CockadoodleMoo.org

We've redone the front page of the site to acknowledge the fact that as much as we love working on the site — writing blog entries, adding recipes, displaying photos, making videos, etc. — we often run out of time to do regular updates. The animals come first and, what with our day jobs on top of sanctuary duties, sometimes we're just too tuckered out to do things on the newsletter and the web site. Bottom line: Look to this blog for when the site has major updates. I'll try to chronicle them here instead.

Latest updates:

Blog entries from Dianne on losing a rooster and a look back at 2009. See entries below.

New volunteer information here. 

Some new quotes here.

A quickie vegan blog post here.

~ Mark

We are so sorry for our long absence from the website, it seems that once summer starts there are so many chores. 

Here is a look back at 2009.

January: After some kung-fu fighting in the bunny pens, we decide to pair up the rabbits and section the pen into three living areas for male-female couples: Rembrandt and Rivera, Monet and Chagall, and Mattise and Rivera. These pairings seem to work pretty well and the fighting stops.

February: Ginger goes to the vet for her egg laying problems. After seeing X-rays, we decide to add more vitamins and protein to her diet. She has problems with the cold and is found trembling after a day outside with the other chickens so she is put on indoor rest.

March: After being stuck indoors for months, Ginger starts receiving visits from some of the bantam roosters in order to enliven her days. Before we know it, she is brooding over four eggs. We realize that she has been brooding too long but I am sure that her eggs are not fertile. Apparently Miyagi is not the scared gentleman he seemed to be and soon Ginger is a mommy. She has two chicks who eventually turn into beautiful roosters Seeger and Curtis.

April: We start making plans for the Nevada Humane Society walkathon. Mark starts working on the newsletter and we receive literature from several new groups to distribute. We decide to bring Fritz the rooster to the event since he loves people.

May: After the chicks start crowing (and we realize they're roosters), Ginger and her boys get a new home in the isolation pen outside. We take Fritz and head on out to the Nevada Humane Society walkathon. Vegfund donates money for us to hand out free food and we spread the vegan word to hundreds of pet lovers. Fritz is a hit and children seek out the sweet rooster who lets you pet him. Most of the kids have never seen a live chicken and soon many questions about chickens follow.

June: We rescue a neighbor's rooster names Angel after he is terrorized by the roosters and hens at his home. Angel arrives beat up, missing half his feathers and terrified. He is put into our spare bedroom until he has grown back some feathers and put on weight. We change his name to Ozu and get to work rehabilitating him.

We decide to adopt a feral cat colony that has to be moved from its current location immediately and receive a generous donation for fencing to help us keep them confined while they adjust. We also enlarge the rabbit colony by rescuing Artemisia, an unadoptable "screaming bunny" from Nevada Humane Society. Fencing is donated for her also. Seven feral cats arrive on June 30th.

July: Artemisia is an aggressive bunny with a growly disposition. We have to give her medication for a eye infection and soon learn that her scream is more of an opera-like singing. She is immediately renamed the "singing bunny". We don't realize that she is contagious despite being separated by chain link fencing from the others; three bunnies catch her eye infection and two are moved indoors to be treated.

We also have a outbreak of stress-related sickness in the feral cat pen, because of their unhappiness with their forced relocation, and start treating the wild cats as best we can.

August: All but one cat has healed and she just keeps getting sicker so we decide to take her to the vet for treatment. While she is away, the isolation time is over for the other cats so we open the back of the enclosure. During the night all but one cat disappears. The one remaining cat, Malcolm, turns out to be a love and follows us while we do our chores. The burros are finally able to use the enclosed pasture on the hill. The first couple of times we have to chase them from the top of the hill to bring them back home. 

September: On vacation, I build a split pen and coop for Ginger and Ozu (on one side) and Seeger and Curtis (on the other). They will all be bunking in the same shed but indoor fencing is created to keep them apart. The burros realize that when dusk comes, it is feeding time so they start waiting at the pasture gate to be put away at night. 

October: This becomes the major winterizing month, we make sure that every pen is warm and protected. We build new roofs out of tin panels for the bunny compound since the tarps spray water everywhere in the wind and get holes in them. We buy new heated water dishes for most of the animals. We move food to more secure areas, and Mark starts making hay trips to stock up for winter.

November: The month goes by pretty smooth until we notice that Andy has a twist in his neck and Mark spends a chaotic morning trying to load this very strong, 60-plus-pound bird into a vehicle and take him to the vet. Blood tests are run, medication is prescribed and the doctor suspects one of these things:

1. He has had a small stroke

2. He has a parasite

3. He has an inner ear infection

4. He has contracted a bird desease.

She becomes convinced it's #3. Andy recovers although his neck still becomes slightly crooked now and then.

December: A major snowstorm buries the sanctuary. We spend much time shoveling the new metal rabbit roof, parts of which drop down a few inches because of the snow's weight so we can't open the inner doors to feed everyone. 

— Dianne 

It had been a hard week at work, I had just pulled a six-day run with a couple of 12-hour shifts thrown in. We were having an audit and being the only person in my department, I was feeling pretty stressed. I had only four hours of sleep the night before because I had to be in the store at 5:00 am. So far the morning had gone smoothly and then the call came. 

Mark rarely called me at work, but since I had left in the middle of the night with very little sleep, I figured he was checking to make sure I had made it okay. He started the conversation in the usual way with pleasantries and listening to me go on about how things had gone so far. When I asked how his morning was going, he hesitated. Then he told me about Ally. 

There are some animals you have a special bond with, and Ally was one of the chickens I had become very attached to. When I asked what had happened, he said that there was an accident, he had found her in the coop bleeding and injured. He had not found blood on anyone else so he thought she had somehow landed wrong and broken her wing.

He explained how he had brought her to the house and called the vet. Our vet wasn't working so he was given to a vet tech to discuss a plan of action. The first thing the tech said was "You can drown her". My stunned husband stood petting Ally. "Or you could bring her in and we could euthanize her." Mark interrupted with "Could I take her to a dark room and just keep her comfortable and let nature take it's course?" "Yes," said the tech, "that's a really good idea." While he was petting her, Ally had quietly died. 

The reason he was calling me was to decide what to do with the body. Our options were cremation or a new burial plan. There was no way she would be thrown away. Ally's body was wrapped in plastic and she was put in the freezer. Later we will bury her in an locked metal box on the mountain over looking the valley.

I couldn't help it, the words "you could drown her" swirled through my brain. The truth is that no one would give this advice if he were calling about a cat or dog, but a chicken is a different story.  Pictures of Ally clouded my mind: Ally jumping for grapes, Ally joyously racing to the gate at super time, Ally looking at her purple wrapped feet admiringly (when she had foot sores after first arriving here). Before I knew it, I was crying. Not just the "I am really sad my chicken died" kind of crying, but the uncontrollable I need a box of tissue and a drink kind of crying. I could not get my composure back. I had to track down my boss and ask for a time out.

The audit went well. I realized that even if it went badly, there was nothing that could be worse then losing one of your best friends, even if she was "just" a sweet hen. So to all of us who take work too seriously, take some time to jump, race and admire the little things because that is what really counts and if you have the opportunity to make friends with a chicken.

.

Ally had to have her feet wrapped for bumblefoot when she first arrived here.

Ally's serenity was the inspiration for our logo.

Ally and her girlfriends.

By Mark:

We handed out vegan literature and our new newsletter (#6) at the second annual Super Pet Adoption Event, held in the Wal-Mart parking lot on Kietzke Lane. Thousands of people passed through and nearly 150 animals were adopted (none by us, everybody gets a forever home who comes here). 

We had pamphlets from HumaneMyth.org and Farm Sanctuary (especially vegan info aimed at kids) as well as Vegetarian Food for Thought podcast sampler CDs. 

The Nevada Air National Guard collected money from the public during the event and then, at the end, looked for a worthy organization to give it to — and that turned out to be us! It was very much appreciated. We had quite an expensive surgery for the angora rabbit named Chagall recently and had to get many bails of hay for the donkeys and goats so it couldn't have come at a better time.

Our table was right next to the hot dog stand so there was an interesting bit of cognitive dissonance going on. The first person to visit us — and who started by looking at the poster board of photos showing all the new animals at CockadoodleMoo — said in all seriousness: "Oh, I love goat. I had some at a Mexican restaurant last week. Do you sell them?"

I explained that we are a sanctuary for rescued and abused farm animals and we take in goats and give them a lifelong home. 

"How do you abuse a farm animal?" he asked.

I explained a few of the ways: setting them loose to fend for themselves, tying them up and forgetting about them, and surrendering them to Nevada Humane Society because they got too big, expensive, inconvenient or got sick through neglect. 

He had never heard of such a thing. This is an extremely common reaction. It's strange. People understand that farm animals are hurt and killed to make meat and clothing, and they've generally made peace with this (usually by not thinking about it), but the idea that they are often abused without a so-called benefit for humans is something they never imagined.

In addition to handing out literature about the sanctuary and veganism, I was interviewed on stage with it broadcast over the PA system about the animals and not eating meat so it turned out to be a very worthwhile day.

It was a hard week here at CockadoodleMoo, we suffered two losses. I get teary eyed still remembering our lost friends, but it is important to grieve, for us and the animals.

Last week my dear sweet Honey started looking off. She would listlessly stand in the doorway of a crate or in the corner of the isolation pen when I would go to bring her and Ginger inside at night. Honey is usually the kind of girl who runs to the fence when you call her. She races Ginger to be the first inside, and this new behavior was alarming. I decided that maybe the cold was too much for her, so I put her and Ginger in my bathroom and moved my toothbrush to Mark's bathroom.

For the first couple of days it was normal Honey, I would spend time with them in the evenings mopping up the bathroom floor (chickens poop a lot), they would peck, scratch and gobble up the scratch and creamed corn I gave them for a treat. The two girls acted as though they were at a spa basking in the heat lamp and lounging on the children's race car rug on the bathroom floor. 

By the following weekend, Honey started getting lethargic, eating less and less, sleeping more and more. Her enormous crop seemed to drag her body down. We gave her more high protein crumbles, we aided her in vomiting up the liquid trapped in her crop, and we made sure she had fluids.

For three days, I would leave for work dreading what might be awaiting my return. Then one day I found her lying there. Ginger has been in mourning ever since, acting very sad and refusing to eat anything put in Honey's bowl.

We also lost one of the seven rabbits we'd rescued. Our initial health check revealed a fellow named Goya had serious problems. We took him to the vet at Nevada Humane Society. He had three abscesses that would've required the removal of half his face to remove, not to mention other problems. The recommendation was to put him down. 

Dianne:

Honey arrived at the Nevada Humane Society with a story, no name but a story. Now you may be thinking everyone (even an animal) has a story but it is amazing how many animals are dropped off without anyone telling their story. It may be embarrassment or maybe it’s too time consuming but for the animals left without a story or even a name, I apologize now for my fellow human beings.

We named Honey after her golden red feathers. She is a young bird and was turned in because, at her previous home, the other chickens were being mean to her and the human caretaker felt she was starving to death. She was starving — Honey was so hungry that she had started eating rocks. Chickens do eat small amounts of grit to help in the digestion process but Honey was eating gravel.

The first sign that something was wrong was her large, swaying crop; it was so large that she stooped forward when she walked and the crop almost dragged the ground. At first we thought she was a new breed of chicken and maybe she would grow into her crop. Then one day her crop became huge and she started open-mouth breathing so we got her to a vet.

The vet’s conclusion was that the crop was filled with rocks. Honey was too underweight to go under anesthesia for surgery to remove the rocks so she would need to be indoors and isolated until she fattened up. We were to massage the crop to move the food around and aid digestion. Meanwhile, we pondered a $600 surgery bill. 

After a couple of weeks in isolation the crop became jelly-like, and one day when carrying her, she projectile vomited. It came out the mouth, nose and eyes — this was very traumatic for me but Honey took it in stride.

We made another vet appointment for the next morning. The vet was booked so we spent hours playing with Honey while we waited in an exam room. We broke up small pieces of dog biscuits and played tug with her as she leaped for wet paper towels.

This time, the vet needed to remove fluid from the crop to see why it was stopped up since the rocks seem to have passed. First they tried sticking a needle into the crop but the fluid was too viscus, so the vet put a tube down her throat and drained about 16 ounces of beige fluid. They examined it and found two kinds of infections. The good news was that Honey wouldn’t need surgery for the rocks. We were shown create a bra to hold up the crop in order to help food pass. And we were given two prescriptions. 

Since then, Honey has been happily spending her days in the isolation coop with Ginger and sometimes a little rooster named Miyagi. Her nights are spent in a large cage in Mark’s den. She is one of the most sweet and quiet birds I have ever met. Her infection hasn’t been cured but the signs are good she may be all right. The last two days she has laid her first eggs, something malnourished birds can’t do.

The sad thing is that this could have been avoided. She could have been removed at her previous home from the other birds and fed separately. At sanctuaries, this happens often — hay bales, wire temp fencing and locking an animal inside at feeding times are all simple steps to ensure that less aggressive birds get the chance to eat without being bullied. The “pecking order” is forever changing and the weak ones may actually become top bird once they get strong and healthy.

Honey’s story will have a happy ending. She may need to wear a bra and possibly be on intermittent medications for the rest of her life. She might even need surgery. She will be a pampered bird with plenty to eat, with other bird friends and lots of human love.

Dianne: 

Someone once told me that a turkey is like a dog and a chicken is like a cat. Being a "dog person," I was drawn to the turkeys more then I was the chickens. Although I have become very attached to Ginger, the other chickens still aren't as friendly or affectionate.  When I volunteered at Farm Sanctuary this spring I had a chance to spend more time with the big girls and they were very calming and curious — their barks and prehistoric sounding calls made me smile.

When Mark called home a few weeks ago saying he had talked to a woman who needed to place a turkey and her chicken companion that she had rescued I was very excited.

After many days of hits and misses, this last weekend the turkey arrived — unfortunately the turkey's chicken companion did not. The woman had decided to keep the chicken, but we were very happy to welcome Annabelle the turkey to our farm.

Annabelle's first few days were lonely, she seemed to be looking for her little friend, calling out and searching. It was very sad and we can only hope that when she is done being isolated, she will find a new kinship within our chicken flock.

Annabelle is a biter, she has nipped all of the dogs , myself and has tried to nip the cat. But our dog Sukha is fascinated by the bird, she spent all afternoon today lying next to the isolation pen watching the turkey. And Annabelle has shown she might actually like the dog, at one point they both napped next to each other  in the noontime sun.

Annabelle in the isolation pen on her first day

Dianne:

We recently took in three of the cutest little roosters from the Nevada Humane Society. The strange thing about miniatures is that they make you say "Awwww, now isn't that sweet?" Take these three little roosters. They are all strikingly beautiful and tiny and have the sweetest little crows. But once you have been bitten — no, I mean really painfully bitten — you will not take the size as anything but a deception.

We named the birds after silent film directors; Buster is a Game Bantam who is small, fast and wire-like. Chaplin is a Oriental Bantam who sits with his tail fanned up in a seemingly meditative posture, and Fritz is a White Silky Bantam who has a strong desire for food which gets him petted much more then he would like. (Note: We ended up changing Chaplin's name to Miyagi because Chaplin just didn't fit him.)

The birds spent the first night in my bathroom in a cage on top of Ginger's. In the morning, they set to crowing and Ginger sat quietly giving me the evil eye. That afternoon we set up the isolation pen, and the boys were moved out of Ginger's domain. When evening came and Ginger returned to her room, she had plenty to say and pecked at my ankles to emphasize her anger. She gets enough grief from Al, who is totally enamered of this beautiful young lady and won't leave her alone all day.

The new birds would allow me to pick them up at first but over a few days they started to peck and become a little more aggressive. Buster came to us crowing and now the others have also found their voices. For the first week I locked them all together in a large dog carrier each night for safety, but they would fight so badly that Mark said they would be fine loose in the predator-proof isolation pen. This has made them all happier and also helped Fritz and Chaplin to grow more confident, not letting Buster bully them anymore.

To most farmers, roosters are expendable since you only need one rooster for a flock of hens. Most of the chickens set loose in the desert, abandoned to humane societies or killed in the spring by owners are roosters. The U.S. egg industry kills billions of boy babies each year. Imagine what it would be like to be killed because of your sex. The next time you hear a rooster cockadoodling think of how lucky that bird is to be alive and how sad it is that so many others were killed.

We will try to intregrate our three musketeers this weekend. If things don't work out in the big bird flock we will  build a mini bird pen and coop for them to live in. Roosters are a challenge but what would life be if not for the little challenges we all get to face? Writing this I can hear Al with his big bird call, then I hear the little birds answer; back and forth the sounds of the farm on a sunny July afternoon.

Right to left: Buster, Chaplin (aka Miyagi) and Fritz enjoy breakfast together.

The three bantams roost on top of the dog carrier that used to

hold them locked together during the night.

Dianne:

This past mid-week was hectic. On Thursday I had an appointment in town which worked out well because we had three bantam chickens that needed a home waiting at the humane society. 

As I was running out to my car I heard that hair- raising rattle and after investigating realized that we had a rattlesnake hidden under our front steps. I would stomp and he/she would rattle. I called Mark and said I had found the rattlesnake that was under my car the night before and proceeded in preparing for town. 

I started loading some boxes I had to bring and there I found another sleeping snake. I let out a girlie scream and called the husband again. I stomped on the steps, yep there was the rattle, and took a shovel and lifted the boxes, yep there was the other one. I took a couple of pictures of Sleepy and went into the house. I apologized to the dogs since I would have to lock them inside while I was gone to keep them safe. When I was leaving there was the first rattler lying in the vines next to the porch. I took out the camera and shot some photos and headed on my way.

I went into town hoping that with evening the snakes would move on into the cooler weather. 

When I returned home 5 hours later, Sleepy was still sleeping and after much searching I thought that the rattling snake was gone. I let the dogs out back to pee and heard the sound, I yelled for the dogs to come in, locked them up and the chase was on.

I called Mark again. He said it was going to be a late night so I knew if I wanted my dogs to have potty access, I had to get rid of these snakes. I started chasing the rattling snake with a hose, then a long pole. But he/she insisted on either our front yard or the dog yard so back and fourth I ran.

Each time the dogs would chase me through the house and sit by either door listening to me holler at the snake. I realized that to anyone who might see me, I might look crazy, and I started to laugh thinking "snakes on the plain, snakes on the plain". (Plain geography, not plane.)

Finally after hours of this, I decided that I would just catch the darned thing. I got the large white snake bucket we have for such situations and tried to get the snake into it. Over and over he/she would go under or around but never inside. My nerves were starting to fray. I would have to use the "grabber". The grabber just doesn't seem long enough to me. At 5 feet long, the metal catch-pole is made for the task but feels within striking range of a large snake. 

I reached in, got the snake, was afraid that I was hurting him/her and let go. After three tries I got him into the bucket. I carefully put the lid on as much as I could and carried it out to the driveway. I piled large rocks on top of it and went to find another bucket.

Sleepy was still snoozing so I figured he would be easier. But waking up a sleeping snake is more exciting then you would think. First he bit the grabber and when I let him go he charged. He seemed extra fast but that could have been more about my nerves then his actual speed. The next time I caught him I held on, he twisted and bit and flung himself all around until I got him in the bucket. I covered the bucket with another bucket and piled the rocks on it also.

I called Mark, told him I caught both of the snakes but he would have to let them go when he got home, which he did alone while I laid on the couch with my heart pounding. In the background I could hear the crowing of  one of the new bantams, a fellow we now call Buster. I had to laugh. It is a strangled little cockadoodle that ends with a squeak.

Mark:

Our rooster — Big Al — is always after every chicken in the pen to have sex. One day recently, Al could not get anybody to do it with him no matter how much he chased them around. So he went in the enclosed patio outside their coop and gave the cluck that says he's just found something really tasty. Junebug was foolish enough to believe him. She came running to see, and the second she was past the door, he pounced on her. 

From this, Junebug learned the art of deceit. We just got a new chicken named Ginger who was left on the doorstep of the Nevada Humane Society with a note saying she was a pet chicken and her owners had to move into a condo and couldn't keep her. 

On the first day we introduced Ginger to the others, Ginger stuck close to us, fearing that the others would attack her. (She wasn't wrong in this belief; establishing a literal pecking order is important to chickens.) So Junebug starts pecking this way and that, as if she's doing nothing more than humming dum-de-dum-dum and looking for corn bits. Because of this, Ginger lets her guard down and when Junebug gets close enough, she pounces on Ginger to let her know who's boss.

I haven't noticed if anyone else has expressed exasperation, but Al definitely has. We have three mostly white hens who are all of the same breed. They hang out together, and they seem to live in their own little universe, uninterested in what the other chickens are doing. Dianne digs inside the pen now and then, often turning up worms. Well, one day, events transpired so the three white hens were sitting around a squirming worm. They were sitting there looking this way and that, and Al was watching them. Any of the other chickens would've ripped the worm into a pieces. Finally, Al couldn't take it anymore. He walked over and pecked each one in the head as if to say "Stupid, stupid, stupid" and then took the worm himself.

 That's Ginger staying safe atop a table in her pen on her first day meeting the other chickens.