Deep Fried Deviled Eggs

Nothing extraordinary going on. Jolene and I are going to the fire station for a birthday celebration. We need to provide a side dish. Generally we take something boring and everyday like green bean casserole. Shelly likes boring and everyday, Jolene and I not so much.


Jolene and I decided on Deep Fried Deviled Eggs. Shelly LOVES deviled eggs, Jolene really likes the goopy yolk filling, and I hate making them. Of course, I use the eggs that we harvest from the hens. Sometimes fresh eggs don't come out of the shell easily after being boiled. I like pretty deviled eggs, not crater filled deviled eggs.


I have found a method that works for 10 of a dozen eggs. I bring my water to a rolling boil and gently place my eggs inside. I make sure my eggs are room temperature. If I take them right out of the fridge, peeling them will be a disaster. I let the water come back to a hard boil and leave the eggs in it for 3-4 minutes, COVERED! When my timer beeps, I simply shut off the burner and leave the eggs COVERED in the pot for 10 - 12 minutes. No peeking, don't lift the lid or all will be ruined. After letting the residual steam and heat cook the eggs, I place them into an ice bath for a couple of minutes and then start peeling.


After I make deviled eggs the usual way, I dredge them through some seasoned flour, dip them in a couple of beaten eggs and then slide them through breadcrumbs. I fry three or four at a time in my ultra healthy deep fryer at 350 degrees for a couple of minutes. Viola! Fried Deviled Eggs.
Hopefully they will all be eaten the birthday bash, as I really I'm fairly certain they aren't the best for my heart.


I was really busy this morning replacing the door handle on the sliding glass door upstairs. I must have superhuman strength because I break that handle off a lot. I went for a change in color this time. I don't know if it matches the decor but change is good.


Jolene spent a good part of Saturday afternoon running around the ranch with her dog Tara. I'm not sure how long she spent picking out her outfit for the day, but by the looks of it not long.

Twilight Zone

Mama Ewe

I'm sure stranger things have happened, I guess I'm just hanging around the ranch too much!

Guess what this item is!

Yesterday Dr. Hill paid a visit to Rolling Thunder to test some new sheep. While she was chitchatting at the barn door, she noticed Mama Ewe limping around. It's not an uncommon thing to see Mama Ewe limping around. She's notorious for overgrown hooves. Trim them Monday, and they need it again on Sunday. An overgrown pedicure was not the problem. As the investigation continued, Shelly discovered that poor Mama Ewe's foot had sloughed off! Her foot! I'm not kidding. We aren't sure why this happened, frostbite is the primary suspect. Sheep are funny things. We've had some that take a nap in the sunshine and wake up in the shade and for some reason decide they have no desire to continue on, so they simply die. I've often heard, and I repeat it frequently that, 'Sheep are born looking for a place to die.' Mama Ewe is on the opposite end of the sheep vitality spectrum. She's been trapped behind hay bales, left out in the snow, had baby after baby even though she's ancient, been bitten and run over by dogs, and now it seems is an amputee. She still thrives. She is adjusting well to her stub although it seems sensitive. She continues to nurse her lamb and hobbles to the gate for her daily peppermint. She was scheduled for retirement last year but somehow ended up keeping Nubie the Ram occupied, hence the lamb. Nubie will have to learn to get along with some other ewe or wether as Mama Ewe is officially retired. I've promised extra beet pulp and peppermints as disability pay.

Stump GirlMama Ewe and Baby

Other strange things have occurred. The child started 6th grade. She refused my offer for a new dress for the first day of school. How odd! She actually lost a wager and refused to pay up by wearing a dress and curling her hair for the first day of school. I told her not to worry, I will get even! She did surprise me with some obscure factoid, of which I don't even remember now! It was so unlike her but I was able ask with a snicker if she was regurgitating useless information. I'm accused of doing so often.

1st day of school

The cows are still holding on to babies. I'm assuming the vet was wrong when she preg checked Jenny as Jenny's due date was the 1st of August. Jersey was due on the 23rd of August and Brownie not until September 3rd. In the meantime, my neighbor Brenda is keeping me and a few select friends in milk. I've just swallowed my third afternoon glass. I'm trying to be patient with the bovine but I LOVE milk so much.
The chickens are still in peak production. We continue to have problems with skunks, in fact I'm missing two bronze turkey poults. The hens run amok during the day and genuinely seem happy. We may start seeing chicks in about a week. Jolene candled eggs for the second time this summer and the broody girls are still busy sitting. We have 12 chicks in the brood stall from the last hatch.

Russell Crow and few girls!

The goats are busy landscaping. I'm afraid most of the larger goats are pregnant. Pregnant goats are good and bad. Good point--milk, milk and milk. Bad--Babies are SOOO Cute and I can't have anymore goats!



The Nigerian Dwarf Goats are lovely as ever. Gaston has been singing and singing and singing. We did allow him an afternoon date with Pokey, so we may have little, little ones coming too!





The Nigerians have completed their Bonsai Tree in the backyard too. At least until one of them gets a step stool or grows taller so that they might be able to reach the green!

Otherwise, life on the rancho is normal busy.

Skunks

My Shelly and I are still arguing about skunks. For those of you that actually know us, you know it's not pretty. When I met Shelly, (OH) so many years ago, she described herself as being easy going and laid back. She lied. I don't hold it against her. She really does think she is easy going. Maybe it's the "change" that's effecting her. If it is, she would never admit it. She's still in denial. She will probably be that way until she's finished dragging me though her hormonal roller coaster. I'm not sure if she believes that she's exempt from menopause or if she thinks it's just a myth altogether. I'm okay with it, with the help of horrid once monthly injections I've already bounced down that road. So by when it's time for me to trudge through it again I will have lots of experience. However, I was talking about skunks. We have a skunk problem. Every year we have a different kind of animal problem. We've had summers where bears were the issue and one season where a mountain lion made the back yard his personal buffet. We've learned to live with it, after all I'm still the newcomer to the neighborhood. I'm still frustrated and annoyed by the family of stinkers.

The darn varmints have killed 100 cockerels that were meant for the dinner table. I'm doing what I can to return the favor but my Shelly keeps hindering my attempts to off the creatures. I think she secretly wishes to bring them in the house so they can snuggle with the cats. I've already had a vet friend offer to descent them. I didn't tell Shelly.

The other afternoon, I'm carefully collecting eggs in one of the coops. I've got my attention honed in on the red roo. Just two days before the red roo (who doesn't have a name and won't live long enough to get one) met me at the door of the coop. He didn't offer a friendly greeting. I still have a large bruise on my right leg and a couple of welts from his spurs. So I didn't notice that two scoundrels had already weaseled their way into the coop for an early dinner. One of them was helping itself to an egg and the other scampered into a feed box. I hastily made my exit and yelled at Shelly. She walked home (rather slowly) and returned with a rifle and my .22 pistol. I informed her that the skunks were now both in the bottom of the feed box. I reported that they made no attempt to retreat and that I think we could just pop them both in the box.

Holy outburst Batman! I wasn't suggesting that we catch them and strangle them or something illogical. We had two skunks that were contained and two guns. Shelly insisted that if we shot at them, it would have to be well away from the coops as she wasn't having any smell in the coops. Humpf! Call me crazy but I wasn't going to shoosh them out of the feed box with my shovel.

From the vast expanse that is Shelly's brain came a solution to the problem. It was at this exact moment that I thought to myself, "Sometimes I should just do what I want to do and deal with the wrath of Shelly later." I really should have acted on that thought. Shelly instructed me to spray the skunks with a hose and when they made their escape from the coop she'd follow them for the appropriate distance and then shoot them. So I did as she said, even though I was grumbling about it under my breath the whole time.

As soon as one made it's appearance from the box, Shelly ran up the hill yelling, "I see it, I see it."

I, on the other hand am in the coop with not one but two skunks who are getting annoyed at having to have a shower with the chickens, and the red roo running around in the background fluffing up his collar. As soon as I shut the hose off, the skunk retreated back to the box. I yelled at Shelly to come back. I asked her not to run away, as we playing by her rules and I was the one that would end up getting the worst of the deal anyhow. So round two commenced. After 45 seconds of water torture, one skunk made it's way out of the box, under the dividing fence into the turkey coop and then slithered out a small space between the gate and the fence. I sounded the alarm to Shelly who watched the skunk scamper under some bushes right outside the coop.

I shut the water off and exited the coop. Shelly was again up the hill. I politely in a very pleasant tone asked her what she was doing. Shelly explained that it went under the bush and that she didn't kill it because it wasn't far enough away from the coop. I told Shelly that I was going to drown the bush and asked, politely again, if she would come back down the hill. She came down the hill and waited for me to flush out the critter. The rat came out of the bush and I saw Shelly raise her rifle. I waited for the gun to pop, but no sound came. The skunk ran down the hill into a foundation of an old building that is used as our recycle pile. The skunk was gone.

I asked why she didn't shoot. She said she couldn't get a visual through her scope. Oh my! I offer my gun, politely and respectfully of course. She grumbles and accepts the pistol. I remind her that it does have a safety and ask if she needs any instruction about the firearm. She leers at me and tells me she knows how to use it. So back the coop we go for round three.

I flush out the skunk, it worms it's way out of the coop and heads for the same bush. I scream (respectfully) at Shelly to kill it. She raises the gun, pulls the hammer back and I hear a click. By now the skunk is under the bush again. I asked Shelly what happened and she mumbles something about the pistol being half loaded. I take the gun and inspect it. I show her that it is fully loaded and again remind her about he safety. I go and retrieve her rifle which is laying on a pallet to the right of the bush that is now harboring the skunk.

Shelly has a short spaz attack about me getting so close to the bush. I ignore her pseudo seizure and get the rifle. I stash the rifle alongside the opposite side of the coop and once again turn the hose on. The skunk appears and Shelly takes aim. Once again I hear a click followed by a curse word. Shelly tries again with the same results, different curse word. I drop the hose and grab the gun from my beautiful girlfriend. I flip the safety, pull the hammer and as I'm running after the dratted creature fire four shots in rapid succession. Shelly is wailing something in the background but I choose to zone in on the skunk. I pull the hammer back again and fire twice more. I top the hill just in time to see its tail slide under a concrete block and out of site. UGH!

I make my way back to the coop and see Shelly making her way back to the cabin. As I catch up to her, she starts explaining, in a very cranky voice I might add, that I told her the safety was off. We argue about it on the walk home.

I have decided that Shelly is too soft of heart to kill the skunks. It is my professional opinion that Shelly has an animal problem and deep down she wants to cuddle one of the skunks. She's wants to hug it and squeeze it and call it Pepe.

Shelly can be a real boob sometimes!

Bear Proof?

Photo courtesy of Sooper Outdoorsy Guy and Hunter, Chris Kennedy.

So....I'm working at the local hub the other day. I'm pushing buttons on the new fuel console, refusing to let the kiddo pig out on whatever processed junk food she asks about, and letting my mind wander to sunny beaches and non-alcoholic beer. Just as I am headed to the truck so I can drive home to tackle mile long list of chores, my EMS radio screeches. It was the Sheriff's Office channel and dispatch was asking a deputy to report to a home in a nearby subdivision. According to the radio traffic a bear had entered a house. The residents of the home had made a safe exit but the bear remained and was doing what I assume any bear would do inside a house. He was tearing things up! I didn't listen to much more, I was distracted by that darn chore list. This morning I saw a friend's post on Facebook about a bear that entered her yard overnight and it flipped on the highlight reel of our past bear adventures on the ranch.

My Friend Chris and his recent trophy paw.

Crystal's 11 year old daughter Taylor and a Big Ole Paw.

I'm not retelling the "naked bear dog story", you will have to dig through the archives to read that one. To be honest, we had a boring bear season last year, compared to some others. We did have one steal the trash off the porch 30 seconds after I had cleaned it up. I arrived home to find the trash can and it's contents spread out on the deck. I, for some unknown reason blamed it on the ranch cats. Shelly and I re-bagged the refuse and put it back in the can. I went inside to get my Big Dog Bertha so that she may have some private potty time before bed and upon my exit from the house I noticed the the trash can was midway down the driveway and newly bagged trash was gone. We found scattered trash the next morning under a tree about 50 feet from the door. Not a sound was made, not one of our dogs growled or became alarmed. It was a very silent bear.

Footprints found in the driveway a couple of years ago.

When Jolene and I first moved to the mountain, Jolene was scared to death of bear stories. As we were driving home from Pueblo one evening, she starting asking questions about the furry beasts. I was using my "Super Hero Mother Instincts" and could tell she was alarmed and overly worried. I tried to comfort her and told her that even though they existed in our area we probably would never see one. (I really believed we wouldn't see them, just their aftermath.) Just as I'm telling her not fret, this fuzzy cinnamon colored bear crosses our tracks in the driveway. Shelly and I spent the next four hours in the sheep pen waiting for it to make it's way down a tree and retreat from the pasture. That poor bear met it's end a couple of weeks later when it killed one of our lambs.

My Friend Crystal's husband Don and the bear that surprised them in Caribou hunting camp.

Since then we've trapped 5 in Dept of Wildlife traps, had two more hunted and killed, and one jumped and scared away by some awesome "bear dogs" that belonged to a fellow from Trinidad. I know that the best bait a person can put in a bear trap is Duncan Hines Cream Cheese Frosting. (I hate cream cheese frosting.) We had a very large boar dump over our 4 yard dumpster on more than one occasion. I lost about forty chickens several years ago when a hungry one fell through the top of my chicken coop. We've had two hogs lost, pulled under a fence and fed to a mama bear and two cubs. Bears are a part of our lives here but after hearing the call on my radio the other day, I'm thankful that I don't have a story about one entering my home or my car.


***I'm also counting myself fortunate enough that I DON'T have any pictures of real live bears. With the exception of the footprint pictures all the others in the blog today are from friends, Chris Kennedy and Crystal Roberts.***

Heavy Breed Boys!

The third batch of summer chicks arrived today. This is a group of heavy breed cockerels along with four bonus ducks! Whohoo. Instead of 56 days of growing like the broilers, these boys will be hanging around for 16 weeks! It has been suggested to me that I make them capons, which I'm guessing is a neutered cock. To start, I've no idea how to make a roo a capon. Since the sex organs of chickens are located within their body, I've a pretty good idea my green castrator rubberbands will not work for this procedure. That's really unfortunate since I just purchased a new bag of those pretty bands. So until I become enlightened these boys will keep their "goods" and will hang around the ranch longer than I would like. I'm a bit concerned about that many males excreting maleness all summer long.

Spa day for the Ovine!

This past Friday the sheep got a well earned, and needed day at the spa. Uncle Dario was in charge of the day's beauty treatments. Since it snowed the day before, everyone got to spend the prior evening in the indoor arena with the big bales of hay safely behind lock and key. No eating before spa day!

The Spinner Ladies came again this year and took wool off our hands too.We had a few guest sheep come too. Harry from Guffey, after getting a little help loading his unruly critters, brought his Navajo Churro Sheep by the ranch for a little grooming. His ram has four horns and a bad attitude.

Uncle D did an awesome job as usual. I've decided that (just as soon as I win the Powerball) I am going to get him a gift certificate to wherever it is that sheep shearers go to buy toys so that he will have no excuse to turn me down when I beg him to come give haircuts this year. Uncle D is an expert shearer, he placed 12th in the World Championships several times. His father placed as high as 2nd. Dario commented on how he was the last in his family's line of shearers. That made me sad. Sometimes I think I'd like to learn how but that thought leaves quickly when I remember how much I just love sheep.




I had hoped to take Uncle D and Aunt Lori to dinner after the haircuts were done. That didn't work out so well. I'm just glad its all over for a year.

Chick...Chick.....Chickie!

Plucking and Scalding

Pull and Kill

Honored Guests

We processed our first summer batch of Cornish Rock Broilers today. I'm not sure why I always look forward to processing day. Things were a little different this time than in the past. The BFF Gerri was busy doing chores of her own so I had to brave the feather frenzy with Shelly. Instead of standing at the plucker all day, Shelly opted to pull innards with me. We plucked the first one at 11:15am and bagged the last around 2:30pm. That's close to one bird every two and a half minutes. I'll weigh, vacuum seal and label them tomorrow, for now....I'm whooped.

Shelly using her new skills

Pulling a few stragglers