Miracle Metal?

Clearly, though the chicken coop could keep the chickens in, it could not keep the predators out. The word “zorro” seems to comprise any number of smallish predators, like foxes, skunks, lizards. If you lose a chicken, the word is dolefully murmured by all who hear about it. So whatever my zorro is, it apparently is not deterred by the mere appearance of a secure fence.

Here in Nicaragua, as in many tropical underdeveloped countries, corrugated metal is the primary construction material for many projects. And there is always plenty of rusty scrap metal around. Most of the scrap used to be roofing, but a rusty hole here and there requires replacement with new, and the original panels live on in other useful incarnations. It ain’t pretty, but that has never deterred a soul from using it to create an outhouse or outdoor shower, a dog house, or a water pump housing,

such as this, installed in my yard after a storm knocked out the pump’s motor. Jonathan built it entirely from scavenged materials. Can you believe it?

After the aforementioned massacre of half my new octet of half-grown peeps, Jonathan not only found me a little hen with three pollitos,

She's smaller than a football, and her comb is black! Mighty Mo and her babies.

but also went to work yesterday morning to try and varmint-proof the chicken coop.  As you can see, corrugated metal that used to be part of my roof has been stylishly refashioned to block any and all access points, save for the hinged door.

Jonathan thinks he has succeeded, and this morning, although all peeps were present and accounted for, the drama continued. It seems Mo, the mother hen (her peeps are Eeny, Meeny, and Miney),  is a total bully to the larger peeps, and they had to shelter in a hole in the hay, with no access to food and water. Now, Mo and her brood are in the dog carrier, awaiting a solution when Jonathan returns on Monday. I hope we have enough scrap metal on hand...

The Massacre survivors huddling in the corner.

You may also conclude that this scrap metal bears much responsibility for the shabbiness and makeshift appearance of so many barrios on the edges of towns and cities. Building codes are a luxury few can afford—that goes for curb appeal as well. I have a can of brown paint I’m going to open to try and disguise the rusty discoloration that now graces the chickens’ quarters. It will do little more than make it a bit less ugly, and if I didn’t love my chickens so much, I’d be tempted to chuck the whole thing. For now, I’ll have fingers and toes crossed that tonight, that old zorro—whatever it is—has met its match.

P.S. Tue. morning
Mo and brood are still in dog box; discovered two more dead peeps in the coop this morning. They were not torn up or mangled, but there had clearly been a violent scuffle. What is doing this? A snake? Rats? And are either of the last two survivors even female?

I cannot pour endless money into this hapless enterprise. Plus, last week, one of my cherished six layers got out of the coop (mea culpa) and was killed by Mitzi while I was asleep in the afternoon. A learning moment for both Mitzi and me, but this steady drumbeat of death is exhausting and utterly depressing. Johnathan could build a wood and mesh impervious container in which to raise peeps to adulthood, but that is another $100 or more. My eggs already cost about $1 apiece!

Well, I wouldn't bet a dime on the chance the remaining peeps will reach adulthood.

Friday Night Massacre

Nothing like a loaded word like "massacre" to overstate the latest life and death incident at Chez Gringa. And yes, of course it involves chickens.

When my sextet of egg-layers showed signs of diminishing production, I bought some peeps at the veterinary store and turned them over to Maria José's 10-yr.-old son Alfonzo to raise until they fledged. The eight peeps turned out to be six hens and two roosters, and this past Friday, MJ and Jonathan brought the youngsters to their new home in Juanita's former digs in the chicken coop. Juanita, I am sorry to say, went to her eternal reward, thanks to a fox or other varmint who beheaded her about a month ago. The chicks were nicely fledged, and as motley as is normal here in Nica. The largest was black and white-striped, mainly Plymouth Rock, I imagine. Three were whitish, and the others were brownish and orangish and black. Mutts all.

I planned to take some photos of my eight new arrivals on Saturday, but when I went out to the coop, I found only four chicks. Some predator had made off with the other four, squeezing under the fencing, no doubt. Just like that. Half the flock gone. That evening, I moved the dog carrier into the coop and locked up the survivors until morning, and now they seem no worse for the trauma of Friday night. Here dey is:

As luck would have it, all four victims were hens, which nets me two out of eight for my massive

investment. I must go to Niquinohomo to buy some pullets, as I did when I bought my current layers.

Hurricane Nate blew down the chayotera -- a framework for supporting chayote vines that yield that green pear-shaped soup vegetable that is ubiquitous in Central America. Roger and his machete went to work over the weekend and now I have a nice new trellis. New plantings come in tomorrow, and with luck, in six months it will be a leafy bower.

Mitzi, at six months, is almost full-sized. She is a leggy tween, gallumphing all over de place, full of life and perpetually hungry, and now, the biggest dog on campus.