Farm Friday - Spring is in the Air

We haven't had much of a winter this year.
Less than 4" of snowfall all season.
Pond never froze enough for skating. Not even once.

I kept hoping for that one good snowfall, but it never came.

Now it's almost March, and I give up.

I've gotta admit, all this warm sunshine does feel nice. The critters agree. The goats have been sunbathing on the rocks and the horses are shedding their winter coats like nobody's business.

And Annabelle, like always, is happy, happy.

My billy goat gruff, Tibbitt.








Annabelle. My belly button.

















Baaa-aaa.
Woof.
Click!

Farm Friday - Rabbit as Sheep Herder??

All these years I've been using my Aussie to herd my sheep and goats when I could've been using rabbits. Who knew?











Vote, rabbit,
Vote, rabbit,
Vot, vote, vote....

Farm Friday - I Dream of Waterers

My Amazon wish list is so stinkin' PATHETIC.

I'm sure the wishlists of all my suburban counterparts include books by Harold Robbins or Janet Evanovich. Or maybe they skip the books and wish for a little bling.

What did I just add to mine?


Oasis Poultry Waterer, On-demand Water for up to 15 Chickens, Turkeys or Ducks
by Coop Queen

In Stock.
Ships from and sold by Coop Queen.

Only 7 left in stock--order soon.















I currently have a couple of these:















Only mine aren't so pretty. See, after the last spell of cold weather, the contents bacame semi-frozen. But I'm a bit of a stubborn-slash-lazy gal, so instead of lugging these practically full waterers back to the house to thaw and scrub and refill, I began to gently bash them
yes, it is indeed possible to "gently bash" something
against the concrete to break up the ice so the water would begin to flow again.

Guess I kinda busted 'em. Now when I fill them, the water just keeps flowing right on outa there till it's empty. You could say "they can't hold their water" if you wannna chuckle.

Anyways, I found this MF genius contraption which would mean no more hauling waterers back and forth to the house, virtually no more scrubbing, and fewer freeze-ups. Plus I can put two of those pipe thingys off the bucket, and run one into the Hen House and one into the rabbit pen.

Do you have ANY idea how excited I am by this?

Like I said. I'm pathetic.















Images courtesy: Amazon.com and tools.freightliquidators.com

Farm Friday - How Far?

How far should I take this farming thing?

Till recently, all our animals were pretty much pets. Sure, we got something back from them: pretty to look at, lots of lovin' when you needed it most, fun, herding, riding, brushcutting, exercise, hobbies...

But until our chickens started giving us eggs last summer, we never got anything truly tangible back from them.

So now that we have animals that actually produce for us, I'm starting to wonder,

why stop there...?

I never thought I could raise an animal with the intention of eating it, though I am by no means a vegetarian and I give credit to anyone who does raise animals for their own consumption (or to sell the meat to others). It is by far a much more humane way for an animal to live and die than to be raised and slaughtered on a factory farm.

In fact, my Rosie came to me in tears a week or so ago, and asked me to watch this video clip about the inhumane lives and deaths of animals on factory farms:


(caution: difficult to watch if you are at all sensitive to the treatment of animals)


And it got me to thinkin'. I decided that I have a few options:

1) Continue to buy the meat under cellophane in the grocery store, pretending I don't know where it came from.

I've been doing this all of my adult life, and it's becoming increasingly more difficult.


2) Become a vegetarian.

Not interested.


2) Eat meat that only comes from local, small-scale farms.

This is how I got started in the move away from factory farms, when I decided I would buy my eggs locally at the Amish farms rather than support eggs coming from hens in "battery cages". I did this for several years before pursuing raising my own egg flock.
I've bought some meat this way, too, same place as I buy my raw milk. Truth is, it's not very budget-friendly. Costs me about $9 or $10 bucks to buy one small chicken. The organic, grass-fed beef? Even pricier.


3) That brings me to raising my own.

Though I never ever thought I would be able to do it, now I'm thinking...maybe I can.









[Image courtesy: motherearthnews.com]


So I spoke to my friend Theresa who, for my own good, I should distance myself from whenever possible because she is dangerous to me, and we've decided we shall jointly take the plunge next summer and take on meat chickens. We're going to get ourselves an order of Cornish-Rocks, and I'll raise them at my place. Seven or eight weeks later, she'll take the lead with the butchering and teach me the ropes as we go, and we'll each take half for our freezers.

No hormones.
No antibiotics.
Fresh air.
Foraging in pasture.
Humane life.
Humane death.

Food I can feel good about feeding my family, with a clean conscience and a little money left in my wallet at the end of the day.

And if all goes well with the chickens? I may just move on to pigs. Perhaps some grass-fed beef fed on my grass.

We'll see.

How about all of you? Do you think you could eat what you raise? Do you think I'll be able to manage it?



And how about raising my rank on TMB? Do you think you could do it? No butchering, just a click. Thamks!

Farm Friday: Mmmmm.... Expiration Casserole.

One good thing about having farm critters: you never have the guilt of throwing (almost) perfectly good food in the trash.

Every week when I get home from the grocery store, I spend a few minutes going spelunking in the fridge, pulling things outa there that have seen better days. Lunchmeat past the date but not yet to the point where your face goes all scrunchy? Let Annabelle the farm dog chow down. Rock-hard, stone-cold pizza? That's what we've got goats for. Lettuce turning the color of dried-up boogers on the bathroom wall? Helloooo rabbits.





But the most fun is putting together a dish for the chickens. See, I figure they're the only ones on the farm that actually pull their weight. I feed them, they feed me, but to feed them costs money, to the tune of $16 a bag, at about two bags a month. So I like to supplement their feed with a creative culinary approach.

This week that amounted to about a half dozen yogurts past their date, a box of pasta I cooked up for them that I think we moved here from the kitchen of the old house, the sugary dust from the bottom of the bin of Lucky Charms, and the remains of a casserole of unknown origin. For international flair, I added some Italian bread with the mold torn off, as well as some French toast that had been well-aged. I mixed it all up in a cauldron with a giant wooden spoon while my eye twitched. It was fun.

Even more fun, though, was dumping it into a pan for the chooks. My trash is their gourmet dining and they were scrambling over each other like geeks at a Best Buy sale. Each trying to get the choicest noodle, then running off with it, yogurt splashing, while the others chased after her.

Ohhh, it was a hoot, I tell ya'.

And that's what passes for entertainment for me these days.

That's a true story, people. Sad, but true.


Another story under the sad-but-true category? I'm still in the 20's on Top Mommy Blogs. Will you please click this button to vote for me? I'll feed you...



Image courtesy: blog.craftzine.com

Farm Friday - A Day in the Life

Yes, yes, last week I was awarded that Versatile Blogger's Award. I'm sure you must be thinking my life is all glamour and fame for me right about now.

Since glamour and fame stand on pretty subjective grounds, I'll let you be the judge. Here's my schedule from that day:

Slept in till 5:45 b/c I decided to go on strike and let the little so-n-so's fend for themselves for breakfast for a change.

By 7:30 I had gotten four kids up and driven in/dropped off to school, though two were on death's door to hear them tell it.

By 8:30 I had gathered eggs, let our farm dog out for the morning, and cleaned and filled the waterers.

By 9:30 I was showered and dressed and had my youngest starting his Friday "home"work while whisking one of the older kids off to school (in late b/c she got home late from the play she was in the night before).

By 10:00 I was back home, in the barn mucking out and rearranging fence panels to accomodate a hay delivery. Managed to drop a 75 ton wooden gate onto my ankle. In retrospect it was maybe more like 50 - 75 lbs.

By 11:30 I had finished supervising the hay delivery, made small talk about the holiday season with my farmer, paid the man, and hauled a new 50 lb trace mineral salt block into the barn. Managed to not drop it on my ankle.















By noon I was seated uncomfortably on a metal folding chair in a stinky gymnasium crowded with 2 million (give or take) 11 - 14 year olds. I had a sick child (one of my own) on my lap. Turns out she really was on death's door after all. My bad.

By 1:45 my eyes got all misted up when my 14 year old dtr missed a word in the spelling bee. The word was miscible. Miscible, really? Can you blame her? Anyway, this was her last chance as she's an 8th grader now and that's the upper limit. She's come in 2nd the last few years and she really wanted to win this one and go on to the county competition. Alas.

















By the time I got home from the bee, my ankle was in agony. That gate I dropped on it? It did some damamge. It was all swollen and I couldn't walk without crutches. But my sister the nurse got me all set up with wrapping and elevating and medicating and icing. Then she and her husband went to Rosie's play while I watched her little boy. I had help, though. Two teens who adore him followed him around, played with him, fed him, even changed his diaper. I was set.


So yeah, that fame and fortune had me settin' on my couch with my legs propped up, icy Diet Coke in hand. Not too shabby, huh? My 15 minutes of fame.







Clicking to vote for me won't take you 15 minutes. Won't even take you 15 seconds.
Thanks!

Sunday Social - Annabelle

Next one down on my siggy line...

Anne,
Wife of Fred for 23 years
Mom of:
Patrick (16)
James (16)
Rosie (14)
Bella(14)
Julie (13)
Daniel (12)
My children around the world:
Milly in Taiwan
Eun Hae in South Korea
Felice in Hong Kong
Nadya in Germany
Obrin in New York
And our critters Blue, Sunny, Cindy-Lou, Annabelle, Fiona, and Sophie; Mamfy, Mali and Punkin; Nick; Frog 1 and Horny Toad; Charlie and Dizzy; Minnie and Alice; Elfie, Frex, Crope, Tibbit and Ozzy; Genevieve, Pippin and Finnegan; and a dozen or so chooks.

I'd like to ask God why He allows
hunger, poverty, and injustice
in the world,but I'd be afraid
He'd ask me the same thing ...



is Annabelle.


















Annabelle is our farm dog.

That means she is on patrol to watch over the critters on our farm. Namely, the goats.

See, at our old place, before we ever had a livestock guardian dog, we had sheep. And one day some neighborhood dogs got into our pasture and tore the place up. They killed one ewe, leaving her week old lamb without its mother. It was around that time I started to learn about LGDs.

Turns out they've been around for thousands of years. They are used to keep livestock safe from predators such as dogs, wolves, coyotes, mountain lions and anything that would think of taking a goat, sheep, chicken, calf, etc. LGDs consist of several different breeds, but most times when you see a large, white, hairy dog? It's a livestock guardian. Great Pyrenese, Akbash, Anatolian, Kuvasz, Komondor, Maremma. There are others, too, but that's all that comes to mind at the moment.

Guardians are NOT to be confused with herders like Border Collies, Australian Shepherds, Shelties, Collies, German Shepherds. Those dogs are bred to move the livestock from one spot to the next at the direction of the farmer/shepherd. LGDs patrol and protect. If you have more than one LGD in charge of a flock/herd, and there's trouble afoot, usually 1/2 of the dogs will run out in pursuit of the threat, and half will stay glued to the flock. There is no training required for them to learn this, it's all instinct. If you've only got one LGD, and that's all we've usually had at a time, it will run about 1/2 the distance between the flock and the threat. See, sometimes critters that work in packs, like wolves or coyotes, will create a distraction to draw the guardian away, and the others will circle in to the flock. Easy pickins. That's why the LGDs have learned to never completely leave them. So cool.

When our old LGD, Bear, was getting up in years, we decided we would need a new one. Couldn't find any in our neck of the woods, but we learned of some puppies in North Carolina. So I loaded the kids up in the car and we drove the 7 hours down to NC to a large goat farm. How do you choose which of these adorable balls of fluff to take home? Near impossible. But we chose our little cutie with the badger-colored ears and the heart-shaped nose.

Before too long she figured out what she needed to do. Bear taught her everything he knew before he passed. I never got too confident of how well she would be able to handle things if they got dicey, b/c she just seemed like such an ol' softie. But then one night we heard a huge ruckus, and ran outside to find Annabelle in a vicious fence-fight with a neighborhood dog. The goats had all run to the barn when the trouble began while Anna kept this very large dog at bay. We closed the goats up and put Annabelle in with them until we were finally able to get the owner to come collect their beast. Annabelle saved the day that night.

Now she has chickens to add to her collection of critters to keep safe, and she's as gentle as can be with her new charges.

With her human flock, too, I know I would never have to worry. If the kids are out in the fields, she follows them around, quite literally, like a puppy dog. She is gentle and sweet and affectionate and always smiling.

Since her tail is always wagging, I sometimes call her Swisher. Sometimes Belly Button (from Anna BELLE).

Whatever we call her, she's our good dog.








Thanks for your vote....

Farm Friday - Cheating Again.

Well, hey. It's a farm. It's just not MY farm. Though I could totally rock that outfit, don't you think?
















Thanks for your vote. Just a click of this button.




Image courtesy: doggasblog.blogspot.com

Farm Friday - in a wordless Wednesday sorta way

Farm Friday - All's quiet on the farm front

It's Friday. Farm Friday.

But it's been pretty quiet on the farm lately. No injuries or illnesses, no escapees, no births, no deaths.

Maybe I'll just jot down a quick list of what I like about each of the critters. Not as individuals, mind you, but as groups. Just the farm critters, not the dogs and cats and small caged animals.

I should put pictures of them, but I'm pressed for time right now, and besides, you've seen them all. If you're a newcomer? Please be so kind as to look through my sidebar in labels and check out some of the previous posts on farm, chickens, horses, animals, etc if you'd like to see some pics. Sorry to have to ask you, but I hope you understand.


The Horses
What's not to love about horses, right? Well, except maybe their poop. And their mud. And oh yeah, their burrs.
Still, plenty to love.
I love the way they smell.
I love their sleek coats in the summer and their fuzzy coats in the winter.
I love when they blow their sweet grassy breath into your nose, and their curiosity.
I love to sit on the bare back of my mare Genevieve in the cold weather, not even riding anywhere, just draping myself across her neck and soaking up her warmth.
I love Pippin's doggish friendliness.
I love Finnegan's .... looks. Not much else to like about that one. But he sure is handsome.

The Goats
I love that they will eat anything. I wish my youngest could be so bold in what he chooses to eat.
I love that they keep the grass and weeds down in the boggier parts of our property that would suck a tractor up and never say a word about it.
I love that they mow the steep hillside we can't take the tractor onto without fear of it taking a swan dive into the pond.
I love how they come running over to the deck when you call them for some goodies.
I love their absolute adorableness.

The Rabbits
OK, they have no purpose, I'll admit it. They're just so stinkin' cute. Especially Alice, our soft grey Flemish Giant who is roughly the size of a Springer Spaniel.

Our Chickens
Our only "productive" farm animals.
I love the clucks and chatters of my sweet hens.
I love their good looks.
I love their soft, glossy backs.
I love the out-of-this-world-fresh-and-yummy eggs they give us every day without fail.

But I hate our rooster. Damn him to hell.






















You, I like. Your votes I like. Keep clicking! Thanks....

Farm Friday - It's November. Burr.

Cold air. Brrrr.

Cold air. Burr.

Fall means burrs.
Burrs mean nasty tangles in the manes and tails of my horses.
Burrs mean much lost time picking burrs out of the manes and tails of my horses.
Burrs mean lots of little scratches all over my hands.

Here's Genevieve in a before shot. Her forelock is a solid mass of burr matts.
That's FORELOCK. 'Bangs' for all you non-horsey people out there.
















Here's what's left of the pretty little braids the girls made in her mane.


















And here is an after shot of Gen's two-year-old colt Pippin, after I spent about 1/2 hour de-burring him.

It was loads of fun.


















I like cold weather.
I do not like burrs.




Look, if I have to work my fingers to the bone picking the burrs out of Gen's and Pippin's and Finn's manes and tails, the least you could do is work your index finger to the bone by clicking this brown button to vote for me, right?
That's what I thought. Thanks so much...


And follow! Don't forget to add yourself as a follower

Farm Friday - Green Pumpkins

You know the mantra: reduce, reuse, recycle.

And that other one: buy fresh, buy local.

Well, I've done my part. Check, and check.


Like every year, we bought our punkins at a local Mom and Pop Pick-Ur-Own farm. Complete with hayride by Pop Lytle himself, and three generations of his kin to help run the place.


And after carving them and setting them out on the stoop for no one to see (we don't get any trick-or-treaters round here), I decided I could offer our pumpkins-turned-neglected-jack-o-lanterns one better than the garbage can.

One better even the compost pile.

I gave them to the chooks!

And they loved them.

The circle of life? It looks a little something like this:

Pumpkin seeds = pumpkins = jack-o-lanterns = food for chickens = eggs.

Orange = green = brown (eggs)



Looks like orange is the new green.


















































And brown is the new brown. Please click to vote? Thanks!

Farm Friday - Clueless

That hen I wrote about last week? I am clueless as to what ails her.

Symptoms:

Sits in her nesting box all the time.
Not laying.
Pooper looks weird.
When I take her out, she eats and moves and drinks and clucks and poops normally, but her feathers are all fluffed out.
She is not standing in an "egg-bound hen" (not to be confused with "south-bound train) posture, which supposedly looks like a penguin -very upright with tail pointed downward - her posture looks just fine. Her Mama done taught her right.
When I do take her out of her box, she sometimes behaves in a gender-confused fashion. She points her wings to the ground and chases after some of the other hens, and even the roo, trying to hop up on their backsides.

So, all you chicken people out there, what am I dealing with here?

Is she:

a) molting?
b) egg-bound?
c) sick-as-a-dog-and-about-to-die?
d) transsexual?

She's such a nice little hen. So pretty and sweet. Help me to help her.















Here she is back when she was healthy as a horse. I want to put a little tiny tiara on her head, she's so pretty.


My chicken group has been of no help. The vet has been of no help. So now I am reaching my hand out into cyberspace to all my bloggy friends. Surely one of you must know a thing or two about chickens?

Shirley, any thoughts?



1) Research.
2) Inform me, teach me.
3) Save the chicken.
4) Click this button.

Farm Friday - Pam! Kick it up a notch...

I went out to the barn the other night with Rosie. It was her turn to close things up in the barn, but we had gone out to dinner for her sister's birthday and it was after dark. She doesn't like to go out there on her own after dark.

Because of the rats.

Yes. Rats. Buhahuuuueehhh. Ew.

Because rats, you see, go part and parcel with a barn. A barn is quite simply a haven for a rat. Dog food, chicken feed, water, bits of hay, lots of good hiding places.

During the day they stay hidden, but if you go out there at night you're sure to see one. Or a gang.

Anyway, so brave and compassionate Mom that I am, I accompanied her to the barn, and rats we saw. But they scattered, and we forged ahead with our work. She got our farm dog Annabelle squared away for the night and I went in to check on the chickens. They were all roosting save one. One of our Buff Orpingtons was still all hunkered down in her nesting box, which is where she had been hours earlier. I'm figuring she's blocked.

So I went to the house and got me a can of Pam. Back to the barn I went, and this time I took along Cindy, our Rat Terrier. The rats had stayed hidden, though (probably b/c I had left the lights on) so she didn't get to do any rat hunting.

Anyway, I picked up Goldie or Puddin' or Big Mama, not sure which Buff it was, truth be told, and sprayed her nether regions down with some Pam. I did a little external palpation but nothing felt unduly amiss, so I put her back in her box and hoped for the best.

I can honestly say that is the first time I have ever used Pam in that particular fashion.

Maybe I should call them up and let them know? Kind of like the endorsement Crisco got in The Help?

"Hello, Pam Operator? Can you connect me with marketing, please?"
I really think it would make a great commercial:

"Pam. Keeps your eggs from sticking in your pan, keeps your eggs from sticking in your chicken's ass. Buy some today!"

Anyway, the next day she was no better. Still sitting in her nesting box, still looking morose, still no egg.

I sprayed her down again and when about doing my business running kids to the orthodontist and play rehearsals and whatnot.

Then in the evening I decided it was time. I was goin' in.

So we brought her inside, nesting box and all, and placed the whole works in a dog crate. I got out a heat sock, which I warmed up and put in a ziplock, and I got out the mineral oil. I turned, let's call her Goldie, upside down and tucked her under my arm, with arse forwards (hers, not mine). I coated her liberally with the oil and put her back in her crate on top of the toasty heat sock.

So now I've got chicken, and oil, and heat. Good thing we already ate dinner.














































We never did get her to produce an egg, but she seems better this morning somehow. She's moving easily, eating, drinking, clucking. Being a chicken.

Fingers crossed. Will keep you posted.







Thanks for the vote....

Farm Friday - Henpecked

Big, bold Big Daddy.

Seems he's hen-pecked.

I guess that's what it is. All around the base of his tail he's bald.




















He acts so tough, but I guess he just lets his ladies walk all over him.

Yesterday I was at my milk farm. I thought to myself,

"Who better to ask an animal husbandry question than this nice, young Amish girl?"

So I sez to her, I sez,

"Sadie, let me ask you a question. I've got a rooster that's going bald all around the base of his tail. Have you ever seen that?"

And she knew right what I was talking about.

"Oh yah", she sez. "We had a rooster that happened to. Lost all his feathers right around his tail."

I brightened. I knew I had come to the right place with my question.

"What did you do about it?" I asked.

"We got a new rooster."









Sigh. Please vote.

Farm Friday

I love farms in the fall....


















































Only a few more days to get me to the top 25!
1) Click this button.
2) Scroll down till you find my blog.
3) Click the vote button. No registration required.
4) Repeat daily.
5) Accept my thanks!

Farm Friday

Big Daddy and his ladies roostin' for the night.

Ain't they fly?????























Click if you think they're just the cutest things.....

Farm Friday

One would think that kids who grow up on a farm would tend to have a higher sense of responsiblity than their suburban peers.

And I would be inclined to say that just might be true.

Case in point:

Last week, Bella went out to the barn to check for eggs. I was busy flippin' flapjacks for about 10 or 11 kids, so I kind of forgot about her for a minute. Or ten. OK, maybe 15.

Anyway, it finally somehow dawned on me when I tripped over her sneakers and nearly put my eye out with my spatula (it could happen) that she hadn't come back yet.

So I sent a runner.

A runner, 'round my house, is whatever kid is nearest on hand at the time it occurs to you that you need something and you're too tired or busy or OK I'll say it too lazy to do it yourself.

So I saw Julie first and sent her out to check on her sister.

When they got back, Bella was all flustered. Turns out that when she was leaving the Hen House, she couldn't get the door to close. The wood of the door frame was all swollen with the dampness from all the rain we'd had. Since Bella had not taken her phone with her, she basically had two choices:
1) Let go the door and head back to the house.
2) Stand there holding the door and wait for help.

She chose the latter. She didn't know how long it would take before someone would realize that quiet little Natasha was neither present nor accounted for. What she did know is that if she let the door go, all the chickens could get out or something could get in and bottom line is it could all end badly for the chickens. And little bitty Bella decided that wasn't about to happen on HER watch.

So she stood there. Holding the door. Waiting. And waiting.

Poor sweet little thing.

Here she is on the beach this summer. No responsibilities, not a care in the world but running and spinning and jumping.
















I just love that little gal.




Voting. It's the responsible thing to do.

Farm Friday - Eggstra, Eggstra, Read All About It!

Last Friday I posted about our first egg.

EGGSciting, right?

Now, one week later, well, it's still eggsciting. Only more so.

I wouldn't say we are at the point where we have eggs coming out our ears yet, but our egg compartment in the fridge is full of pretty light brown, dark brown, and green eggs. We've gone from 1 egg a day to 3 to the other day 7.

7 eggs, uh-huh....















Yes, green eggs. From our Americauna hens. In fact, our first green egg was gigantic and a double-yolker! So proud of my girl.

We have officially bought our last egg elsewhere.


Our only problem is our rooster. Our cantankerous roo.

Ever since his gals started laying, he's been a bit, if you'll forgive the pun, cocky.

As in when you walk into the Hen House you take your life in your hands.

The first time it happened, he kind of hopped at me a couple times. Real low and all fluffy and making little noises.

Awww, isn't he just the cutest thing, I thought. He's acting all roostery.

But now we generally enter in pairs, and armed.

Because now he's got his sh** together.

He flies at you fast.
He flies at you high.
He flies at you mean.
He flies at you with his legs outstretched and making a
arrghscraghhhhh
noise with his beak gaping wide open.

I keep an old dust mop/broom thing next to the Hen House gate.

The kids know when they go out to gather eggs, they are to take the egg basket, a little cup of scratch for the ladies, and the dust mop/broom thing to shoo Big Daddy away with.

So one to do recon and one on watch duty. The wing man, if you will.

And the Hen House is filled with the sounds of the contented little cluckles of the hens, the arrghscraghhhhh of the rooster, the swinging back and forth of the dust mop/broom thing, and the threats and screams of the children...

"Don't you even THINK about it, Big Daddy!"

"Hurry up and get those eggs!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!"

"Watch your 3:00, he's coming around!"

"He's on your 6, he's on your 6!"

"I've got 'em, let's go, go, go!"
















arrghscraghhhhh





Just a little country ambience....





arrghscraghhhhh
That's rooster for I really appreciate your vote by clicking this button.