugging faintly at her dark wings, as if calling them into the air.
She watched the moon, her red eyes focused and intense. How strange it was, pale and ruined, like a dead woman rising from her tomb, looking down on the earth, seeking to sheath her form with a shroud of cold darkness, which gathered around her edges, littered with crippled star-flowers. Inkling admired their deathly beauty, for weren't most stars in the sky already dead? Nobody had informed them of it yet, and they continued to shine, blind to the truth, even if they were but misled ghosts.
Inkling Tenebrae took a deep breath, her ears tuned to the nightly melody. There was a song playing in the wind that called her into the open, where she could be lost in an endless void of sky and space. It sent a thrill through her blood, lighting her eyes with ardent energy, but she resisted the summoning, and with a heaving toss, slung the mirror out into the gloom, watching it spin, catching the moon's face and slinging the light to the ground. It hummed as it flew, then slowly began to descend into a chaotic fall before it cracked against the cobbles below, shattering in uncountable pieces of piercing gray dust.
Inkling smiled sadly, and leaned against the sill, listening to the nighthawk's cry reverberate in the distant gloom.
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I cracked open one of the last three eggs to find that embryo had stopped growing at a very wrong age, and by candling the other two eggs I found similar results---so those are out, and the incubator is shut down.
However, I do have eight beautiful new babies in my bedroom to accompany the other four!
I've got four Wheatens, (the yellows)
Three Splash, (the grays)
And one Black Copper, (take a wild guess.)
All are feathered-shanked, except for one splash chick (named Cloud).
There was some speculation on the survival of the second and third splash chicks, which had piped early and remained in their eggs without progress for a whole day. I ended up having to help each out of their eggs because there was some shrink-wrapping, but they're doing fine now.
If all goes well and these chicks survive to adulthood, I should be able to mix the black copper (male or female) with the splashes to produce more BBS chicks. While splash x splash = splash...splash x black = blue, though the copper gene (which colors the males differently, and puts an amber color around the hens' necks) may cause some throw-back color differences.
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So far today six Marans chicks have hatched! The one remaining Black Copper hatched, and one BBS---the chick of which I'm thinking is "splash-colored". Then I've got four Wheaten Marans chicks, which are yellow in color, but will change as they grow older (the males will become mostly black, and the hens a wheaten/red color.)
I've got two other pips, and a few of the last eggs are wiggling a bit---so hopefully we'll get more hatches through the night! I'd really like for the other two BBS eggs to hatch.
Pictures coming soon! :)
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This post is a bit delayed---but here are the pictures of the four new baby chicks that have hatched over the last week, and are now staying in my bedroom beside my bed in a brood box. All four cheep during the night, and during the day (rather loudly, I might add) when I'm not around. Each are getting a profound education on how to kill vampires, and vampire lore---you see, they really enjoyed the movie Lost Boys, and are getting into the TV show Angel, which I've recently begun watching. We've also watched True Lies, and are starting the Haunting in Connecticut. They also like science fiction, and are big fans of Firefly.
This is the eldest, his name is Esposito, and he is a game-bird mix, whose father is our little scarred, one-eyed white Frizzled Cochin
Pirate, whom roams the backyard.
Esposito is the brawn of the clutch, and is adamantly focusing on jumping out of the brooder, and even succeeded once yesterday evening.
Firefly is next; she is Esposito's sister (or brother, I can't tell for sure,) and is the most energetic of the lot. She has some interesting markings, and very dark "tear-streaks" down her face.
Sable is the third of the clutch. She is hatched from a black-colored, brown-egger, mixed-breed hen of our flock, and her father is unknown. She's the smallest of all the chicks, but already has large feathers coming in: all solid black so far. She is the most shy.
Then, last but not least, we have our newest baby, who hatched yesterday, and was actually due to hatch today! This little baby (whose gender is very hard to guess at) started piping Tuesday, a whole two days earlier than he was supposed to. There was another egg from our stock that was supposed to hatch yesterday, and we've seen no movement from it.
This little baby has some interesting markings that are similar to Firefly's, but of a different color. He is of mixed-breed origins on his mother's side for certain, and his father is unknown. He either shares Sable's mother, or was mothered by a Red Star (AKA, red sex-link) hen that roams our yard. I'm leaning towards Red Star.
His/her name is Doxa, though I toyed with naming him Angel after that TV show I mentioned above; I really like that show, partially because of the real vampire lore that it uses. No shiny vampires, for instance.
Here is Doxa:
He looks like he's wearing mascara.
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The Marans eggs go into lock-down Saturday, and my fingers are crossed! I'm really hoping they're all okay. I know at least some of them are developing, because the temperature in the 'bator keeps rising! It has affected some of the eggs, and I have proof. The reason Doxa hatched early was because of the heightened temperature, which went from 100, to roughly 103 overnight, and wouldn't go down quickly. It's possible that the rise in temperature prevented the egg that was actually supposed to hatch from hatching, so I'm giving it more time before tossing it out.
I've firmly corrected the temperature now.
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The three chicks that were due Friday hatched!
All of them are doing great, and I'll get some pictures to post soon...only one of them had a little trouble during the hatch. The little baby piped wrong, and had a bit of shrink-wrapping, but has recovered fine! My first guess is that they're two pullets, and one cockerel. We'll see if I'm wrong as they grow. :)
I did have three other eggs from our stock, but had to toss one yesterday---because for unknown reasons, the thing went bad. The remaining pair are in lock-down, due to hatch Wednesday and Thursday, if I'm correct.
I've candled the Marans eggs again, and though the remaining eggs appear to be fertile, some of them look a little weird---as if their air-sacs are misshapen, or something of the sort. The chicks inside are growing at unusual angles, I can't quite fathom the reason. Everything looked fine during shipping, but as they grow they continue to look different...maybe it's my imagination. I sure hope they hatch fine. The only probable reason for error at this time during the incubation would be dramatically fluctuating temperature. The temperature inside the 'bator appears to stay level, even throughout the night, however I know that the temperature in the house and outside sways a lot during the night---which has been cold for a long while now. The Marans will be going into lock-down shortly after the remaining two eggs from our stock hatch (or don't). We'll just have to see how things go! The breeder has already turned me down about replacing the non-fertile Marans eggs, because she doesn't trust that I am telling the truth. I've emailed her twice, but she is unwavering. I just hope the rest of the eggs hatch fine, and if they survive to adulthood, I may just have to get more eggs...from a different breeder.
Pictures of the new bantlings are coming soon!
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I wrote this quite a long time ago for role-play.
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Tatiana munched ardently among the wide, bushy fields of dandelions; the whole hillside was painted yellow by the stout springtime denizens, and though she'd been grazing for hours, she'd barely made a dent in the impressive expanse.
Nearby, Conner calmly looked into the distance, his dark eyes reflecting the wild, untamed moors, flooded with searing sunshine, that his antecedents had roamed for centuries. As a dedicated mustang, Conner knew the stooping ravines, small, unguided rivers, and distant mountains like his own four hooves; but like many bachelors, he'd become somewhat attached to his little home land, where Tatiana then grazed. From the corner of her liquid eyes, she could pick out the ancient willow tree about a mile to the north, its long, spindly arms floating in the stifling breeze, outlined by white light that burned her corneas. She blinked, and went back to her grazing.
Conner followed her quietly as she walked in slow, rotating loops across the hillside, chewing contentedly on mouthfuls of yellow dandelion, and pasty green leaves, but after an incessant spell of him doing this, she became increasingly aware of his attention, even stomping a hindfoot at him when he accompanied her in a brisk trot down the slope, which served nothing but to wear her further, for the sun was hostile and burning.
Huffing disgracefully, she shot him a sharp look and growled, “don't you have anything better to do?” Tatiana wasn't in the best mood---she was anxious about her impending meeting with Korther, and irritated about the sweltering heat.
Conner watched her levelly, then rumbled in his deep, drawn-out voice, “no-pe.” He exhaled slowly, a spark of black fire in his calm, unmoved eyes.
“Go away.”
“Why?”
“I'm trying to eat.”
“You're doing a wonderful job of it, really, I'm surprised all that cramming of those flowers in your mouth hasn't snuffed out that tongue of yours yet.”
“That won't happen,” she responded brashly, turning away.
“I was just beginning to fret so,” he sighed,, increasing his pace as she trotted a few meters away. He followed her all the way, then paused to take a long, silent drink from a small pool at the base of the shadowy hillside that they'd crossed over. It had probably originated from melted snow, and was guarded by harsh white wildflowers and fluffy splotches of thick-bladed grass. Tatiana loitered among the white flowers, biting away peckish bits here and there, her ears flopping back and forth to catch the distant wail of a curlew. Conner swished his tail to dispel a few beady flies from his flank, his dark, dappled buckskin pelt relaxing under the cool shade of the hill; compared to the relentless sunlight, it was a pleasant change.
“In truth,” he summed up after a while, breaking the quiet, “I'm a bit bored.”
“So go chase your own tail, mutt,” Tatiana replied roughly; the black robin's feather imprisoned in her silvery mane floated briefly as she shook her head.
“You know wild dogs don't do that,” Conner was a bit sidetracked by her words, “and I'm no pet.”
“I believe it. Scram, pooch.”
“I was wondering if you would tell me a story.”
“What?” her uneven mane fell over dark, creamy eyes as she canted her head to stare at him, “why?”
“I already said.”
“I wasn't paying attention,” she growled, and Conner responded patiently, “I'm bored, and have head that you're supposed to be a good story-teller. So, tell a story. Sing, dance, predict the future---whatever.” He got down on his knees, and flopped out on his side, enjoying the texture of the thick, cool grass, chilled by the morning masquerade of ravine shadows. “We've got a long time until nightfall.”
“I thought I was going to meet Korther by myself this time?”
“Si, well, I would have followed you anyways.”
Tatiana said nothing about that. She believed him.
“Fine,” she snapped, though her mind was already whirling with possible tales. Conner, much as she hated to admit it, was a great listener: he paid so much attention already! And it'd been a while since she'd told a proper story.
No way was she dancing though.
“Okay, so this one's called the Dream Carrier,” Tatiana began, putting the pieces together in her head as she settled down facing Conner in the cool grass.
“I've heard it before,” Conner rumbled instantly, noticing absently how the shadows cast from the slope defined Tatiana's sleek features; her angular face, proud muzzle, and attractive eyes---which were certainly not exempt of flame.
Tatiana had just been about to say something else when Conner interrupted, and the words died on her teeth. “No you haven't!” she hissed sharply, exasperated, nearly scolding. “I just made this one up! How would you know about it?”
“I'm a psychic.”
“Prove it,” she dared dangerously.
“Nevermind,” he coughed, smiling subtly. “Continue.”
“Thank you....” Tatiana drifted off as she thought about the tale,; when she spoke about it, her eyes grew misty and her voice reverent as she handed out the words like they were precious jewels, always kept close to her heart.
“It was fitting that the Dream Carrier was to be born when everybody was sleeping; when the sky was the color of a crow's feathers, and tasted of winter wind. White snow---ashy like burnt papers---floated in soft circles from the cardboard clouds, and fell to sleep on the ground, settling in sojourn blankets and piles. The whole world seemed peaceful, and silent. It was dormant and dark.
The Dream Carrier wasn't like the humans that slumbered in the ghost town, nor like the squirrels in the gutters, or the stray cats and hounds that scavenged on the streets. The Dream Carrier was a bird. A small sparrow, to be percise, with bold black stripes on his face, and powerful tawny feathers. His name was Dreu, and he hatched from a tiny speckled egg that had been sitting alone in a long-abandoned nest for the whole summer, fall and winter so forth---due to hatch that previous spring with his nest-mates. Dreu never had, and his family flew south when the clouds---pregnant with snow---came, and his mother, with her clean beak and bright eyes, accepted sadly that the egg was a dud---”
“---A dude? He was, right? Some mothering instinct...”
“Conner! I'm trying to tell the story! A dud! A dud! A rotten egg, whatever!”
The stallion tactfully kept a straight face as the young black mare went on, smoldering, “so his mother flew with the rest of the flock, and her mate. They eventually forgot about the egg, after all, duds---yes, duds---were laid into healthy clutches all the time. An elder-bird told Marcia, who was of course Dreu's nest-mother, that she was lucky the egg didn't explode and ruin the whole nest back in the spring, and that she should have been stronger and thrown it out long ago.
“The south was warm and abundant with bugs to catch and eat---but farther north, where Dreu was hatched, it was cold, and the ground barren of worms, and the bushes scant of berries and insects. There was nothing to eat, but Dreu didn't starve. Instead he flew---without ever being taught---into the gray skies, letting the wind whisper and the snow fall unhindered by his small form. He wasn't a normal bird, in fact, he wasn't even alive. Born a spirit, a phantom, Dreu could see into the minds of anybody sleeping. He could drink in their thoughts and dreams, and gnaw on their consciousness, tasting the creative, and very different, lights of their souls---”
“---Okay, I'm going to ask permission this time,” Conner interjected hurriedly, knowing his voice would evoke another fierce glare from her---and his prediction wasn't wrong. She nodded after a moment with a weary sigh, and he said, “I would hate to live in that town if I was a human---having a bird 'gnaw' on my conscious sounds painful. They don't even have teeth.”
Tatiana was very quiet for a long moment while what Conner said sunk in, then she spoke in an even determinedly-controlled voice, “are you finished now?”
“Yes, chiquita.”
“Alright. So, discovering his power, Dreu started to sneak into the houses, through the chimneys, which smothered his sandy feathers a sooty black, and sat on the humans' bedsides. He'd stare at them, his little needle-feet making three-toed prints on their soft sheets, and would listen. He could hear them breath, and their heartbeats—then he'd close his own eyes, and fall into their dreams. He reached out with his consciousness, to touch the sparkling bubbles of their minds, and would see as an outsider---what they thought, felt, and imagined. He breathed it all in, and thrived off it. He saw and learned so many things, some amazing, and some frightening. Names, places, emotions---everything. It made him feel special (and he was), but it also made him feel mischievous, and greedy.... All these forbidden secrets, talents, and great ideas, locked away from other humans. He began to plot how to mix them all up, how to create something similar to havoc---why? Because of his surging greed and hunger; the more belief and emotion and heart the humans put into these dreams, the stronger he would grow....” Tatiana stopped blankly, and Conner watched her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts, and when she didn't speak, he rumbled, “so this bird's going to make the mind less secure.”
“Yes, but---” Tatiana stared into the distance, her eyes slowly clearing as she lost focus on the story.
“But what?”
“I'm not sure.”
“I bet I know how this story ends,” Conner said smugly, eyes glittering; totally content and at ease. He was sprawled on his side now---nearly on his back.
“Oh yeah, psychic, how?”
“I don't want to spoil it for you,” he gruffed.
“How can you spoil it for me? I made it up!”
“Exactly. I don't think you know how the ending goes yet.” He tilted his head to look at her, “do you, chiquita?”
Tatiana didn't bother even answering that one.
He was right.
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