The Training Run Train-wreck

Imagine feeling the coolness of the air; seeing the leaves turning bright reds and yellows and hearing the tell tale cacophony of geese flying overhead. Imagine the pleading look in the eyes of the dogs, for they feel it too, and make no mistake, they know as well as I do that training season has arrived. Imagine having all the equipment ready to go, imagine the dogs keyed up and for once, imagine knowing where you will take them to run instead of hunting for trails like seasons past. If you are able to imagine this, then you will know the excitement that filled the dogyard Saturday morning as I loaded up the truck with my mountain bike and two dogs.

It was a tough decision to make; which two get to come today? Horton isn't really comfortable running out front, neither is Blizti and Dart is too gonzo to be given the responsibility of lead, even if that responsibility is shared; Dora and Olive had already gone out -- and we'd had a stellar run -- so of the dogs that were left, I chose Jinx and Lacey. I loaded them into the truck, along with my bike, and amid the chorus of howling at being left behind, we left.

Last year's fall training trail was a logging road and I think that it is being used currently to haul logs out, so we don't go there right now. Instead, we go to the trail head we used a lot last year, which is close by and ideal for dryland training.

I pulled into a widening of the road and parked the truck and began to unload. One of our goals this year is to have a team that doesn't loose its' mind while they are being harnessed and hooked up. We want calm dogs that don't chew lines, harnesses or rip off booties -- it's hard enough to put them on once, nevermind twice and while the dog is jumping like a maniac. So, I took out Jinx and Lacey, harnessed them and then proceeded to get the bike ready all the while taking my time and making sure my dogs were well behaved. Finally, everything was ready, so I took Jinx first and put her on the gangline. I told her to 'line out' and was mildly surprised that she did. I brought Lacey over, clipped them together with a neckline and went to my bike to release it from the truck. It is at this point that the wheels fell off. Not litertally, but since the run became a trainwreck, this was the start of it.

This is the view of the trail from where I start. I'm standing in front of the truck.

"OKAY! Let's go!" I said. Jinx started to move forward, but Lacey turned around and came over and jumped up on me. I got off the bike, repositioned the dogs and tried again to go. Same thing. Once more off of the bike; once more reposition the dogs and once more the bike is dragged a few feet through the dirt, riderless. Jinx kept wanting to go but with Lacey turning around all the time, she was getting her harness twisted with the neckline. After a few failed attempts at getting them pointed, together, in the same direction, I decided to take off the neckline altogether; afterall, once Jinx started to run, Lacey would have no choice but to follow because I was going, too.

I had just unclipped the neckline and was stepping away from the dogs when Lacey decided to remember how this whole 'harness and line' thing worked; she and Jinx were off like a scared rabbit, leaving me to run after my bike which was now skipping down the road. For a few strides, it was just beyond my reach and the more I thought about it as a I ran, the more I realised I had better do something fast or prepare watch my team careen around the corner and out of sight. So, I did what anybody in my situation would do, I expect: I dove, quite ungracefully, on top of my bike. The handlebars dug into the ground, the pedal too, and as I tried to right the bike I noticed the front wheel was facing the wrong way which locks my brakes. This sudden stop from the locked brakes tore the bike from my hands and sent it bouncing down the road again. Momentum propelled me forward and I managed to catch the bike by the seat post on it's second revolution. I turned the wheel the right way around, ran along beside it for a few strides and then hopped on the seat. Through all of this, Jinx and Lacey didn't miss a step.

Both of these pictures were shot with me holding onto the handlebars with one hand while the other held the camera; I had to guess what I was shooting and hope it turned out.

There were no other incidents other than me getting a chainring to the calf which resulted in a pretty nasty slash. We arrived back at the truck in more or less one piece; the dogs got a bowl of water each while I packed up everything again. We drove home; the dogs to lay in the now bright sunshine and me to assess the damage to both my bike and me.

Having water after the run.

Jinx -- a hot dog.

Lacey -- a bad dog.

Yarrr! So it's me treasure ye be after, is it?

One night, while sitting around a bon fire at the neighbour's house, I was introduced to the new game of Geocaching. It is exactly what it sounds like: little (or moderately sized) containers filled with all manner of trinkets and the like set in place by members of the global Geocaching community. This game is truly world-wide for there are caches from Oshawa to Austria and all points near and far and the object seems to be to get people out and exploring.

How it works is as follows: someone decides that they have a suitable place to hide a container, so they fill it with items and place it in a safe spot where it is not likely to be found by those not looking for it. A log book and information page is included, and the coordinates are recorded. These coordinates are then uploaded to the Geocaching website, where they are made available to all participants. To find a cache, the coordinates are entered into a GPS and it guides the user to the general area of the cache, where it is then up to them to search around for it. It is very much like a modern treasure hunt. If the cache is found, it is acceptible to either take the contents and replace them with something else or take nothing and leave nothing. There are collectable coins and dogtags and other Geocache related objects to be found, but for most, I think, the adventure is the real prize.

A quick look at the website shows that there are differing sizes of containers and different levels of difficulty: some caches can be driven to, whereas others may need a boat or ATV to get to. There are other caches that are much like the box within a box within a box trick played at birthdays and Christmas. The initial coordinates given only reveal a box with more coordinates in it, so that the seeker goes from cache to cache until they are eventually rewarded with the final one, several containers down the line.

Jenn and I had a house full of kids on Sunday so we thought it would be a great adventure for them to go on a search for treasure. We had them draw up treasure maps while I found a nearby cache. I realize that drawing maps to an as yet discovered trove is difficult, but the kids didn't seem to care about the incongruity of it so we didn't, either.

The Treasure Hunters, eating freshly picked apples from our tree.

Near us, on a road that is not extremely busy, is a tree that is for some reason covered in shoes. It's not a tall tree, it's nearing fifty feet, but there are shoes right to the top. I thought this would be sort of interesting for the kids, so we chose this as our destination. With the coordinates suitably entered into my GPS we set out on our treasure hunt amid talk of presumed bounty and the niggling fear of residual pirates and their ghosts.

The Shoe Tree.

See? Shoes on a tree.

Looking for the treasure around the tree. Nope, not there.

We stopped for some lunch and then continued on and when we were a few kilometers away, we gave the kids their first clue on the treasure map: look for a tree with shoes. Although most agreed that trees don't wear shoes, the kids couldn't stop looking out of the windows. We drove past the tree with no one noticing. Not even me, even though I was sure it was around here. Somewhere. A quick 180 degree turn and we were closing in on our target. Lauren was the first to spot the tree and it wasn't long before we were all out of the van and searching in the bush, under rocks and behind trees for a container.

My GPS was accurate to within 5 meters that day, so it should have been fairly easy to find the cache. It wasn't, though. A combination of me not synchronising my GPS to the format of the GPS used by the person who hid the container (I noticed later that the information was available, I had just missed it) and it being our first attempt at finding a Geocache container led to a longer than anticipated search. It was nearly going to remain unfound until Jenn, who was just about to give up, noticed a white lid tucked into a small cave of rocks. When the kids heard Jenn call out that she had found it, they all ran to be the first to retrieve it. We found some nice moss to sit on and we opened the small, plastic container. Inside it was a logbook, a note about Geocaching, some shoelaces, a pair of Barbie pants, a car which Owen claimed immediately, a Dora the Explorer key chain and a small bottle of bubbles. The loot was evenly distributed, shockingly without incident, and we replaced the contents with some items that we had brought along. We logged our find of the cache in the notebook and put the container back for someone else to find.

Finally! The loot!

Being the brave pirates that we were, we decided to reward ourselves with ice cream cones on the drive home.

The Hens get new digs

As I was perhaps a bit too wordy in my last post, I will keep my hands away from the keyboard this time, with the exception being to add a bit of explanation to the following photos. This lack of text has less to do with me apologising for a long post and more to do with the near-vacuum we have been living in lately: nothing noteworthy has happened. It is, as they say, a slow news week.

About the only thing to report is the completion of the chicken coop. I think it was done in record time, too, although in this case the record is for the longest time between anticipated completion date and actual completion date. We may also be in contention for notable mention in the largest cost over-run (chicken coop category) and most over built structure (chicken coop category). How over budget and over built, you ask? Let's just leave it at knowing there are two, full-sized paint cans worth of exterior porch and deck paint on the inside of the biddy barn.

The four phases of chicken coop painting, as demonstrated by Hunter:

Step one: Mix paint, even though it is, by all appearances, already thoroughly mixed.

Step Two: Rough in the large areas, using broad strokes to ensure maximum coverage. It's best if both hands are used for this step in order to increase productivity.

Step Three: Once the large areas are more or less covered, concentrate on the trim. A trained interior designer will always spot shoddy trim work and, if noticed, this lack of care will translate throughout the room.

Step Four: Stick your head out of the wee chicken door. This fulfills two criteria at once: the door size is deemed accurate and it allows the diligent painter a break from the fumes.

The over built chicken coop.

There it stands, in all it's completed glory. When I started this project in the spring, Jenn and I were planning on using an old, already existing structure. It was not nearly as sturdy as this and in hindsight, I'm glad we decided to go this route. The gate is the entrance for us into the one side of the chicken's outdoor yard. I don't know what the square footage of the area is, but it took nearly one hundred feet of fencing to enclose and one short side was already fenced from the rabbit run, as they adjoin each other.

Inside the coop. The roost was a design of Jenn's. The floor is pine shavings and the metal deal-y is a feeder, which came to us all the way from Elmvale because Jenn had to have it for her birds. It's a nice feeder, though, because it holds a lot of feed at one time yet it dispenses it in such a way that they chickens can't land on it or spread the seed everywhere and lose it in the shavings. Bet you thought a feeder was a feeder, hey? Me too.

The nesting boxes inside the coop. Even though chickens are supposed to roost at night, we have one that insists on sleeping in one of the boxes. Maybe she's just being efficient, wanting to be ready in the morning for egg laying without getting out of bed. I'm sure that's it. The roof has a fairly steep slope to prevent the chickens from standing on it for if they can stand on it they will and where they stand, they poop. Limiting their roosting areas helps keep the coop cleaner.

These are a few of Jenn's chickens. All of these ones lay the coloured eggs.

The chickens are at the far end of their 'pasture' where they like to dig in the woodchips for bugs. They love grasshoppers and will chase each other down should one of them boast too loudly over her catch. They are also pretty good at keeping the grass down; in the foreground is the area they inhabited prior to the move into the coop and beyond their fenced area, in the background, is an area that they have spent little time in.

One of Jenn's chickens, close up. Gaze into and feel the emotion in that eye; full of compassion and understanding. It's as though this hen is wise beyond her years. No? You don't see it? Me either.

This is long and it's about my job, so you may want to just skip over it and come back later.

In an earlier post, I mentioned that my previous job was as an arborist; specifically, a 'climber' for a local arborist company. It was outdoor work, hot and often uncomfortable, strenuous most of the time; often it involved working at heights and it required a heavy harness/belt on which not only hung my tools of the trade but my life as well.

I have now been at my new job since the beginning of April. This job, an apprentice glazier, is quite different from my last one: it's outside work which is usually hot and uncomfortable (see below,) it involves heavy lifting and I often have to work at heights with a heavy tool belt and a harness that keeps me from falling.

When I started with this company, we were working at a school, ripping out the old frames and glass and replacing these with new glass and frames. Since then, I have had the opportunity to remove and reinstall new curtain wall systems. Curtain wall is the glass fronting that covers some large buildings, as well as making up the entrance ways to most malls, office buildings and the like. I have also worked on a skylight at the Sudbury Cancer Treatment Center. That was interesting, both for us and the folks below who, when they looked up at our bodies laying prostrate on the angled skylight, seemed to have the startled look of someone who realizes almost too late that something is about to fall on them. We were only replacing the outside trim, so there was no danger, but still, it was funny.

Lately, however, I have been working at Xstrata, or the old Falconbridge (the other nickel company) to those who don't follow mining company mergers and take-overs -- I have to: I live in Sudbury. They are putting in a new smelter and calciner plant. Before it starts to sound like I know what these are, let me just say that I don't. I have no idea, except that the new plant involves miles and miles of piping, from the small, quarter inch lines that feed the controls, dials and moniters, to the huge, 10-foot diameter pipes that must feed (or be fed by) the monstrous hoppers and vats inside the building. It is industry at its' finest.

It is this building that houses the hoppers, vats and such, that we were working on. All week, at our other job site, the talk was of how we were going to install the massive windows. The smallest unit was ten feet by six feet, so when I say they were big, I'm not exaggerating; in fact, I know people with smaller decks. So far, the style of glass that we had been installing is one sheet of quarter-inch tempered glass with a half-inch rubberized band in the middle to seal in the argon, and then another sheet of quarter inch glass on the other side of the band, making a unit thickness of one inch in total. For an estimate on weight, this is the formula: quarter-inch, tempered glass (two sides) plus a half-inch rubberized band weighs 7.1 pounds per square foot. Go ahead and do the math, or take my word for it: glass is heavy.

As I was saying, the topic of how to move these units of glass into the openings at Xstrata was quite thoroughly discussed. The more experienced glaziers decided that the best way would be to use a boom truck with this electric suction cup device that our company has. Normally, to fit the unit of glass into an opening, we use a suction cup with a handle on it so that we can lift the glass easily and safely. The electric one that was going to be used is just like our little ones, only a lot bigger and instead of one cup, it has four, which are able to be extended on movable arms for extra large glass.

What you can't see in this picture is how the wind is making this unit spin. It was spinning so fast that the swivel on the boom trucks' ball couldn't keep up and it ended up twisting the sling that held the electric cups on. We were close to the unit and if it had nicked us in the basket or the corner of the building, there would be glass everywhere.

I finally managed to get the glass under control. The round disks on the bottom corners are our suction cups, to which we have tied a small rope to help in controlling the unit until we can reach the cups.

Installation day came and the electric cups were taken out, fully charged and hooked onto the boom trucks' ball with a sling. The day previous, when we went to size up the situation and plan how we would work things, Rob, one of the glaziers, noticed that the glass was not the quarter-inch, tempered style that we had been installing, but rather a much weaker, eighth-inch plate glass with a half inch rubberized banding. Immediately, he was concerned that the glass was not strong enough to be lifted by the boom truck and electric cups. He decided to chance it, anyway, since we had no other way of getting the glass to where it needed to be.

Normally, when we install the glass from the outside, we use our snorkle-lift machine (like the blue one in the pictures) to lift the person in the bucket and the unit of glass on specially designed skis on the outside of the basket, even though it may be over the recommended weight capacity of the machine. At Xstrata, however, they are so safety conscious that they employ a person to oversee all the trades people who are working on the site. In fact, he is the one who these pictures are from. He makes sure that we are wearing our gloves and long sleeves (even in +33 degree heat), that we are harnessed and tied in to our machine and that we are following site-specific indoctrination rules. He takes his job seriously and kicked off one worker while we were there. My point in all of this is that with our tools and myself and Don, the other glazier I'd be working in the basket with, we were almost at the machine's capacity, and we still had a 300+ pound unit of glass to consider, if we were going to forego the boom truck route. The safety guy would never accept that. So, boom truck it was.

This is one side of the building. The Genie Lift (or Snorkle lift) has a 65 foot reach, and when it is fully extended, there is about two, maybe three feet of vertical play because of the flex in the boom. It doesn't sound like much, but when you're at the machine's maximum reach, it feels as though the whole thing is going to tip over.

I can say that the glass went in smoothly and the boom truck worked extremely well, as did the electric cups. No glass was broken, we violated no Xstrata safety concerns, except perhaps, rolling up our sleeves and taking off our gloves but if we were noticed, nothing was said.

Don and I guiding another unit into place.

So there it is: my new job.

"When the chicken comes home to roost."

With a brain the size of a pea, or to be generous, a Lima bean, you wouldn't necessarily expect chickens to be all that bright; and they're not, really, but they do manage to prove the old adage right by showing up at the coop in the evening ready to roost for the night.

Free Range Biddies

Jenn lets the chickens out to roam around and forage during the day where they typically wander all over the yard eating weeds, bugs and grasses. Although we usually herd them into the coop in the evening, if we are home late, the chickens will have done it themselves. I have wondered, too, what this must look like, this self-imposed curfew: does each chicken decide when it is time to head home, like a good party guest, or; do they participate in a mini-migration, en masse, to the coop? And if it is a migration, who instigates it? What if the instigator is lazy and is just looking for an excuse to sleep? Would all the chickens follow if it were mid-afternoon?

One day, Jenn let the chickens out and thought she saw her favourite chicken, called "Fuzzy-Head", take off toward our lower field. Since the strawberries were out, Jenn thought that the chicken was off eating them and paid no attention to her day long absence. It was only when the chickens were to be corralled and put in the coop for the night that Jenn noticed she was short a chicken. Her favourite one, too. And so began "The Lament for Fuzzy-Head: a tragedy in two parts." (Part One was Jenn losing her favourite chicken; Part Two was having to tell Hunter, who also claimed Fuzzy-Head as her favourite.)

Fuzzy-Head

Jenn waited for Fuzzy-Head to come to roost that night and we looked for Fuzzy-Head the next day. I expect Jenn was looking for the bird; I was, however, looking for a pile of feathers since we have foxes and weasles, not to mention hawks around. Neither of us found any sign of the chicken. It was probably day three or four that Jenn finally gave up on ever seeing Fuzzy-Head again however, if you ask her, she'll tell you that she didn't expect to see the bird from the night it didn't come home.

It was this past Friday that I found the bird, though, a whole twelve days later. Intact, even. She was sitting on a nest of eleven eggs, under a hawthorn shrub not ten feet from the back of the chicken area fenceline. I guess I should cut the grass more often. She was well disguised and I don't understand how she'd been able to go unseen for so long. It was only because I was out gathering the chickens to put them away for the night that I found her; and even then, it was only because there were a few chickens in her vicinity clucking away. She was thirsty and she went straight for the feed trough after (do chickens bloat, I wonder?) but other than that, she was fine. She had gone 'broody' on us and I guess she was looking for a quiet place to hatch her eggs, even though they were unfertilized, and I expect she'd have been there a long time if I hadn't found her.

The next day, Jenn let the chickens out as usual and Fuzzy-Head made for the same nesting spot where I had found her the day before. Jenn put one of Fuzzy-Head's eggs in a nesting box in the chicken coop and that seemed to keep her around for the day. Now she is roaming with the rest of them again, so I guess it's all back to normal around here.

Here are the variety of colours of eggs we get from the chickens. I would have a white one, too, but Fuzzy-Head was not around to donate for the photo.

New blog title being considered: The Biddy Blog, on account of us having almost as many chickens as dogs now.

Since we are new to the world of chicken raising and egg production, it should come as no surpise that we are learning new things just about daily. I mean, I knew there were 'fancy' chickens out there; I've gone to a few agricultural fairs in my day, but I didn't know that there were a group of fancy chickens that are called 'easter-eggers' as a result of their laying coloured eggs. Although they are called 'easter-eggers' however, they don't lay the eggs with stripes and zig-zags. They do, however, lay mottled eggs and so far with us at least, eggs that are blue and eggs that are pink. Neither of these colours are vibrant, being more muted and pastelle-like, but still, a pink egg from a chicken? I didn't know it was possible. It would seem like a good spot to post a picture of the eggs but I haven't taken any yet. Maybe next post.

At first, we thought the colour of the eggs was a result of them free ranging around our property and eating all the grass, clover and insects. Jenn did some research, though, and discovered this whole sub-culture of chicken folks and immediately decided that we needed to get our own flock of easter-eggers and so, Saturday we went to a local chicken raising guy (what do you call them, anyway?) to buy five more birds. These ones are extremely fancy: two have feathered feet, like a ptarmigan, some are mottled and most look more pheasant like than chicken like. I think that they have been crossed with some sort of game bird becasue their eggs are smaller, considerably so, and they can really fly. This new batch is fairly shy and skittish, though, so it was hard to get a picture of them. Below is the only good one I managed to get.

The new biddies.

Today was the go-get-fish day and since Jenn was not scheduled to work, the three of us went down to Killarney. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, having stopped to get a coffee, we noticed this one-of-a-kind motorcycle/car thingy. I said to Jenn that she had to get a picture of it so over she went. I could see in the mirror that she was talking to the driver, then I saw her taking a picture and heading back to the truck. "I sat on it!" she said before she was even in the truck. She was excited enough to have managed to forget to ask the name of the driver, who, she found out, built the thing himself.

The cool rig.

Jenn sitting on the cool rig.

Just to finish off: a few people have asked me what sort of fish we get when we go to Killarney. It's the pin bone fillet that comes off the regular fillet. Even though it is considered 'bone' it is still mostly meat, just annoying enough for people to eat so it's discarded. Herbert Fisheries gives it to us and our dog love it. We pick up two packers at a time, since I don't have enough freezer space to freeze more. This is what it looks like:

Fish in Packer.

Then, I transfer it to the cut-off bottom of a Rubbermaid container, freeze it and then cut it into dog-sized chunks.

Fish in the Rubbermaid flats.

Little, tiny work gloves.

When I woke up this morning, it looked a lot like rain. Even the weather from Environment Canada seemed to be calling for some showers. Nevertheless, I sped into town to get my roofing screws; I ran out yesterday and being so close to finishing the roof, I was not going to have the rain slow my progress today. I made the mistake of buying inch-and-a-half screws, instead of the two inch that I would need later, when it came time to put on the ridge cap. Of course, I didn't realize this until it was time to put the cap on, by which time I had used nearly half of the box of the shorter screws, so it was back into town -- half an hour each way -- for a ten dollar box of screws.

With the last screw in the ridge cap, the major construction phase of the chicken coop came to an end. The door is on, the window is in, which now leaves the insulating; the interior finishing: panelling, nesting boxes, electrical and a roost; the fence and related gates. Not much, really.

The chicken coop, minus the door:

I can't leave Jenn alone for a second. The other day, I turned my back for an instant and when I turned back, we were the owners of a new bunny. I had made the mistake of agreeing to let Hunter go to PetsMart to play with the kittens through the glass; sometimes, if we are close by and Hunter has been good, this is her treat. She pulls out the long feather-duster-looking toys from the display and waves them at the cats in the store. They bat at the air, follow the toy with their jerky head movements and generally entertain her. This day, Hunter was the distraction while Jenn went and adopted a bunny. I think the pair of them had it planned for a while because it was pulled off with such ease and subtlety. However, the two bunnies seem to be getting along, once the chasing, stamping and kicking fits ended.

The new bunny: ('Peter' to any who need to know it's name.)

Lately, Hunter has been helping me feed the dogs. She really likes to come out and put on her little work gloves, which I didn't even know existed. They are hilarious: wee little work gloves. Anyway, since we feed fish to the dogs, it is nice to have a pair of gloves so that we are not going through a tube of toothpaste every week. Yes, I said toothpaste. I have found out that it is the only thing that gets the smell of fish off your hands. One of the employees at Herbert Fisheries told me this, and I guess he'd know.

When Hunter helps me feed the dogs, I don't have to do a thing, except carry the fish bucket and feed Dart and Horton; even Horton could be fed by her. Hunter likes to root around in the bucket and then make sure she has the perfect piece for each dog, which she'll double check with me. Then, she'll walk through the dogs' area and put the chunk of fish on their house. I find the whole thing rather funny and I am really happy that she likes to do this.

Rooting around for that 'perfect' piece:

Feeding

Proud of herself and happy to have helped.

It seems that we have a bear around our property. We had a mother and a cub last year and I think that this is the same pair this year. I have already seen them together earlier this spring and then last week the yearling cub was in the lower dog run; the one we don't use anymore, thankfully.

The local Ministry of Natural Resources has published a guide to being 'Bear Aware' and I think that we violate almost all of their recommendations. We have dog food stored outside, we have two freezers full of fish and we have so many fruiting trees around the property that it would be impossible to pick up the fruit. So far, the bears have stayed away from anything important.

The bear.

As it would happen, the photos are rather dark, so really, all there is to see is a black blob. It's a bear. I swear.

Progress has been made on the chicken coop, althought I haven't taken any pictures lately. We picked up our roofing metal the other day and I should be able to get it installed tomorrow if things go well; I have fish to cut, a trip to Killarney again, for more fish, and the other half of the roof to strap before the metal can go on.

Another week has passed and what have I done?

Another twenty-eight degree day has come and gone and I find myself a little afraid of what the summer -- the actual summer -- has in store if the end of May and early part of June are any indication. Already, we have June bugs flying around and berries on the Hawthorns; perhaps at this accelerated rate, we'll get snow in September, although I somehow doubt it.

The stray dog that was around our place for the past few weeks has been successfully adopted. After a week of posting his picture with a 'found dog' label on the internet and looking around for 'lost dog' posters we decided it was time to put him up for adoption. We have been quite busy taking calls and emails and it looks as though he has found a new home. A couple came by on Friday to try him out for the weekend and I have just heard from them that they would like to keep him.

This past week has more or less been taken up by my construction of the chicken coop; the Chateau Frontenac of the chicken world as it is slowly becoming. Day one saw me leveling the floor with the help of a string line. Once that was done, I built the frame for the floor of the thing: 12 feet by 8 feet. Jenn has read that chickens need a certain amount of square footage, so these are her dimensions. In fact, the whole design is Jenn's basically: I am just the contractor. I managed to get the floor sheathing on on day one, also.

Day 1

Once I had re-laid the floor sheathing -- I realised that I had it on sideways: basically, the longitudinal strength was running horizontally -- I started to frame the sides. Jenn does not want any windows on the West or North side, so I was able to complete those for day two. I suppose I could have managed to get one, if not both of the remaining walls done, but we didn't have the door and window yet so I couldn't make the openings in the framing. Instead, I took the last bit of the day off for a (self described) well deserved beer.

Day 2

The coop stayed as it looked in day two for a few days while we waited for Uncle Rick, this crazy pack rat of a man who collects junk and then sells it to people at slightly elevated prices to open. He's only open on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays and if people look hard enough, they can find something worthwhile. We knew he had a bunch of windows and we were dreading how much he'd try to charge for them; he's not above haggling, but he approaches it as a cat does a mouse: eventually, the mouse loses. It is almost as though he doesn't want to sell the stuff. However, he is going out of business at the end of the year and we were able to get our windows for a great price. He even threw in the matching one (with a broken pane) for free. Not something he is known to do. The window that we are going to use is rather large for a chicken coop. It measures 47.5 inches by 41.5 inches which is large for a bunch of chickens, I think. The picture below is of the window; a 4-pane plus screen unit, all of which slides and I have left it in the back of the truck to show the dimensions of it.

The window.

Now with a window and a door to measure, I set to making the remaining two walls. Once they were up, I checked everything for square and was only an inch out on the diagonals, so I was happy with that. A few taps with the hammer and I was able to get the whole thing one eighth of an inch out of square. I can live with that; let's hope the chickens can.

Day 3

After getting the walls up, I realized that a half-dozen nails were likely not going to be enough to finish the job, so I compiled a materials list for the next phase, making sure nails were on it, and Jenn and I headed into town. Let me say here that, with the exception of Chapters, I don't like big box stores. Even Chapters manages to not carry what I am looking for, so it would be fair to say that I don't like big box stores, which is why we found ourselves in the parking lot of Home Depot. Materials list in hand, Jenn and I go in to find, buy and load what we need as fast as possible and get home. Home Depot was not only a nuthouse of activity, being a Saturday, but it was full of helpfull staff who were no help at all. How someone can be that stunned at work and still retain a job is beyond me. On top of everything else, Home Depot, 'the contractors choice' didn't have what we were looking for, namely: lumber. We decided instead to go to a local lumberyard and buy what we needed there and it is a good thing we did because they were .30 cents cheaper per board and the lumber was nicer than any of the stock Home Depot normally carries, which just goes to confirm my dislike of big box, small brain stores.

Today was roof day. I spliced together two eight foot two by sixes to make a sixteen foot ridge board. Once I had it in place and secured, I measured the angle for my rafters and proceeded to cut them all, then I nailed them all in place. I expect that I would have had more done today, but it was go get fish day, so the three of us drove down to Killarney again, ate lunch and picked up our fish. The chicken coop sits as below, awaiting eave ladders and roof strapping. The rafters will be cut shorter as soon as I find out the measurements of our roofing metal.

Day 4