Many of you are jealous that I can combine my work as a writer with staying home at Little Pond Farm. You might think that I have extra productive hours because I don’t have a commute. You might watch the HenCam and think, how idyllic!

Then again, if you were watching just moments ago (early afternoon) then you saw that I was NOT at my desk, working on what I’d promised to get to my agent (sorry, Carrie!) No, I was sprinting across the lawn to extricate one of my goats from yet another goat drama.

Ever since the goat boys were little kids, they’ve had a plastic picnic table to play on, and to sunbathe on top of. It’s safe goat furniture. Lots of goat people have them. Here’s a photo of Caper helping me muck out his stall. You can see the table in the background.

Pip somehow shimmied his way under the table. Then he tried to squeeze out between the bench and the table top. He got stuck, like a turtle in a shell. So then Pip tried to buck it off. That didn’t work, either, so he galloped madly about. Caper, smartly (for once) stayed out of the way of the rampaging picnic table.

I was in the kitchen, pouring coffee, when I saw Pip’s head looking out from under the table. I put the coffee cup down. When I saw him stand up, with the table stuck to his back, I started running. By the time I got to the paddock, he’d flipped the table off and was peering at it with this wonderfully innocent, quizzical expression on his face. He looked up at me. Why’s that upside down and over here? he asked. I’m itchy, he said. That’s why I went under the table. I gave him a good scratching, and Caper, too. Then I went in and got my coffee and headed back to my office.

But, on my way down the hall I heard Scooter gagging. He threw-up, so I took him outside, where he trotted around happily. I brought him back in and cleaned up the mess.

I am now at the computer. I am now getting to work. Really, Carrie, I am. You’ll get that book revision soon.

In celebration of my appearance on MARTHA, I have a giveaway contest! This

came in the goody bag at the MARTHA show. I already have one (or course, I mean, how can you resist something so adorable?) So, this one is up for grabs. All you have to do is send an email to me, with “chicken purse” written on the subject line. (You must follow these directions or your entry won’t end up in the drawing!) You don’t have to write a message, but I’d love to hear from you!

One entry per person, please. This contest closes Friday, April 9 at 10 pm EST.

If you don’t win, you can always purchase it from mypetchicken.com.

It’s a gorgeous, sunny, warm day. I’m going outside to plant peas – talk with you later!

On Monday morning, we packed the car, put Coco in her travel crate, bedded with fresh, pretty yellow straw (Martha Stewart-worthy) and headed to NYC. It rained and rained, but Coco, as always, enjoyed the drive. Five long hours later, we pulled up at the hip, gorgeous, SoHo Grand Hotel. I got out and explained to the doorman that we had a chicken to unload. It turns out that the doorman volunteers at an elementary school and was delighted to usher in a picture book star. He, and the rest of the staff took very good care of us.

Coco liked the stylish lobby.

She also really liked the wallpaper in our bathroom. Look closely – those are doodles of birds!

There was torrential rain on Tuesday, but that didn’t affect Coco’s mood. We traveled by chauffeured SUV (courtesy of Scholastic) to the television studios, where we settled into someones office while we waited. I had my makeup and hair done by professionals! Can you tell?

Everyone came by to meet Coco. Here she is with Lenore Welby, one of the show’s producers.

Lenore and I rehearsed my segment on the set. I wouldn’t meet Martha until the taping.

My 2 minutes of fame would be the last segment of the show. It’s taped in real-time, although sometimes it takes longer (the egg dish didn’t set when it was supposed to – I don’t know how they’re going to edit that!). We had a long wait. Coco went back in her travel crate and was placed near the door to the studio. I was supposed to stay in that spare office (there’s not one large room where all of the guests wait; we were kept separate). But, I kept going back to check on Coco. Just after the show started, I went to the staging area and she was gone! It turns out that the tucked away corner that she was put in was actually the freight elevator which was now down in the basement! We found an official-looking man wearing a headset, who got the elevator back to our floor. We moved her crate to a safe place under a table.

Finally it was time for me to go in front of the cameras. Coco was a star. Despite the distraction of chickens behind her in the coop, she posed on her toy truck. She looked prettily at Martha. I think that I strung some coherent sentences together. I’ll have to watch the show to see.

MARTHA airs at different times and stations depending on the region. This chicken show should be on April 2.

This changeable weather, cold, rainy, muddy, sunny, hot, windy (have I covered everything yet?) has done a number on Candy’s skin. Her ears have become chapped and rough, and her nose, due to her digging in the defrosted yard, is becoming lumpy with dead skin, shedding fur, and dirt. It’s one step away from a fungal problem. Bunnies don’t like to be bathed, but it was time. Since it was only her head that was in sorry shape (she manages to keep the rest of herself nicely groomed) I was able to wrap her in a towel, and clean her up from her neck to her nose. If you swaddle a rabbit like a baby, they go limp and calm, so that’s what I did. Steve held a bundled-up Candy over the laundry room sink, while I took my nail brush and sudsy Ivory soap to her nose and ears. Then, I massaged on a special medicated ointment. Next, she got a blow dry. Candy looked like a relaxed customer at a spa massage. Her favorite bunny treats were waiting for her in her hutch (dried banana chips.)

The next customer at the Little Pond Farm Spa was Coco. We’re off to NYC tomorrow for MARTHA. Jan Brett will be on the show with her gorgeous, perfectly groomed and coiffed show birds. I want Coco to shine right next to them. I bathed her in Ivory, gave her a good rinse, finished her off with something called “Cowboy Magic” that I hear is very nice for show birds, rinsed her off again, scrubbed her legs with that nail brush (forever after to be an animal brush and no longer in my shower) and finally, pat her down with a towel, then pulled out the blow dryer. She is a little thing – barely bigger than a pigeon, and yet it took a good 40 minutes to dry her off. She perched on my right arm, while I blew her dry (on low – wouldn’t want to ruin those feathers or burn her skin.) Whatever do people who show cochins do? Must take them over an hour to dry their birds. In any event, she is happily ensconced  in a scrubbed clean crate, bedded in fresh yellow straw. She’s ready for her moment of fame in NYC. I, meanwhile, need to get a new nail brush and go take a shower.

Yesterday, Eggers was looking so perky and well that I let her back in with the other hens for the afternoon. In the evening, I closed her up in a dog crate so that she would drink her medicated water. This morning, she was dead.

I recently attended a chicken necropsy workshop; this was the right situation to use that information. Egger’s daughter, whom I gave to a friend, also died under similar circumstances. First the hen looks uncomfortable and lethargic. Then, she responds to antibiotics, and then she is dead. I wanted to know what was going on. Unfortunately, my first attempt at a necropsy didn’t show up anything obvious.

To my inexperienced eye, all of the internal organs looked fine. Although there were no eggs making their way down the oviduct, the ovaries looked normal with tiny pearl-like eggs. The intestinal tract was unobstructed, and the liver, heart and lungs were the right sizes and clear of blemishes. I made use of one of the most useful, clearly illustrated books in my library, The Prairie Farmer’s Poultry Book, from 1925, which has line drawings of chicken anatomy and photos of diseased birds. Another helpful book is Poultry Sanitation and Disease from 1939.

Perhaps Eggers had an unseen genetic heart abnormality? I’ve no idea. Eggers was only three years old. Alma, a Wyandotte, also died at three of no apparent reason. Ginger, my beautiful sex-link hen, was three when she died, again of no known illness, and without any warning symptoms. Perhaps this is age-related? I’ve heard from other chicken keepers who say that their high-producing hens give out early. There’s so little known about older hens. After all, hens aren’t bred for longevity; breeders focus on desired traits like egg production or feather color. I’d like to see us backyard chicken keepers keeping accurate records and then sharing them. I think that much could be learned.