Friendly Fred

Yesterday we talked about going over to the Red Barn pumpkin patch in town that sells the ginormous pumpkins for carving (since the ones we grew are for baking more pies!) but it’s still a wee bit early for Halloween pumpkins.

Plus, I was pretty crippled from our short walk in the park the day before and was unable to do much of anything without risking days or even weeks of being laid up, which isn’t uncommon for those of us with mastocytosis. It’s like I have a bucket and if I do too many things that trigger my hair trigger mast cells all at once, my bucket overflows and I am done.


I won’t bore you with the details, but we usually have a lot of mobility problems because one of the chemicals flooding out of our improperly degranulating mast cells (tryptase) acts as meat tenderizer on our connective tissues and joints, which is what makes it difficult for me to walk far some days.

Okay, most days, if I’m being honest, which is why I prefer to be chauffeured around in Gunther or in the dog sled. 😆

I did manage to calm everything down enough to walk out to the coop yesterday evening before dinner in order to spend some time with the flock, though (and to check on the lettuce which is still flowering and going to seed that I’ll be collecting soon).

The chickens are like the pups and come running when they see me, it’s pretty hilarious. I know I’m repeating myself here but they are just so dang friendly compared to the last batch we had!

Even the roosters (we still have two – we might keep them both, we haven’t decided yet) are friendly, which is not something I’m used to.

They even seem to like each other, which is a nice change. Usually the male birds have to be separated out around here or they kill each other (or try to at least). Once, we came outside just in time to watch one of the pheasant roosters decapitate the other with a roundhouse kick, which was both awful and rather impressive. 😆

I call them Fred and Barney. Fred’s the bigger one, obviously.

I’ve taken to calling all the girls Wilma and Betty, because it’s too hard to tell them all apart. They are all fat and happy and are just starting to lay some nice, fat, brown eggs for us, so all is well here at the homestead.

For now, at least. 🙂

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