Can you let them meet on neutral ground, tntchix? If you do it early in the morning they'll probably be ok to roost together by evening. Although usually when I introduce new birds they sleep somewhere weird for a while (nest box, floor etc)
The Front Porch Swing
- Thread starter Beekissed
- Start date
I thought it was best to intro at night. That seems to be the consensus from different sources. I like your idea Tomtomom, but I think the cover of darkness might be better. We'll see. Here goes nothing.
Okay, I know the Aura well. I'll check the screen out and let you know. I'm so lucky to not have the bad kind like my DD Brandi. It ruined her life. Literally.
Now, if only the dog hadn't eaten at the chicken poop buffet afterward...
morning
that ,must b a load off youWell, it took all of 4 minutes to integrate the boys last night. We put the dog crate in the door opening, opened the door, and out walked the roosters, just like they belonged there. This morning, Travis is out crowing his head off and showing the girls where the treats are. Spartacus is still in the coop watching the layers.
Now, if only the dog hadn't eaten at the chicken poop buffet afterward...before I could get the crate cleaned out today. I guess I forgot to latch the crate.
Well, at least you don't have to clean the crate anymore ....Now, if only the dog hadn't eaten at the chicken poop buffet afterward...before I could get the crate cleaned out today. I guess I forgot to latch the crate.
hey poochie, come give me some kisses! yuck!
This is one of the columns I wrote for our local newspaper. It's long, but - well, I just wanted to salute those who stay behind while their loved ones serve.
Sacrifice was pawning my wedding rings so my children could eat. Early enlisted pay was not much to start with, but when my husband’s ship was sent out to sea before he could get an allotment set up it meant he got his paycheck where he was, not where the kids and I were. That month I hadn’t a penny until he either came home or could get something mailed to us, so I did what I had to do. I never did find the extra money to redeem my rings.
Navy life meant packing up and moving on, usually on very short notice. It meant reintroducing our kids to their grandparents and extended family once every two or three years, and never being able to shake the feeling that somehow we didn’t quite fit in.
It was making a home out of a house so ramshackle the only thing holding it up was the cockroaches in the walls linking legs and the layers of pea green paint on the walls.
It meant no chance for me to have a career – just a series of dead end jobs that barely helped make ends meet.
It meant my kids didn’t form lifelong friendships, and in each new school they were either ahead of or behind their classmates academically.
Heartbreak was holding my sobbing 10 year old daughter in my arms when she was the only one who wasn’t going to the father/daughter dance with a proud dad escorting her.
It was promising my eight year old daughter that I would remember to tell Daddy how well she performed in the school Christmas concert because it was her third year in school and he’d still never seen her on the stage.
It was learning the rules of baseball because I was the only one who could teach my son enough of the game to try out for a team, and it was leaving the laundry and the dishes behind to take him fishing. It was facing those difficult times when a young man has questions only a dad can answer, but has only a mom to turn to.
Sacrifice was coping with the loss of premature twin boys alone because the Command decided my situation wasn’t critical enough to extend emergency leave when they were born.
It was long distance holidays, birthdays, anniversaries and milestones. We had been married 13 years before we spent our first Easter together.
It meant postponing Christmas until May when the ship which was supposed to return to port in early December had its tour extended by 5 months. It was something my kids thought was right to do.
Sacrifice meant putting my pride in my pocket and asking a neighbor for help when the washer (or the dryer or the car or the whatever) broke down.
It was the sound of the phone at 3:00 in the morning, praying it would be him but terrified that it might be about him. It meant hearing his voice for a few precious minutes, and being willing to go in and wake up three sleeping little people so they’d have a chance to hear him too.
It was losing sleep night after night during the three years he spent in a village called Chu Lai during the Viet Nam war. The television broadcaster thought it was his job to give a total body count at end of his broadcasts, apparently not caring that families wouldn’t know for days if their loved one was part of that count.
It meant that my hallway wasn’t decorated with family photos, but with a world map. Once a week we would stand in front of that map and use red pins for where we thought the ship might be. We used blue ones to mark the far away places he called us from when the ship would hit port.
We shared our affection with two men in blue uniforms during those years – our sailor and the mailman who brought us the letters and packages. Letters always meant a celebration.
During the day I was busy taking care of the kids and the things that need tending. But the hours between the time they went to bed and I finally went to bed were the loneliest times I have ever known. There was no one to hold me so I could cry and no one to tease me out of a bad mood. No one there to reassure me that everything was going to be alright. No praise for a job well done or help correcting a task I’d muffed up. And, selfishly speaking, there was no validation of me as wife, partner, and friend.
Let no one think that in this day of instant communication our military families have it any easier. They may have access to email, web cams, instant messaging and cell phones, but that doesn’t diminish their sacrifice. The families left behind are still the ones who have to keep it all together while their loved ones are away, and put it all back together if, God forbid, it all goes terribly wrong.
So you’ll all forgive me if, while I honor and pray for our brave men and women in uniform, I pray just a little harder for the ones left behind. It’s the only side of the fence I’ve been on, so it’s the one I understand best. I’m proud of my small role in protecting this country, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. This Veteran’s Day, please remember, “They also serve who stand and wait”.
Sacrifices
This week we honor our men and women in uniform, though in my humble opinion words and ceremonies don’t seem adequate for what we ask of them. It also seems to me that the sacrifices of their families are too often mentioned as an afterthought. I’d like to change that and outline for you what some of those sacrifices are, at least from my perspective as a Navy wife from 1968 until 1990. This isn’t meant to be a pity party, just a few facts about military life as I lived them.Sacrifice was pawning my wedding rings so my children could eat. Early enlisted pay was not much to start with, but when my husband’s ship was sent out to sea before he could get an allotment set up it meant he got his paycheck where he was, not where the kids and I were. That month I hadn’t a penny until he either came home or could get something mailed to us, so I did what I had to do. I never did find the extra money to redeem my rings.
Navy life meant packing up and moving on, usually on very short notice. It meant reintroducing our kids to their grandparents and extended family once every two or three years, and never being able to shake the feeling that somehow we didn’t quite fit in.
It was making a home out of a house so ramshackle the only thing holding it up was the cockroaches in the walls linking legs and the layers of pea green paint on the walls.
It meant no chance for me to have a career – just a series of dead end jobs that barely helped make ends meet.
It meant my kids didn’t form lifelong friendships, and in each new school they were either ahead of or behind their classmates academically.
Heartbreak was holding my sobbing 10 year old daughter in my arms when she was the only one who wasn’t going to the father/daughter dance with a proud dad escorting her.
It was promising my eight year old daughter that I would remember to tell Daddy how well she performed in the school Christmas concert because it was her third year in school and he’d still never seen her on the stage.
It was learning the rules of baseball because I was the only one who could teach my son enough of the game to try out for a team, and it was leaving the laundry and the dishes behind to take him fishing. It was facing those difficult times when a young man has questions only a dad can answer, but has only a mom to turn to.
Sacrifice was coping with the loss of premature twin boys alone because the Command decided my situation wasn’t critical enough to extend emergency leave when they were born.
It was long distance holidays, birthdays, anniversaries and milestones. We had been married 13 years before we spent our first Easter together.
It meant postponing Christmas until May when the ship which was supposed to return to port in early December had its tour extended by 5 months. It was something my kids thought was right to do.
Sacrifice meant putting my pride in my pocket and asking a neighbor for help when the washer (or the dryer or the car or the whatever) broke down.
It was the sound of the phone at 3:00 in the morning, praying it would be him but terrified that it might be about him. It meant hearing his voice for a few precious minutes, and being willing to go in and wake up three sleeping little people so they’d have a chance to hear him too.
It was losing sleep night after night during the three years he spent in a village called Chu Lai during the Viet Nam war. The television broadcaster thought it was his job to give a total body count at end of his broadcasts, apparently not caring that families wouldn’t know for days if their loved one was part of that count.
It meant that my hallway wasn’t decorated with family photos, but with a world map. Once a week we would stand in front of that map and use red pins for where we thought the ship might be. We used blue ones to mark the far away places he called us from when the ship would hit port.
We shared our affection with two men in blue uniforms during those years – our sailor and the mailman who brought us the letters and packages. Letters always meant a celebration.
During the day I was busy taking care of the kids and the things that need tending. But the hours between the time they went to bed and I finally went to bed were the loneliest times I have ever known. There was no one to hold me so I could cry and no one to tease me out of a bad mood. No one there to reassure me that everything was going to be alright. No praise for a job well done or help correcting a task I’d muffed up. And, selfishly speaking, there was no validation of me as wife, partner, and friend.
Let no one think that in this day of instant communication our military families have it any easier. They may have access to email, web cams, instant messaging and cell phones, but that doesn’t diminish their sacrifice. The families left behind are still the ones who have to keep it all together while their loved ones are away, and put it all back together if, God forbid, it all goes terribly wrong.
So you’ll all forgive me if, while I honor and pray for our brave men and women in uniform, I pray just a little harder for the ones left behind. It’s the only side of the fence I’ve been on, so it’s the one I understand best. I’m proud of my small role in protecting this country, and I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. This Veteran’s Day, please remember, “They also serve who stand and wait”.
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Blooie, that is beautiful! Amen and God Bless!
Well written as always, Blooie, nice.
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