Chicken Coup Saga Final: Painting the Outside.

Have you ever had a project go well? Like really well? Like maybe you were painting outside and the weather was perfect without a cloud in the sky? And the it was perfect temperature and you had enough paint and paint rollers and there was no running to town in the middle of a job to get anything because you planned ahead enough? But the whole time you are worried because nothing ever goes this well and you are not sure if a tornado can appear from a clear sky but you can't relax because you are waiting for something bad to happen?

Just me?

It was kinda freaky. Everything went well. It was a wonderful day. We did have to cheat the dry time between coats to three hours instead of four, but otherwise it went just fine. There was only a few hiccups. Like when I certain cat, who shall remain nameless, decided to rub herself all over the wet paint and now she looks like a bad tie dye job, or the chickens throwing dirt at the fresh paint because they have no appreciation of hard work, or that fact that we kinda forgot that white paint plus sunshine equals blindness. But those were minor things and all in all it went super awesome. Almost too awesome.

At this point, at the end of project I should say some stuff about what I would change, and what I liked about it.

I know, it's just too pretty for words.

What I would change about it:

Not much. I think we could have gotten away with the building being shorter. It's a full 10ft in the front, and 8ft in the back. We could have 8ft and 6ft and it would have been easier to put up. A lot easier. Also cheaper. My only real regret, my true regret, and you might think I'm crazy, is that we did not build the whole thing out of stone. Just the foundation. With the time limit we had though, (the old coup was in it's death throes) we could not really have done it that way, it's just you know stone.

Yes I put real house windows in my chicken coup. Don't judge me.

What I like:

I am not going to lie. I did my homework on this one. I like the fact we put in vents up high, so fresh air comes in but it does not blow directly on the chickens, or me. Which is great in the winter. I love Love LOVE the tall ceiling. It's like, I dunno, a cathedral. But for chickens. I don't know what to say. A ludicrously tall ceiling in a chicken coup just makes it feel like a temple, like it's more then just a utilitarian structure.* Window placement was awesome, they get sun in the morning and early afternoon, but not late afternoon evening, which will be a big plus come summer. I like the perches we installed, which are made with real two inch think tree branches instead of the two by four they used to have (two by fours hurt their feet).

BOO YA!

I like the fact we installed a full size, metal house door on the front. Most people make little chicken houses. You know, chicken sized chicken houses. NEVER DO THIS. Oh it might be darling to have to bend over ninety degrees to get inside for the first week, but anytime after that you will hate yourself. It's sooo nice just to walk the fuck in and not have to crawl inside through a fucking Umpa Loopma door.

The chickens love it too. I have never had so many eggs. So many eggs.

Hey anybody need some eggs?

Hello?

Anybody?

Damn.

*Yes this is unabashed love for my chicken coup. Shut up.

Confused? Here's Part One.

The Chick Coup Saga: The Roof

So over the past week we tore down the old chicken coup. And by we I mean Scott. I mostly helped move boards around and generally tried to look busy and vital to the process.

The first step was to remove the old metal roof, which would become the new metal roof through the use of the magic of reusing. Scott fought his way on top of the structure, which I missed because I was paying the fuel oil guy money for precious, precious heat. I think I can capture the experience with these carefully selected quotes:

“This roof pitch is steeper then I thought.”

“Okay, it's very slippery up here. Really slippery.”

“Here tie a knot around the hammer and the crow bar so I can pull it up. If you tie it like that the crowbar will fall out and hit you... this is an interesting knot.”

Once the roof was down Scott bashed the building apart with a sledge hammer over a period of about two days. If you are wondering why I didn't get to use the sledge hammer, it's because I wield a hammer like a drunk monkey. I have no ability to aim. Anything with hammer in the name is like my Kryptonite. If you named a drink The Hammer I would toss it back and hit myself in the eye.

Anyway, the actual putting on of the roof went fast, since we did not have to cut any pieces. Scott was up on the roof and I just handed him up sections.

Immediately after we had placed on the last bit it started to snow. We have about an inch outside. Don't be fooled into thinking the weather was on our side though. It's not. It was trying so hard to snow all morning and fuck up our plans, it was just late to the party. You could almost hear the weather shouting for us not to work so fast. It's just up there lurking. Waiting. Watching.

Me paranoid? Never. That's crazy.

Want More Chicken Coup Adventure? Here's The Final Part. (Thank God.)

Moving The Chickens

Well, the new chicken coup still does not have a metal roof, but the decision was made to move the chickens any way. The tar paper should be enough to keep the inside snug and dry, and so far it has. We actually moved the chickens a while ago, but I am just getting around to writing about it because I am a terrible lazy person.

Now, moving the chickens from the old coup to the new involved waiting until they were all inside and ready to sleep, and then catching them and carrying them to the new coup. We decided to use the net. Now the thing about the net is that the old coup is small, with a low ceiling. So bashing the net on things was almost a guarantee. Also, in order to get the nest boxes out, we had to remove the window. Or more correctly, what was once a window that was now a hole in the wall covered with chicken wire.

It was decided that I would be inside netting, and that Scott would stand outside the window, take the net and deposit the ruffled chickens to their new home. I got into position, cornered my prize rooster and swoop, in he goes. Then, as quick was he went in, he thrashed his way out of a rooster sized hole in the net and ended up back on the floor of the coup, looking around with a bemused expression.

On to plan B. Scott goes to fix the net and I pull the piece of mill felt that the previous owners had been using as window shutter down, and prop it closed with the remains of the window. I step back inside, and proceed to use my Level 6 Chicken Catching Skills to catch me some chickens. I am rather good at catching chickens, if I do say so myself.* I have caught and moved four chickens by the time Scott comes back. I revel that I have been doing all right without the net, but he feels the need to use it since he spent time fixing it. So in he goes.

Everything was going fine, surprisingly. He would hand me out the net, and I would grab the top to keep the desperately flapping bird inside, and run it over to the new coup, return the net, and the whole process would start again. I learned to keep the shutter flap down, since the guinea hens would fly for daylight if they could see it. I could not resist however, peeking through a corner, and watching the action.

Some of the chickens were quite stupid, and would panic, running out into the open and promptly getting caught. Others were smarter, hanging back at the edge of a large group, and tying to stay under the cover of the perches. It was great fun from my stand point, except that when one of the chickens would freak out and fly they would fan dust and dirt right into my face. My eyeballs were getting kinda gritty.

However, on the last bird, which turned out to be a god damned motherfucking guinea hen, everything went wrong. Scott passed her out, and I tried to close the top of the net, but she was in at such an angle that I couldn't get it closed all the way. Now let me take a moment to explain that guinea hens can fly. Not as good as ducks, mind you, but pretty god damed good. Like, way better then chickens good. Like, right out of the top of my shitty net good. I saw what was happening in slow motion,** but I wasn't fast enough. I could see her flapping away, the net coming off her like the cheap piece of shit it was, my hand letting go of the net and moving so fucking slow through the air. I meant to grab her wing, right at the shoulder, but she was already moving, her sleek gray body sliding away through the cold air.

I made a grab.

I felt my hand close around something, and I remember thinking 'I've got her!” Then time sped up again because he's a dick like that. I looked down to realize that I was holding a handful of tail feathers. I looked up to see the guinea hen flying majestically away into the woodland. Possibly to start a new life free of nets and humans and reliable feeding schedules.

Son of a bitch. Me and Scott made a half hearted attempt to look for her. Half hearted because we had no idea what we were going to do if we found her, and also because it was getting dark and cold. Luckily I found her the next morning, safe and sound in the old coup, where I promptly lost her through the window, chased her into a corner in the garden, netted her, and placed her into the new coup where she was reunited with her friends.

So the chickens were moved, and no body died, or got lost, or exploded or anything bad like that. Win? Win. WIN!

*Remind me to tell you about the time that the rooster got lose in my dad's house.

** I have always wanted time to slow down during a catastrophe. Normally when something terrible happens my auto pilot shows up and takes over and don't remember a thing from the moment the bad thing started till when it was over, besides running. It's always THAT'S FALLING! And then- “why am I standing all the way over here?” And the one time, the ONE TIME it does and it's all cool, it's all because of a stupid motherfucking guinea hen. Sonofabitch.

Chicken Coup 4: The Paint-a-thon

EDIT: I wrote this post shortly before Christmas, but the holidays got in the way and I forgot to post it, so I'm sticking it up now. Don't judge me.

So, I managed to paint in the inside of the chicken coup in two caffeine filled days. My right arm feels like it is about to fall off. It was a bit unnerving to be up on a ladder, painting stuff above my head while practically vibrating from the caffeine.

But it's god damned DONE.

HA HA WHOO! Ahem.

The best part was stepping down off the ladder, and heaving a big sigh of relief, and looking down to see that my dog was covered in paint. I do not know how many dog owners feel about what I like to call emergency bath time, but I sure as hell don't enjoy it.

Now I maintain my dog is the best dog ever because she hopped reluctantly into the tub and stood mournfully while I cleaned her. It does not turn into a wet dog wrestling match. I am very thankful for this. On the other hand, though, she does love to shake her wet shampoo covered self. All over me. And the Bathroom. Towels? What the Fuck is that Towel shit? Towels are for pussies she says looking back at me while shaking herself all over the particle board cabinets*.

I don't think I will be able to paint the outside until spring however. It is simply going to be too cold. Somehow, I just can't work up the energy to give a damn about that.

* I am going to build a house no matter what. I don't care what it takes. I am so fucking sick of everything inside being made out of particle board.

Want more Chicken Coup Adventure? Here's Part Five.

 

Chicken Coup 2: The Revenge

Okay so we got the roof plywood up, and the tar/roofing paper/whatever the fuck you call it up and on, so the roof should be able to withstand the rain. We also put up the most of the OSB on the inside, and cut it out for the windows and managed to install one.

Long story short, my whole body hurts. Let me tell you something about using a Sawzall while on a ladder that is sitting in about 5 inches of mud. It sucks ass. I don't seem to have whatever amount of upper body strength that is required to hold the thing and saw with it at the same time. Also, when you least suspect it, it will catch on something and push back at you violently. It is like the Sawzall is waiting for you to let your guard down so it can throw you backwards off the ladder. Kinda like that scene in the lion king where Scar throw Mufasa off the cliff face but instead of having a herd of wildebeest below me I have a bunch of rocks and old boards with nails sticking out of them.

I hate the Sawzall deeply is what I'm saying. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

It hurts to type. Also, I have a bunch of other projects I'm neglecting. Like you know, digging that Internet trench and getting some Mobile Home Insurance. Yay. Hope this place doesn't burn to the ground anytime soon.

I just hope that we can finish this thing before Friday, because I have a job I have to go to and it's an overnight thing meaning Holly won't be sleeping very much. After this week I think I'm going to laze around and play video games until my brains come out of my ears. And get fat.

I am going to lay around and look at he Internet now.

Want More Chicken Coup Adventure? Here's Part Three.  

The Chicken Coup: A Saga In The Making

I am not winning. After missing a golden chance to build the new chicken coup, when the weather guys swore up and god damned down that it was going to rain and then it totally didn't, we realized that there was another string of nice days coming up.

All of my pent up frustration over the sunshine and warmth when there was supposed to rain and cold led us to decide to rebuild the coup during this supposed stretch of nice weather.* This, in retrospect, was a bad idea.

We have been working on this god damned thing for 4 fucking days and we haven't even got the plywood on the roof yet, let alone the metal roofing. It might rain tomorrow and that would be bad, also Scott has a doctors appointment at 2:30, meaning we are going to be stopping working at about 1pm. Meaning that I think we are fucked. Can you put metal roofing on in the rain? You know it's going to rain for two freaking days and then be balls fucking cold? Here is a breakdown of how our days went so far.

Day 1. Lots of optimism. Went to Lowes and got shafted on on a bunch of lumber for the framing. Got back and assembled the front wall (the hardest wall) before it got too cold. The sun sets at 4pm, so that is when we stop working. And by set we mean goes behind the god damned ridge and the temperature immediately drops by about 5 degrees like someone flipped a god damned switch.

Day 2. Wait for frost to kinda melt off before we start. Finish framing. Slightly less optimism, a lot of 'wait did I measure that right?' Decide we should pick up the OSB and sheathing for the walls. Off to Lowes again for some more price raping. Come back and it's dark.

Day 3. Decided lack of optimism. Realize we need an 8ft A frame ladder to reach the highest point on the roof. We no not have a 8ft A frame ladder. All we have are 2 sketchy as hell hand me down ladders that my father had. We put OSB on. Got the back wall completely sheathed inside and out, as well as most of the outside done. Congratulations are in order. Drive to town to buy food and ladder. Can't find a an 8ft ladder. Eat cheese cake.

Day 4. Everything goes to hell and optimism is buried at the crossroads in a shallow grave. Framed all the windows and the door. I can tell you right now, strait up, that cutting windows out of the motherfucking sonofabitch sheathing is harder than fuck all. There are not enough curse words in the whole of the English language to convey how much this sucked. Got all of the windows cut out, and one of the two vents done, but now we get to do it all over again with the OSB, which was not been fully done on the inside of the walls yet. Got the roof rafters up.

So tomorrow we have to:

Install plywood on roof, add roofing paper/tar paper/whatever the fuck it's called.

Place on the metal roofing.

Place and cut the OSB.

Sand down the areas around the doors and windows because our cuts are not perfect.

Install windows.

Paint Structure inside and out.

I think were fucked. Straight up fucked and we will be lucky to finish the roof plywood before he has to leave for the doctors. I don't think we are getting all that done in 4 hours. I think we are going to be putting the metal roofing on in 36 degree weather.

Yay.

* Nice weather meaning above 50 Degrees.

Looking for more Chicken Coup Adventures? Here's Part Two.

The chicken coup floor is finished.

It damned near killed me. We worked all day on this bitch. We started at like nine and just finished the last pour right before it got too dark to see shit any more. 

What you have to understand is that we are using an electric concrete mixer from Harbor Freight that only holds three cubic feet max, and we were mixing at max. So we basically did a 16' by 12.5' slab three cubic feet at a time. Including the run-to-town-to-buy-more-concrete-in-the-middle-of-the-pour adventure. Or alternatively, we are bad at planning. I was in charge of running the mixer, which basically meant that I never stopped moving the whole time. As soon as one batch was done I would start the next one. 

We couldn't have just covered the floor and picked up the next day, because the next day we had like a six hour drive so we could go to a wake. I woke up on the morning of said wake and thought 'oh boy, everything is pain.' I felt like someone had ran my over with a bus. A big bus. Filled with fat people. I drug myself around the house, packing clothes, and toys for our dog who was getting dropped off at the in laws for some spoiling.

Here I am, half dead, wandering around the house holding a cell phone charger in one hand and a dog bone in the other, trying to remember the thing I was supposed to do before we left (shut the windows.) Meanwhile the dog is freaking out because we were doing LEAVING THINGS and she did not want to be locked in her kennel while we were gone. She would follow me around like glue, hugging my legs and getting in the way, the whole time bombarding me with looks of terrible sadness. However her ultimate panic about us leaving usually comes in the form of her trying to stop me from putting my shoes on.

Fun. 

My attempts to explain that she was coming with us failed. Also, my attempt to explain that she should pee now because her next chance would be in Winchester VA also failed. Apparently, she does not speak English very well. Also having never before experienced a car trip with a dog before, I suddenly have a much greater understanding of what it is like to go on a car trip with a young child. 

Me: Sit down! Your going crazy back there!

(She has a special thingy that hooks her to the seat belt, but it doesn't stop her from dancing around like crazy.) 

Dog: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, I'm in the car and were going places! Car car car car car car! Places places places PLACES! 

Me: Calm the fuck down. Thats better. 

Dog: Oh no, I'm gonna throw up. NOW

Me: SHIT! ON THE BLANKET! ON THE MOTHERFUCKING BLANKET!

Scott: What the fuck are you two doing!?!

Which is how I found myself half in the backseat, twisted almost all the way around, one hand on the dogs collar one the other holding the blanket under her head. I don't think I was meant to bend that way. 

I think I must have been a walking zombie at the wake, although I tried to explain that it was due to having to build a new chicken coup from the ground up and then I would have to explain that a lived on a hobby farm, and this somehow involved me doing an interpretive representation of the rooster mating dance to several of my coworkers. Shut up I was tired. 

Look, I think the point here is that you shouldn't invite me to anymore wakes in the near future.