Take a look at this photo.

Sweet, huh? There’s one of the Rhode Island Reds, cuddling up with her friends.

Don’t jump to conclusions.

I fully believe that animals have emotions and are thinking beings. However, I am careful not to interpret their behavior based on my skewed perspective as a human. We all look for that “aw, how cute” moment. YouTube is rife with videos that are supposedly of adorable happy dogs, but they are actually fearful, grimacing pets. A smile is not always a smile.

And this is not a hug.

Ruby is on the top of the pecking order. She doesn’t have a motherly, coddling bone in her body.

The prime sleeping position is on the highest rung of the ladder. Ruby was late to get to her rightful place. She was busy laying an egg. By the time she hopped up, the perch was full. She tried to shove everyone out of the way. Roosting birds are hard to move. Ruby almost fit. She squeezed in all but her wings. And so Ruby ended up in this rather ignominious position. After a bit more jostling, wings were tucked in and all went to sleep.

Knowing that it’s an awkward position and not a hug does nothing to diminish the pleasure I get from this moment or these animals. On the contrary, I appreciate the pure chicken-ness of them. Who they truly are is endlessly fascinating. I don’t need my hens to hug each other. I’ve seen plenty of examples of friendships amongst my flock. There’s always something going on – the challenge is in understanding it.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I know that many of you are planning menus and writing shopping lists. You’re thinking about turkey, stuffing, and maybe a green bean casserole. I’m not thinking about any of those foods. It’s not that I don’t love a classic Thanksgiving dinner, but over the years circumstances have kept me from creating that fabled groaning board in my own home. I don’t have nearby family to invite over. Our friends have their own commitments and can’t fill the seats in our dining room. We’ve tried staying at inns, going to a community pot-luck, and having a scaled-down version for the four of us. None of those alternatives felt right to me.

Eight years ago, facing yet another sure-to-be disappointing November, I sat myself down and thought hard about what I truly loved about Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the turkey, and it wasn’t the need to relive childhood memories.What I wanted was a house full of people and the casual, relaxed, hanging out at the table that happens at a food-centered, home-centered holiday. It dawned on me that I could have that without the Thursday dinner. I came up with my own unique tradition – one that features my hands-down-favorite part of the Thanksgiving menu – I invented the Sunday After Thanksgiving Pie Party.

Woman’s Day Magazine got wind of it. Perhaps they read this post, or this one. In any case, the current issue of the magazine

carries an article about unusual Thanksgiving traditions, and my pie party is featured.

This weekend I’ll be writing up my final detailed lists. Shopping list. Prep list. Pies I can freeze list. Last minute list. I have to be organized. I’ll be making about fifteen different pies. None will be pumpkin. Here’s what I’m thinking of so far, but this list will change before I start baking. Chocolate Pie, Lemon Pie (my recipe is online at Woman’s Day. Their editors added a 1/4 cup of sugar to my recipe. I do like my lemon pie on the tart side), Peach Almond Gallete, Rhubarb Custard Pie, Apple Cheddar Crumble Pie, Chocolate Pear and Ginger Pie, Tollhouse Pie, and Banana Cream Pie. On the savory side there will be Butternut Squash and Feta Pie, Chicken Pot Pie and a classic Quiche Lorraine.

Are you making pie? I’m open to suggestions. My lists aren’t finished yet.

Some goats have beards. Mine do. Pip’s gets really, really long.

In the winter, when he drinks, it turns into a beard popsicle. Pip has a thick winter coat that keeps him toasty warm, but I can’t imagine that having an icicle hanging from his chin is comfortable. So, before winter truly sets in, I trim off the goats’ beards.

Goats hate having their beards tugged. To cut a beard, you have to hold the end with one hand and wield the scissors in the other. The goats try to avoid getting haircuts. Their behavior reminds me of when my son was three and he shrieked and twisted in the barber’s chair.

Lollipops worked for Daniel. I tried distracting the goats with parsley.

I got a few snips in, but they eat fast.

I put some hay in their manger.

I had to rethink that. Obviously, I couldn’t reach their chins. I moved the hay over and snipped some more.

I tried using my clicker and target stick. But, I didn’t have enough hands to manage the target, the clicker, the treats, and the scissors. I need a target I don’t have to hold!

Finally, I did manage to whack off enough of their beards to get the goat boys winter-ready.

When one has goats, one must maintain a sense of humor. After all, the goats never lose theirs.

My good friend, Karen Pryor, was wondering if I could do her a favor. Six Red Marbles, a publisher of children’s educational books, was planning an early reader about Karen and they needed photographs of her training animals. Karen was one of the first marine mammal trainers (dolphins and killer whales, etc.) Her book, Don’t Shoot the Dog!, has transformed the world of dog training from dominant based to one that uses positive reinforcement and scientific principles. Her work with zoos has brought enrichment and gentle care to those establishments. (She is currently quite enthused with helping reptile keepers train their crocodiles!) Reaching the Animal Mind, her latest book, is a must read for anyone who interacts with animals of any species – including humans. Anyway, for the children’s book they didn’t need her training anything exotic, but something other than dogs would be good. Could the Six Red Marbles photographer and art director come here for a photoshoot? I practically shouted an enthusiastic yes.

Karen uses a technique sometimes called clicker training. The desired behavior is broken down into very small increments and each step to reach the final goal is marked with a click (usually from a hand-held noise-maker like those toy crickets from dime stores) and then immediately rewarded. It’s like playing the “hot and cold” game, but only saying “you’re getting hotter” and never discouraging with a “cold.” It’s ridiculously fun for the animals and trainers alike. Counter-intuitively, although the behavior is taught in the tiniest of steps, your get what you want far, far quicker than if you hold out for the ultimate trick. When Karen trains an animal, everyone is calm, it almost looks like nothing is happening, but then you realize that the animal has done the desired behavior and wants to know what’s next.

We started with the goats.

I think that I need to feed Caper less hay. Then, perhaps, he could sprightly jump up onto that barrel instead of do the “hang the belly” trick.

Next, Karen trained Agatha to follow the target (see the wand with the ball on the end?)

I’d warned Karen that Agatha is a very sweet, but rather placid and dim-witted bird. Karen has trained clams to open and close on cue, so she could certainly train Agatha! Still after a few minutes we switched to Florence, who was less mollusk-like and offered more behaviors, more quickly than Agatha. However, Agatha excels as a lap bird, and is ever so beautiful, and so she had her portrait taken by the photographer who was, I think, rather smitten with her.

Next, it was time to work with Lily. Lily is eight years old, and I’ve clicker-trained her since I got her as a rescue at the age of six months. I showed off a few of her behaviors, including weaving between my legs and a bow.

Then it was Karen’s turn. In less than a minute she taught Lily to leap up to the target stick.

This is the expression of a clicker-trained dog – calm, confident, happy, and ready for more.

However, Lily is a farm dog, and she took a break to chase some varmints. She has her priorities!

Clicker training can be exhausting. The animals are asked to think and be active participants in the training process. After everyone had left, the goats sat in the sun and chewed their cuds, mulling over the visit. It was quite the satisfying day.

We were without power for 24 hours, which wasn’t very long, considering how damaging the storm was and how many nearby communities were walloped far harder than us. In any event, my son and I, and dogs, (my husband has a knack for being out of town during severe weather) hunkered down in front of the fireplace. By the time the lights came on there was a nice pile of ashes in the hearth.

After the storm passed, I inspected the damage. All of the animals were fine, and inside the barns it was dry and comfy. But the chickens’ pens had became a soggy, slippery mess. It’ll be days or longer before there’s a nice pile of dirt to dust bathe in. Dust bathing is essential for their health. It’s what keeps the lice at bay and keeps their feathers in fine form. The ashes were just what the hens needed. So, I divided them between two kitty litter boxes and added an equal amount of DE (food grade diatomaceous earth).

I then stirred in coarse sand (leftover from installing the goat patio). I put one of the boxes in the HenCam flock’s run. Candy, of course, laid claim to it.

I shooed her out and the hens took their turns. Agnes was practically upside-down with enthusiasm.

The Gems were not so sure what to do with the purple box. The girls stared and glared, walked through and pecked at it. Eating dirt and ashes is fine. In fact, bits of coarse sand are good for their gizzards. Watch a hen dust bathe and you’ll see that they eat dirt as they groom.

I haven’t seen a Gem dust bathe yet, but I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon.