The lab results are in, and it appears my rooster died from lymphoid leukosis, a once-common poultry retro-virus. He probably contracted it at conception from his mother. It can spread to other chickens through contact, though that’s rare. I will have to watch the others, though. Unfortunately, the exterior symptoms are subtle to non-existant, and the disease is untreatable. Most chickens fight off the virus, but those that lose the fight always die with tumors in the liver and other organs. I notified the hatchery, and they’re looking in to the problem on their end. The chicks were vacinated for Marek’s disease, a more prevalent and nasty virus, but not for lymphoid leukosis. Meanwhile, much like amphibians, my number one hen has switched sides to become my new rooster. Yes, I thought that was odd, too. Penny is my favorite hen. She was always by my side in the garden, eating the grubs and bugs I found for her. She’d let me hold her with hardly a stuggle. She and the rooster were childhood best friends, but when the rooster matured, he preferred the company of the early-maturing white hen to Penny. A couple weeks ago, the rooster was crowing mightily in the yard and I heard a tiny, whispered echo crow. Several times. I looked around, and there was Penny, mimicing the rooster. He’d flap his wings, puff up his chest, and let one rip. She’d flap her wings, ruffle her feathers, and in the faintest possible voice she’d cockle-doodle-doo. I thought it was pretty cute, but it made me wonder. Was she mimicing, or was she an extremely slow developer? Once the rooster died, though, everything changed. Her comb tripled in size in just a couple days. Already the largest bird, she filled out even more. Her crows changed from a whisper to a yell. And now she’s mating with the other hens. So now… she’s our rooster. Penny – short for Pendleton?

For a while there, I was afraid they were fading away, but this last week the Brunching Shuttlecocks were back in full force. And today’s bit ranks with the best they’ve ever done: Your Roommate Plays The Indigo Girls.

I hate it when people I know die. Even people I really didn’t get along with. In my social circle in college was a woman named Bonita. I saw her at least several times a week for eight years or so. Though we never argued or clashed in any way, we never really got along. She had a habit of telling people completely made up stories about things she claimed I had done, and did this for years. I don’t know why, and I never confronted her. Her storied never did me any damage, and while I saw her often, there was no need to be more than sociably friendly. But when I just learned she drowned in an accident, I was sad just the same. I’m sorry, Bonita. Good bye.

I just found this article about the new theater I’ll be working in dusing the next two months. Auditions for Bus Stop are tonight – I’m looking forward to meeting a slew of new people. It’ll be a bit odd because many of them know all about me though I’ve never met them.

My old residence, Socorro, New Mexico, is on CNN again. The last time I saw Socorro on CNN, it was because of a massive tire fire.

It was a sad morning at the farm today, as we woke up to a dead rooster. It was laying in a heap underneath its roost in the coop with no wounds or anything. It looked like it died in its sleep and fell. I took it into the poultry necrology lab in town to get a cause of death. The West Nile Virus has made it to the area, and birds have a rather hard time with it. Georgia’s the number one chicken producing state in the country. If that virus takes a liking to chickens, that’d be bad news for everybody.

I was informed that the large images in my How I Spent my Birthday Weekend photo essay became corrupt during the domain transfer last spring. I must’ve done an ASCII transfer instead of a binary one. No matter, they’re fixed now. They’re the best images I’ve got online of the property we’re renting, so if you’re a Kestrel’s Nest newcomer, please enjoy.

When I got back from vacation today, I found a box from Amazon on my desk. Inside was a book I’d ordered sometime in 1998. It wasn;t their fault, of course. It was out of print and near impossible to find. They found it, apparantly, in the discard box at the Tuscon Public Library, and it was even full of photocopies of related material helpfully placed by a nameless library patron doing a research project. The book is color and greyscale plates of illuminated manuscripts from the sixth through sixteenth centuries. It’s a very pretty book, and was surprisingly cheap. It was the second time I’d used Amazon’s out-of-print service (The first was for a copy of the 1930’s science fiction sequel After Worlds Collide. The sequel was good, but not as good as the first, When Worlds Collide. That one is a must-read, and when you do, keep reminding yourself how early it was written, because you’ll forget.), and I’ve been pleased both times.

It was my father’s birthday this month. I don’t really know when it is, but I think it’s on the seventh. Maybe the ninth, but I don’t think so. Sixth? I don’t know when my mother’s birthday is, either. It’s sometime in August. Perhaps it’s the twenty-fourth, but I’m really at a loss. Some would say that I’m a bad son. Maybe so, but I’m hoping not. I don’t mean to be, anyway, and I’m trying to improve with age. So my dad’s birthday has recently past. [If I don’t talk to you before you read this, happy birthday dad. I’m sorry I’m so late.] Not only do I not know when it was, but I don’t even know how old he is. Based on family anecdotes, I could make a guess… Fifty-two? That’s probably within two years. My mom’s a couple or three years behind him, I think. I’ve been made aware this past year just how much I don’t know about my family. For every five questions Chris has asked me about them, I’ve only been able to answer two. At best. Her family is very close. Her extended family all hail (mostly) from the same small town in Minnesota. Even the cousin’s grandparents are like real grandparents. They’ve since spread around the world, but they keep in close contact. Things are different with my family. My immediate family was very close-knit, but there are members of my extended family I don’t think I’ve ever met. I’m comfortable with that – it’s a feature of my family. There are extenuating circumstances, of course. My mother’s side of the family is large. She’s the eldest of nine, so that makes for lots of aunts and uncles and too many cousins to count. And there have been marriages and re-marriages. And I spent most of my childhood several states away from “the action”, so it was easy to go several years (now it’s fifteen or more) without even seeing my mom’s siblings. And it was another extreme on my dad’s side. The details are murky for me, but my grandfather married and had children. At some point, his first wife died and the children became adults. He married again, to my grandmother, but she died when my dad was small. He was mostly raised by his already-grown half siblings. By the time I was born, they had moved away and I hardly ever (if ever) saw them and their families. My grandpa, by now an old man, remarried again (I took my first steps at that wedding). This wife was the woman I know as grandma. She had a whole grown family, too, but they never became my family. That’s a very short description of my family tree, but you can see why my extended family was a distant group to my immediate family. And then I moved far away to go to college. Far enough that I couldn’t afford to go home more than once a year, and then just for a quick visit. My sisters were younger than my, so I missed their adolescent years when they developed their adult personalities. My youngest sister is similar to me, so it’s easy for me to relate to her. But things are different with my other sister. When I see or talk to her (far, far too rarely – I make an even worse brother than I do a son, perhaps), we spend so much time catching up on news that I don’t really get to discover who she is as a person. That troubles me, I suppose, but I haven’t done anything to correct it. So now, having been away from home for thirteen years or so, I can’t answer any but the most basic questions about my family. I counter the disbelief at my not knowing these things by saying “that’s just how things are with my family. We’re OK with that. We don’t need to keep constant tabs on each other, and we know (roughly) where everyone is, and we’re there for each other when the need arises.” But that defense only lasts so long. Now, to further the point, let me say that I don’t know when my parents’ anniversary is. I know it’s in July sometime. Right about now, in fact. And, I can’t say for sure, because of “how things are with my family”, but I’m pretty sure that it is their thirtieth anniversary. Thirty is a nice round number, and given society’s preference of round numbers, I guess that thirty is an important one. It probably has a traditional gift of molybdenum or sapphire or something [note to self: research this.]. Thirty years is a long time, and I’m mighty proud of them for making such a difficult thing as a marriage (especially when you’ve got such a bad son) work for so long. Friday night I’m leaving Georgia with Chris for Missouri to visit my family. The immediate family, anyway. My youngest sister is having her second child this weekend, and I’m going to be there for the event. I know my sisters’ birthdays (even though I’ve been known to be late recognizing the dates from time to time), and I know my niece and nephew’s birthdays. I’m trying to be a better uncle and sometimes even send gifts. Chris is looking forward to seeing everyone again (or, in the case of Adrienne, for the first time), but I don’t think she’s looking forward to it as much as I am. It’s my chance to convince everyone that I’m not really as bad a son/brother as some would say. At least for another year or so. Mom and dad: Happy Anniversary. Every day I’m thankful for the lessons you have taught and the gifts you have given.

The local newspaper has added a flash movie to its online feature on the Athens spy cars. If you wanted to see the spy car parade in color, here’s your chance.