# 580 - Introducing "Boots"

Living on acreage takes a lot of work, and we've incorporated a big change to BootCreek Farm this past week. 

We don't have many animals at this time, mostly chickens, but we have a good deal of acreage to maintain.

Our homestead is comprised of gentle rolling hills with a spring fed creek, open grassy areas, but the majority of our land is dense forest. That's because we live in the midst of the Big Thicket of Texas.

The grandkids love our backyard.

We've had this acreage for over twenty years and have lived on it full-time for the last nine. 

First, I thought I better clear this up. My husband has had many blog-nicknames throughout my years of writing, going from Deputy Dave... to Sgt. Dave... and now to his last... Pappy. 

Likewise, these days I've transformed into Lana-the-Nana. I still go by Lana, but answer to either. Who could've imagined this journey would've led me to writing as Nana?

Okay. Proceeding.

Since I've got a lot of catching up to do, I need to get through this next part. It's a heartache. 

Nearly a year ago, on October 31, 2021, we lost our beloved Howdy, our full-blooded black tri-color Australian Shepherd. After twelve years of loyal friendship, fun, and perfect guarding, we had to say goodbye as he naturally passed away here at BootCreek.

Howdy brought us much joy.

For me, Howdy brought increased safety, guarding me, diligently. When working outside in the yard, he would sit like a sentry, his back to mine as he watched my back, literally. Nothing got past him. He could sit for hours in guard mode, sharp eyes roaming the land as his ears remained folded back to listen for questionable noise.

A "working" breed, he'd encircle me to check all vantage points, always settling to watch the direction my eyes couldn't face. If I changed direction, so did he. An Aussie's instincts are uncanny. 

When he began to weaken, he struggled to continue in his same way, and it was heartbreaking. His strength made it even more difficult to say goodbye as he faded day-by-day, refusing to give in. He didn't want to stop protecting those he loved.

Howdy's final days.

Over his last two days with us, Pappy would pick him up as if his arms were a cushioned forklift, and he'd gently move him, offering him the highest dignity for as long as possible. He gave loving tenderness to his buddy, doing everything for him while always assuring in a soft voice, "I got you, Bud."

It reminded me of how I cared for my mother as she died, thinking it an honor. To love another on that level is a beautiful experience.

During the last two days of his life, Howdy couldn't move on his own any longer. I watched my husband extend heartfelt care to Howdy, and it squeezed my heart.

I tried to help with certain unpleasant tasks, but Pappy refused and firmly said, "Don't worry about any of this. I'm doing it for him."

A few years ago, I caught rare moments of
Howdy allowing himself to be held.

We had three grandchildren at our house the day Howdy died. Of all days, it was Halloween, a day when we had big plans with costumes ready for the Trunk or Treat that evening at our local church and had to wear a real mask of happiness, for the sake of the kids.

Some things you can't plan, reschedule, or dodge. We'd lived with Howdy's ups and downs, and we'd hoped he had a little more left in him to give the kids time to leave before he passed but apparently, he felt fulfilled enough with them here to let go.

Despite the life-changing transition occurring, I did my best to give the kids a "normal" day, even though they were confused about Howdy nearing the rainbow bridge.

Whether new life has arrived or one is departing, we must keep going.

On Howdy's last morning with us, Pappy carried him outside to lay him on the soft grass in the backyard, a perfect spot for him to watch the three grandkids... one of his favorite things to do. And then Pappy rounded the edge of the forest of our backyard to finish digging Howdy's grave and then he returned to the back deck to finish constructing Howdy's coffin.

Heavy-hearted tasks, indeed.

The sun shone bright as a cool breeze shook leaves loose, and they fluttered to the ground. The forest responded to the changing season with soothing sights and sounds.

Ah, all of life does have its seasons.

I stood on the back porch and watched the children encircle him. They sat on the grass next to Howdy and softly stroked him while telling him through tears how much they loved him... saying their goodbyes. I had my cell phone, and through my own tears, I captured the moment.

Later, after an early lunch, I settled the kids down for quiet time and then went outside to sit on the front porch by myself, thinking of how our lives were about to significantly change. 

That last year of Howdy's life saw an evolution of him going downhill. He could no longer devote excessive energy toward all the things he'd once loved. Most days, he still walked around the acreage to mark his boundaries and to bark once or twice at whatever needed a reminder to stay away, likely coyote or fox.

It wasn't easy to watch him deteriorate. And now, I sat on the front porch trying to unravel churning emotions.

With loving action, Pappy carried Howdy out to the front porch and gently laid my boy on the floor of the porch next to me. By this point in his last day, he couldn't even lift his head. I cupped a hand against his head as his big brown eyes gazed up at me. I kept my hand on him, assuring him he wasn't alone. I was there.

My in-laws learned he was near the end, so they stopped by for a few minutes, each coming up to the porch to give Howdy their love. 

My father-in-law pressed his 84-year-old hand to Howdy's head, "You did a fine job, old boy, a fine job."

My mother-in-law fought tears. They loved Howdy, too. It was a five-minute visit. Before departing, they both told me he'd been the best dog they'd ever known.

Now alone on the porch with Howdy, I noted that he never whimpered nor whined. If he were in pain, he refused to show it. His eyes wore an expression of resignation, as if he knew the curtains of life were drawing to a close. We shared many long moments of gazing at each other... I purposefully let loving thoughts flow from me to him during those quiet times.

Shepherds can get something similar to MS when they reach ten-plus years of age. The veterinarian believed this was Howdy's diagnosis. He lived two years with on and off symptoms of declining health, but there were surprising days when he would wake up to bounce around as vibrant as a puppy, and we'd have wide smiles full of surprise and joy.

Conversely, there were devastating days came when he couldn't walk, but we'd pray the next day would find him running around like normal. We quickly learned that any athletic moments would likely lead to bad days, so we had to put away the tennis balls and keep him distracted from overdoing it. Anyone who has had an athletic bred dog understands what it means to hide all the balls around the house. It's not good. 

No matter, his rebounds were inspiring.

On the porch that last day, I fought a primal urge to plead with God for another rebound. I wanted to believe this wasn't the end, but my heart knew otherwise. I sensed we had mere hours or minutes left with him. 

Instead, I followed a more powerful urge to express my gratitude to God for giving us generous time with one of His precious creations. We'd enjoyed more than a marvelous decade with him. 

I thanked Howdy for his life of loyalty. I had yearned for such loyalty, and he gifted it to me.

So, we spent our last moments together on the porch with love. 

I bent down and told him, "I love you. I'll always love you."

I told him I was grateful to him for keeping me safe all the years of his life.

I assured him that he would remain an unrivaled companion. My most stoic and loyal guardian.

Howdy at the lake at the back of our acreage.

Through tears, I told him that I considered him one of my children, but he'd oddly surpassed me in age to become a wise old one. For many years he'd been extremely athletic, far exceeding our expectations with endless energy, agility, and strength. Howdy lived a vivacious life, and now his face showed strands of white hair to mark bygone youth. I dreaded goodbye.

After a good while outside, Pappy walked out to the porch, wanting to bring Howdy back inside since the air was cooling fast. I got up and went to our bedroom to lay down with the kids who had all miraculously fallen into a deep sleep. Yes, we needed a nap to get through this day of enormous challenges.

Less than ten minutes after I'd squeezed into a small spot on the king-sized bed with the sleeping kids, Pappy opened the bedroom door, took a few steps toward me, anguish marking his face as he mouthed, "He's gone."

The shock of hearing what you'd expected to hear is unexplainable. That second of time cannot be anticipated thoroughly enough to buffer you from the pain of loss.

I rose from the bed and went to see and bury our boy as the children slept with sweet innocence, protected from seeing the worst of our grief consuming us.

There were many years when it was just me and Howdy at home together in the suburbs of Greater Houston. The kids had gone off to college, Pappy still worked in law enforcement and wasn't yet able to retire, and my business life had slowed. During those years, Howdy kept me company, and I did the same for him... using a wall in our living room to throw a hard ball and he'd catch it on the rebound with powerful accuracy.

I used a scrubbable paint for that wall, and it worked beautifully for both of us between ball-playing stints outdoors. My dad LOVED that wall.

On cold days, I worked at my desk and he laid across my feet, keeping me warm and comforted. I always felt him leaning against me.

And then Sgt. Dave retired to become a full-time Pappy when we moved to our acreage to build our home. When that happened, Howdy must've decided Pappy now needed his undivided attention, so he stayed near him throughout each day. If Pappy went outside, Howdy went outside. If Pappy worked on our acreage, Howdy tagged along to watch his back.

But if I went outside, Howdy never let me go alone. If I headed outdoors, I became Howdy's first-choice because he needed to do sentry duty. A visible short battle would wage within him as I headed for the back door. His head would swivel toward Pappy and then toward me. No matter how worn out or comfortable he might've been, he always elected to get up, to follow me, and stay by my side as I pittered around outside or weeded the garden.

Having a dedicated guardian at your side provides a level of comfort that cannot be beat. We live in the middle of a forest, yet I never worried with Howdy by my side.

I loved Howdy's hugs.

It gave me incalculable comfort to know Howdy would've instantly charged toward danger. There's no doubt that he would've battled to the death to protect any of his flock. He especially protected me and all the children in the family. The men in our family could NOT roughhouse with the kids because Howdy couldn't distinguish if the children were in real danger or not. If he sensed the kids were in danger at all, he would go into action to put a stop to it.

All of us appreciated his proactive guarding. Both of my son-in-laws have been the recipients of Howdy's warning nips to stop playing the part of a monster chasing the kids while growling, "I'm going to get you." 

Well, the "monsters" didn't get the kids because Howdy got the monsters first.

These two good fathers were never angered over Howdy's guard duties because they respected the fact that he acted on behalf of the children, not afraid of grown men charging after the children. And he could've full-out attacked the men, but he'd simply run up and nip as a test to see if he could detour their behavior. If not, there's no doubt that he would've gone in for a full effort to protect the kids.

We always knew that if ANYTHING or ANYONE came out of the woods with an intent to attack or drag away a child, Howdy would immediately go into action to protect them. He was a formidable guard. He had the capacity to make split decisions on his own and go into action. That is a priceless trait to have in a faithful friend.

Having a formidable looking dog is great, but having a dog who watches, judges, decides, and acts to protect his own is a priceless trait, indeed.

Losing Howdy hurt, but I was comforted by the thought of him and my father being together. My Dad died the year before Howdy. They sure adored each other.

Dad and Howdy in a joyful greeting.

It's nearly been one year since we lost Howdy, and I'm a mess as I write this post because we've added a male puppy to our home.

We could NEVER replace Howdy, but living on all this land means we need a good male dog. Their marking of territory sends a clear sign to predators that this area is spoken for, and if you cross this boundary, you subject yourself to the one protecting it.

In all the years out here with Howdy, he kept the coyotes at bay, and the fox didn't find it so easy to trespass, and any wild dogs stayed clear of our property.

In the near year Howdy has been gone, we've seen all the above encroach onto our land to the point they are now coming closer and closer to the house, more frequently. 

In fact, one day, I was outside and found myself eye-to-eye with a coyote about sixty feet away in my backyard. It wasn't afraid, but I was unarmed. I managed to get to back onto the porch and get inside to retrieve the rifle. Back outside, I had enough time to get into position to shoot as it finally bolted.

Then came a series of wandering feral dogs. We've seen strange dogs a handful of times out here, a rarity. A couple of times they were lost pets whose owners did show up to retrieve them, but when you have a strong male dog with good boundary marking, other dogs stay clear.

I truly thought we'd never get another male dog. We have two gals right now. The oldest is about ten years old. Gracie has strong behaviors that passed on to a puppy, and she learned many of her habits from Howdy, so her methods are partly an extension of his. I know the new puppy can learn much of the same with added training.

The best part about this puppy is that he comes from my oldest daughter's house. Her full-blooded Australian Shepherd had an unexpected tryst with a Weimaraner neighbor, and voila, sturdy puppies. Eight to be exact.

I didn't want another dog, so I avoided my oldest daughter as if she were the plague itself. This has become a family joke. I hoped Heather would find all the puppies their forever homes. And of course, I did see her several times during this timeframe, and the grandkids even came to our house for extended visits during those weeks, but I didn't want little temptations of all sorts in my face -- urging me to take home a puppy.

My patience didn't outlast anyone.

The fur-babies are no longer babies, but are now a couple of months old. My daughter's favorite remained one of the last to be claimed because she KNEW in her heart that he belonged to us, and apparently my husband and our daughter had formed a secret alliance of wills, conspiring to get the designated puppy over here.

Pappy and I are in a group text with our daughters, and Heather continually sent pictures and videos over the last couple of months to especially highlight this one puppy. I stayed strong. Sometimes watching the videos of the romping puppy with just one eye trained on the screen of my cell phone.

Nope.

And then we were home at BootCreek Farm one day when the thing we'd never had happen in all our years here did happen. Near the end of July, a trespasser showed up during the middle of the day, around 2pm in the afternoon. 

With multiple surveillance cameras trained upon the grounds with multiple indoor cameras pointed outdoors, along with other monitoring methods, we caught the trespasser's approach. This person breezed past multiple no-trespassing signs to meander through the forest -- our land -- toward our house. Most surprising, the trespasser walked right by the front steps of our house, and then turned to walk toward our BACK porch.

But, the trespasser took the time to approach one of the cameras, intending to steal it... and with hands on it... looked up and noticed more cameras capturing their actions. Did that stop the trespasser? No.

A documented meth addict has little incentive to stop them from deeds that might lead to another batch of drugs.

It took less than five seconds from the first notification of the trespasser's presence for us to fly into action, ready to respond and self-defend. Before the trespasser climbed the steps of our wrap-around porch, we were armed.

We are the Nana and Pappy a thief wouldn't want to encounter. 

It definitely wasn't a smart move to approach our house. I'll tell the entire story later, but this person did end up in jail.

On that day, our two female dogs cut loose while inside the house with us, but Howdy would've been a different story, if he'd been here. Howdy would've provided another layer of safety in a potentially bad situation. 

So, yep, we got the largest fellow of the liter, a robust little one.

When you live in the country, you are probably well prepared for such an occasion, likely better than the average person. Country people must be ready and able to confront and combat ill-intentioned individuals, out of necessity. Law enforcement doesn't have rapid response times in rural settings, but countryfolk usually have at least one strong, trained male dog ready to assist in guarding their property.

After this encounter, I did some hard thinking. We had considered moving this last year, maybe to Galveston, but with an unfavorable economy inviting inflation with soaring prices of basic essentials, we also watched local crime stats rise. This made the prospect of seaside living more precarious. And then we had other reasons to rethink moving.

Our property offers abundant fish and game with a spring-fed creek and lake. We don't have a vegetable garden this year, but for most of our life together, we've grown many of our own vegetables. Living in the country gives us a cushion against hard times. And our house is the place family and friends can come to, if the need arises.

Staying in the house-of-perpetual-construction means we needed another large, male dog. That's a mighty long commitment. 

The responsibility of having dogs is not something we take lightly, and my heart has struggled with this decision. I'm not one to let love in or out of my heart so easily.

This puppy will receive a lot of love and training. I look forward to resuming my vegetable gardening and other tasks around the house without having a rangy coyote sneak up on me, but I whispered to Boots, "You've got mighty big paws to fill."

He's trying.

# 566 - The Grass is Greener on the Other Side

More than ever before, dirt is a part of our life. We purchased our acreage approximately 17 years ago. Our girls were young - Stefie was in Elementary school and Heather was in Junior High. We all worked hard and played hard on our land. They both had fun pitching tents, swimming in the lake, playing in the creek, playing flashlight tag, building camp-fires, and running from bats swooping toward their heads. There are too many wonderful memories of them growing up being wild ones through the forest.

Then again, there are these memories...picking up sticks. A forest has a lot of sticks. Unending sticks. But, to build a camp-fire to sit around and roast marshmallows and make s'mores, you need sticks. The girls learned the value of hard work as they spent time each day gathering sticks, limbs and building their fire to burn that night.

Stefie yanking vines.

Heather determined to also remove the vines and huge roots

left from clearing this area of trees.

We took this rural acreage and cleared a couple of acres. The clearing began with grueling work that Sgt. David perversely enjoyed because he had a lot of energy to expend thru chopping, burning and purging.

About 15 years ago.

By the end of the work for this area of dense wood being cleared, we were left with dirt, dirt and more dirt. The berry vines with large thorns also fought to quickly resurge their growth through the soil.

It took a couple of years of hard work, but we finally laid a pallet of St. Augustine grass in this cleared area and it took root to spread over the coming years to make a beautiful yard. Sgt. David and I had come camping on our land, in a tent, and we ordered the pallet of grass to be delivered. My husband was working so hard and we retreated to the tent for a nap as the pallet sat nearby and I couldn't nap, so I went outside and laid the entire pallet before he woke up. I don't think I have the same strength or energy these days! The photo directly above and then the one directly below are of a time-lapse of a minimum of 15 years.

A bonus of hardy, thick St. Augustine grass is that it prevents growth of the berry vines from coming through, but you have to keep the grass mowed for it to do its job properly. The weeds can't be allowed to thrive and grow amidst the sod. We tried EVERYTHING to keep these horrible thorned vines from growing and spreading, but St. Augustine grass surprised me and finally worked with us to do the trick.

However, there was a gap of time when we didn't visit our acreage at all. There was a full year when we didn't come to the land and that's when my mother discovered she had breast cancer. Her battle was short, only about two years, and in her last year of life, I had zero desire to leave our main home in the city, six houses down from her house.

At times unkempt, the sodded area would have waist high weeds.

However, we eventually managed to fight our way back to enjoying the acreage. In fact, the week my mother passed away, I felt an instinctual strong need to come back to the acreage, so Sgt. David brought me with a loaded down flatbed trailer of yard tools, and I sat on the Cub Cadet mowing for six hours...zoning out...making peace with the inevitable. The acreage gave me space and it allowed me to be with nature so I could accept both life and death.

I didn't want to talk with anyone during this time about her coming death. She was only 57 and wanted so badly to live. Sometimes the fighters die fighting.

I was still working a minimum of 50 hours a week, but for two years I'd been spending significant time taking my mother to M.D. Anderson. I had taken her to her last appointment about two weeks before this day of mowing, and I knew there would now be no more trips to M.D. Anderson. Everything that could be done had been done and the cancer had spread everywhere...spine, brain, lungs, femur...everywhere. I knew, at any time, there would be no more mother. She was leaving involuntarily and I would experience a deep feeling of loss in a new way. She died within three days after my silent day of mowing. 

So, the grass out here has a weird connection to life and death out here for me. I guess people who love to garden and farm can relate.

But, to see the land go from dirt to a place of beauty because of diligence was rewarding, indeed. I might not have been able to control my mother's cancer growth, but I damn sure could chop down the weeds.

The good thing through this process of many years is that I learned that St. Augustine grass definitely is worth the value as it self-spreads while coping with periods of drought, once it is well established. And it is safe for farm animals and is beautiful

The pictures shared so far are of the sodded yard on the side of the acreage where we kept our RV and camped through the years. It's the area we lived in an RV for approximately three long years as we were building our house, but the pretty grass acreage side is not where we would later build our house.

This makes me remember the difference between our years of living in a city suburb to the country experience. In the suburbs, the houses come with sodded yards. The newly constructed houses brag of their "sodded and landscaped" yards for good reason.

The picture above and the picture below are of the same area...freshly cleared and a wreck, then you can see the yard as of this year with my grand-daughter Coraline enjoying it.

Through the years, we have made sure to have a lot of fun.

A family/friend day on our lake for the Three-Acre-Easter Egg Hunt.

Stefie and Heather - my girls who

love the outdoors.

I'm usually the one taking pictures, but every

so often I am at the other end.

Our lake is big...just big enough, but not too big.

No motorized engines, except for a trolling motor.

The good part about having gone through a phase with lotsa dirt is that I am full of hope that the ugly area around the new house will eventually be just as pretty as the side of our acreage with the RV. I keep reminding myself that the sodded area that is now so lush with grass took a long time to grow more widespread and it is great that it continues to creep further outward. What was once rather ugly and chaotic looking is now beautiful.

I'm hoping the same process will happen for the area we cleared for our home-site. However, I tried to sow seed as well.

Several times I walked this entire area while broadcasting seed...expensive seed. I did this four separate times via a broadcaster and then I spread seed by hand, walking and sowing. Not only was this a lot of physical work, it was expensive. We purchased about $200. in grass that was supposed to be GREAT for this area and that is also self-seeding, but it just wouldn't work.

A few times we had unexpected massive rains too soon after sowing the seeds and the ground is so hard that the seeds just washed away. The high clay content made sowing seed nearly impossible. But, I tried.

We knew that we'd have to get pallets of St. Augustine grass to sod the area.

We spent several hundreds of dollars on sod and Sgt. Dave strategically laid rolls down in the areas most critical for immediate needs. We wanted to have a bit of green space in the backyard for the grandkids, and we also wanted the main stairways that lead to entrances to the house be sodded so less dirt would be tracked inside.

Mainly, the sod is crucial in preventing erosion. The rains cause the topsoil to simply wash away. We've had layers disappear as my seed sowing efforts failed. Sgt. Dave laid those two lines of sod seen in the photo below and that has helped retain a measure of soil along those areas. We now have taken notice of areas that desperately need sodding. I hope that we can soon add another pallet of St. Augustine grass to the backyard and that I can make more plugs from a few rolls for areas that are apt to be left forgotten. A few plugs of grass can make a huge difference over time.

We also put sod around the detached garage (not shown) and put many rolls of grass around each sprinkler head in the distance. Later, I would go and separate these rolls to create many plugs of St. Augustine grass for planting around and those have worked beautifully. It will take a couple of years for these areas to see the grass spread out, but they will.

As Sgt. Dave got started with the sod placement, initially forgetting they needed to be staggered, so I followed along behind him to stagger the rolls so that the seams weren't long and deep. We worked to reduce the brown and to increase the green. Even though so much more needs to be sodded, we are thrilled to have a bit of green get started. The ample rain we've had this year is helping the newly laid sod to root and spread.

For now, I walk outside and hold a hand up to block the expanse of dirt still needing sod, and I laugh. It took YEARS for the other side of our acreage to become lush and green, but I can envision the day that the yard surrounding our house is beautiful and even includes ornamental and vegetable gardens.

One day we will have a yard worthy of pictures with grandbabies sitting upon the ground...for now, I use creative imagination.

*******

My thoughts beyond my ordinary catch-up blog post...

The mundane in life is what gives life meaning. Every day we handle the most ordinary and necessary of tasks, but these moments are actually what give life security, depth and enjoyment, even if that seems ironic. Lately, I've been sharing deep sadness with untold numbers of others regarding the terrorist attack in Orlando, Florida. To those who lost their lives and to those who are directly impacted by their tragic loss, I am mindful of your suffering. I understand that you wish to simply do ordinary things in life and that you wish boring enjoyment could be the distraction it had once been. The rest of us should take this time to appreciate the simple distractions of life for the beautiful, carefree moments they offer. A heavy heart can no longer move through a day with ease. One who is mourning cannot do anything anymore with the same mindless movements. Many of us know what it means to experience tragedy and loss of some sort, life usually grabs hold of us in this way, sooner or later. However, the horrific scale of the Orlando tragedy is a stacked type of devastation...one upon the other. For those who endured the attack and survived, I hope you can eventually and miraculously find peace with your circumstances and make your life a representation for all who didn't make it out alive...your purpose is heavy and great. For those who lost a part of their heart, it is true that we do not forget, and we do not recover from such loss, we simply learn to live with it. That's the new task of one who has experienced great loss; the mundane, daily task they must now confront is to live with their hurting heart and aching soul. My prayer is that joyful remembrance will again one day touch the suffering.

# 535 - Incubator Chicks Hatching!

This past week, we have been shocked to find that our first attempt at using the incubator has been a success! We actually had hatchlings this week!

The first chick to start pecking through an egg brought me tremendous excitement. WHAT? It's really working?!

This egg is the first to have a chick start to hatch. Sadly, this chick
was obviously hatching prematurely, and this chick died after the first
24 hours following hatching.

Of course, we had a couple of eggs that didn't make it. We had to candle the eggs, which is really easy to do, then take out the eggs that did not contain a growing chick.

But, we missed this one, and it soon began to be a potential mess, so I removed it quickly.

After a while, I could see that the first egg that had begun to hatch was having problems. Soon, the chick behind it began to hatch.

To my surprise, the second hatching chick would be the first to fully hatch. The concern for the first chick that was trying to hatch became more intense. The chick was peeping loudly from the first egg that was not making progress, as hour after hour passed.

I also knew we needed to remove the egg holders, so we did it quickly because I was scared it would hurt the chicks.

The process of hatching seems to go like this, in my experience...I first heard peeping, which scared me as I looked around the room carefully and then it dawned on me that the sound was actually coming from the incubator, even though the shell had not yet been cracked. The chicks peck an initial hole, then they make a "zipper" line, and if all goes well, the chick pushes the top of the shell upward with a burst of mighty strength and then they are BORN!

The chick works to hatch itself, then falls asleep, then suddenly perks
up and wiggles around, then falls back asleep. It is precious.

However, this in an exhausting process for the chick, it will peck for a while, then sleep, then peck, then sleep, and it can take a few hours. Then again, there are other chicks, as our third chick, who pecked the initial hole and was fully hatched with ten minutes.

Since we had no idea these eggs would be hatching, Sgt. Dave and I had no choice other than to work very quickly together to get the egg-rotator out of the incubator. I carefully cradled the chick so that it would not be pulled any direction that would affect hatching, he took out the rotator and I carefully laid the hatching chick back on the grate for it to finish its hard job of being born.

I must say, it was an unexpected, yet amazing experience to hold a hatching chick, but not one I want to do again. It was completely nerve-wracking, but I didn't want the chick to be caught in between the rotator trays. Back in the incubator, after another hour or so, it hatched face down and fell back asleep as we cracked up.

Sweet baby.

This chick would be the first to hatch and is now strong and healthy!

This is how an egg shell looks after a chick hatches from it...the top of the shell that is white is the air bubble area where the chick's head had been and is the zone for it to start pecking the zipper.

The other 2/3rds of the egg shell had a membrane that had blood vessels, kind of like a placenta. This membrane holds the chick's blood circulatory system until the final stage of hatching as the chick develops its own vessel system and the blood can be absorbed into its own body. This is fascinating to me. There is also a yolk sac at the bottom of the chick's body that is absorbed before hatching and that provides nutrients so the chick can recover from hatching over the next 24-48 hours...this egg yolk goes into the body of the chick and the abdominal hole is closed. If this process is not complete before hatching, you will likely have a chick that won't survive. You can see the "umbilical cord."

God's plan with nature is so incredible! I'm glad we had an incubator to help it along.

The little black feathered chick was the first to crack the shell and to zip, yet it was still in the shell nearly 24 hours later, with its peeping becoming more faded and weak. I researched the matter and found that chicks can literally get stuck in their shell. I checked the egg and found the area that the chick zipped was as hard as glue...the chick and the shell felt as if glue had dried everything in place. The solution was to slowly and gently rub warm water on the area and to even use Neosporin to keep the area moist and hydrated because the water will still eventually evaporate. I had Neosporin and helped the chick out a bit so it could move again.

Even with the assistance it needed; the fact that the chick needed ANY assistance was a really bad sign. After the chick came out, the yolk sac was still attached and to make a long, horrific process short, I will say that the egg sac suddenly filled to enormous proportions and I knew that the internal parts of the chick had prolapsed...the intestines were soon visible.

It broke my heart. The chick lived about 24 hours. It was a very difficult Farm Life Lesson.

All I could do was make the chick as comfortable as possible and to keep it protected from the healthy chick pecking, especially because we had a third chick making a rapid hatch.

As the third chick hatched, the strong, dried out, found-its-legs chick was in a pecking mode, so I put the newly hatched chick into the bowl with the chick that was struggling. This seemed to work out. Soon, the newly hatched chick could join the other strong chick.

The good thing is that out of the first three chicks we have ever hatched with the incubator, two are thriving.

I am very grateful these two chicks have each other as cuddle-buddies.

This Farm Life Lessons chick loves those two little fuzzy chicks!