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The Rural Voice, 1996-05, Page 184i MDT VAT©] Crop Consulting Service Crop Scouting - Soil Sampling Integrated Pest Management Nitrogen Soil Testing "MAXIMIZE YOUR CROP PRODUCTION BOTTOM LINE" Les Nichols Formosa (519) 392-8037 BOYD FARM SUPPLY • Bale Wagons • Gates & Panels • Head Gates & Chutes • Bale Feeders • Portable Loading Chutes • Cattle Oilers & Rubs • New & Used Farm Machinery RR 6, Owen Sound 519-376-5880 CABLE SCRAPER SYSTEM FOR FREE STALL BARN DRIVE UNIT WITH 3/8" STAINLESS STEEL CABLE • Drive chain M. • Shah end or reducer supported by an extra mew bearing to eliminate the over hung load of drive chain. CONTROL PANIL: Multi -function lith pogammable dodo, adrysable overload relay and controls to operate the system in continuous or manual mode 16" TILTING SCRAPER WITH FOLDING ENDS • Scraper angled shape brings manure towards center for improved lateral stability. • Folding ends following uneven alley width for better cleaning. • During backward stroke. the blades instantly tih 41/7 upward above bottom of alley to prevent dragging of manure. • 16'01A. CORNER WHEELS: Mounted on greasable taper roller bearings protected by 2 seals. 1 iLLC I'ROGRESSIVE FARMING FARM EOl1RENT MANUFACTURER R.R. 2, Weuesmy Inq e►i•lAU i For tate mase 519-656-2709 14 THE RURAL VOICE Guest Column No ordinary chicken BY NANCY M. SILCOX A pgrson's reputation is usually well deserved. My husband, Louis disagrees, but I know for a fact that this is true. Louis, city born and bred was, I believe, a farmer, in his former life. From an early age, he raised a menagerie of livestock — chickens, pheasants, pigeons and other assorted winged and furred "critters" in the backyard of his city home. Interest in all animals, and his need to care for them was instrumental in our move to a small farm early in our marriage. Although by profession a teacher, Louis' recreational time still revolves around his varied livestock. It is this dual -identity — the city - born professional and the country- souled farmer which, I firmly believe, has made the man an eccentric. When I tell him that others agree with my theory, he looks perplexed and indicates he is perfectly normal. I roll my eyes and remind him of the day I opened the freezer to search for the evening's supper, and came eyeball to eyeball with a frozen blue heron. The memory obviously strikes a pleasant chord, for a faint smile crosses his face and he reminisces: "Ah, yes ... Louis, the heron... The one I found dead on the road. He's still at the Outdoor Education Centre, you know. "And what about when I opened the trunk for the carry -out boy and found the raccoon? Is that normal?" I question. "It hadn't been there long" he counters. "And have you forgotten that chicken? ..." "Caroline." "You wonder why people think you are unusual when you become part of a travelling road show with a chicken?" I inquire, incredulously. "She was a real hit" Louis reminds me. How could I forget Caroline, snatched, (quite literally) from the jaws of death? Caroline, who was later rehabilitated as a teaching tool for Louis' classes for Gifted school children? Caroline's former life was as an anonymous member of Louis' flock of chickens. Like her other kin, she occasionally escaped from her pen, and meandered around our property, before re -capture. One summer day, my eye caught a blur of fur and feathers passing by my kitchen window. Tearing across the horizon was our rebel Afghan Hound, Oliver, with a mouth full of flapping, squawking poultry. "Louis," I screamed. "Oliver has one of your chickens. DO -O -O -O Something! " Although I did not find Louis' livestock endearing, I preferred more civilized methods of preparing Sunday dinner. By the time Louis captured the manic hound, and pried the still - living chicken from the dog's jaws, the frantic bird was a sorry sight. Louis held it while I steered the be - feathered, blood -spattered dog into neutral territory. "Louis, you'll have to put her out of her misery. She has to be suffering." I was quite shaken. "I think she'll live, Nance. She's in shock; she's lost some blood, and a lot of her feathers, and some skin here and there, but I don't think there's any internal damage," the neurosurgeon predicted. "Get your sewing kit. I'll think I can fix her up." Having been thoroughly conditioned in my marriage o prepare for the unusual, I produced the required surgical tools - needle and thread, and asked no more ques- tions, made no more observations. By this time, our four year old daughter had joined the action. As her father calmly stitched together the dazed bird's wing, leg and stomach, she produced her Fisher-Price doctor kit to monitor heart rate and pulse. Stomach lurching, I retreated to the safety of the indoors to pick soft white feathers from the Hound of Hades' coat. "She has a name, Mommy," the apprentice -surgeon soon came to report. "CAROLINE!" Daddy's going to give her some pills now to stop `fection." Shortly later, Louis appeared with patient under arm. Rumaging in the