Candy has had dry-skin issues with her ears for years. I clean them. I use lotions. I use medicated creams, and still, the fur doesn’t grow in. Yesterday, I took her to my wonderful vet, Dr. Meade, (who, by-the-way gives his total approval to her happy, healthy outdoor lifestyle.) He took a skin scraping and looked under the microscope, thinking that mites or lice could be the culprit. (These nasty bugs are species specific, so she wouldn’t be getting them from the chickens.) Nothing found. By process of elimination, we think it’s a fungal infection. Actually, it reminds me of a fungus that I’ve seen on horses – which results in the same build-up of dead skin and clumping fur.

Dr. Meade took his time cleaning her ears and then teaching me how to apply the anti-fungal lotion. I have to be careful not to get it into her eyes. The vet tech trimmed her nails way down (much braver than I – and she didn’t draw a drop of blood!) so that Candy can’t scratch her ears red. A trip to the vets can be stressful for a bunny, but they know how to hold her securely and move calmly. When Candy came home, she hopped into her hutch and looked at me, waiting for the dried banana chips – her favorite things in the entire universe.

Candy will have to stay in her hutch for a few days while her ears get treated. Right now, there’s bare skin, and since she loves to sunbathe, I don’t want her to get sunburned. I also want to keep her very clean. Candy is not going to be happy about this. Nor is she going to like having her ears handled twice a day and having medication rubbed on. You’ll see me carrying her in and out of the pen, wrapped in a towel. As long as she’s in that towel, she’s calm as can be. Getting her in it will take some doing! I’m off to buy more banana chips.

I’m lucky to live in a corner of New England that has historic buildings, dating from the Colonial Period of the 1700’s and into the 1800’s. A mile from my home is a house that was built in the 1750’s. Somehow, the property lines have stayed intact since then. Stone walls still mark the border between hay fields and woods. Of course, the landscape has changed over the years. The road is now black pavement and much closer to the front door than the original dirt tract. Powerlines bisect the view. But not all change is bad – the trees that were planted 200 years ago are now full-blown beauties. One of them is a Red Buckeye that reaches thirty feet. Although tree guides say that the Red Buckeye is a native of the southeast, and is more shrub than tree, this one proves otherwise. The tree is not easy to find at local nurseries, but my landscaper, Mark, found one and planted it a couple of years ago in my front yard.

Those pinky-red bottlebrush blooms are why I wanted this tree. It’s old-fashioned, yet dramatic.

I took these photos early this morning, after a heavy rain. When the sunlight reaches the tree in another hour, it will be covered with buzzing bees.

Pollinators, especially honeybees, are in decline. Many showy plants at garden centers look pretty, but are like candy – they have no nutritive value. Last year I went on a garden tour in a neighboring town. One of the gardens was in a newer development. I walked around the block and felt uneasy. Something was amiss, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. The next garden was at an older home, and bordered wetlands. At that garden there was birdsong and insect noises. It sounded alive. I realized that as pretty as the homes were in that new development, that it was deadly quiet there. Hopefully, some of the residents will plant Red Buckeyes.

(There’s a new book for children about the crisis with honeybees, The Hive Detectives. It should be in every school library.)

Tillie Lays an Egg gave me an excuse to buy more vintage chicken items than anyone should ever collect. Most of the items came from ebay. I’d never have been able to accumulate all of the board games seen in the bedroom tableau, or many of the other props used in the book, without that on-line marketplace. But, I also go to flea markets where I find things that I don’t even know I’m looking for.

Last week was Brimfield, one of the biggest and best flea markets in the country. It’s exhausting, but the miles that I walk up and down the aisles always pay off. This year, what I saw made me think about egg holders and how eggs used to be handled and how precious they were. There were plenty of egg baskets at Brimfield. I already have a number, and didn’t purchase a one.

There are large baskets for the commercial farms, and smaller ones for backyard chicken keepers. They are utilitarian and beautiful.

Cardboard egg cartons are a comparatively recent invention. (If you can believe it, I don’t collect them, even though the graphics can be wonderful.) In fact, it wasn’t until the 1930’s that eggs were regularly sorted and packaged in dozens. Nor were eggs refrigerated. They were kept in holders on the counter, or on the kitchen wall. A friend has a metal rack, so I knew such things existed, but it took me two years of searching on ebay to find this one.

I brought this wire rack with me to the Martha Stewart Show. A producer scooped it up and put it front and center for the cooking segment. It got more air time than me! It is special.

Eggs were shipped in wooden crates. There’s always a lot of such boxes at flea markets. More unusual is this egg holder, obviously homemade, with springy wires to hold the eggs safely and gently. I enjoyed looking at it, but didn’t buy it.

Here is my big find at Brimfield. I’ve never seen one of these before.

It’s an egg cabinet with it’s original key. Was this in a store? In a home? Who would lock their eggs up? Do you know?

… are now available on iTunes!

To celebrate I am having a GIVE AWAY CONTEST! The prize is a signed copy of Tillie Lays an Egg! To enter, send me an email and let me know your favorite HenCam Animal Choir Ringtone. EMAIL your entry. Put “ringtones” in the subject line (click here to email – please don’t respond on this post or your entry won’t end up in the nifty computer-generated random drawing.)

Please spread the word. Cell phones can be so intrusive. But if you’re on the bus, or waiting in line, or at a cafe, wouldn’t you rather hear Marge clucking, rather than the usual annoying ringtone?  The more people with bleating, buk-buking, barking, songbird trilling ringtones the better!

The contest ends on Thursday, May 27 at 10 PM EDT. One entry per person, please.

Caper has been limping for two months. At first I thought that it was a stone bruise that would go away. Or maybe a muscle pull. After a few weeks of watching Caper limp, I had Dr. Sarah come out. Luckily for us, Dr. Sarah not only has a small animal practice, but she’s also married to a dairy farmer and knows livestock AND does house calls. Dr. Sarah wasn’t too concerned about Caper, she thought it might be a strained muscle and gave him a shot of banamine. Unfortunately, Caper continued to wave his right front foot in the air. Clearly he was saying, “ow, ow!” It was decided to do x-rays, which meant a trip to Dr. Sarah’s office.

The goats are twin brothers and have never been separated. They also haven’t been in a car since they were delivered here when they were babies. I wanted to make this trip as stress-free as possible, and so the minivan was turned into the goat van and Pip came along to keep his brother company. I introduced them to the back of the van using my target stick and treats. These are clicker-trained goats. They’ll follow the knobby end of that target stick just about anywhere. So, instead of tugging and pulling, I simply had them go towards the stick. Still, Steve had to pick the boys up and put them in the van.

The ride was surprisingly uneventful. A bit of meh-mehing. They were so busy learning how to stand up in a moving vehicle, that they didn’t try to dismantle the back seat. The drive to the vet’s office is only 20 minutes.

We waited outside. The boys decided to do some landscaping for Dr. Sarah. These branches needed trimming.

The boys noticed plants inside and offered to help trim them, too. We said no.

After a thorough exam, much prodding of shoulder muscles, and trotting back and forth across the parking lot, it was decided to x-ray Caper’s knee. The boys liked saying hello to the nice people in the waiting room. I goat-proofed the examination room (dangling IV tubes are a magnet for goats.) I also cleaned up.

Caper had x-rays taken of both knees. Dr. Sarah doesn’t get to read many goat x-rays, so she compared the injured joint with Caper’s healthy one.

There appeared to be a slight bone chip in his right knee. No wonder Caper has been ouchy! The diagnosis doesn’t change how I care for Caper –  this will take time (and maybe a few aspirin) to heal. But, I am relieved to know what the problem is and to be reassured that I’m taking care of him as best I can.

In order to give a correct dose of aspirin, Caper needed to be weighed. Dr. Sarah picked Caper up and put him on the scale. Caper, being a goat, even a gimpy one, immediately hopped off. Instead of having to wrestle him still, I pulled out my target stick and treat bag. Caper politely stood on the scale. It registered 45 pounds. Big boy.

After saying enthusiastic good-byes to everyone, the goats got back into the goatvan. This time, there was lots of bleating and head butting. Finally, three miles from home, they laid down.

The trip to the vet was fun for the boys, expensive for me, and something I hope we won’t have a reason to repeat anytime soon. But, perhaps a road trip somewhere else is in the future?