As of today, I’ve lived in Alabama for 13 years.
(Feels like 30.)
That’s over 31% of my life! Still doesn’t make me a Southern Belle, though, does it? Damn Yankee that I am, adding vegetables to the chicken and dumplings and preferring sweet cornbread to the regular stuff and unable to stand the taste of good ol’ iced tea.
Another 13 years, maybe I’ll take up tea drinking and swanning about with big Southern hair.
(Probably not, though.)
So, the newish song by Katy Perry (aka Zooey Deschanel’s doppleganger) with the line “That’s what you get for waking up in Vegas.”
Did anyone hear “That’s what you get for waking up the baby” the first thirteen times they heard the song, or was it just me?
We watched I Love You, Man the other night, and I have to say that it made me laugh out loud several times. The best part of the movie, though, is the gag reel. Paul Rudd and that chair, man. He cracks me UP.
I adore Jason Segel. I can’t wait for How I Met Your Mother to start up again in the Fall.
And speaking of TV shows, I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but in the desert wasteland that is summer TV, we’ve been taping and watching Two and a Half Men, and man. That show makes me laugh my ASS off.
Shaddup.
Scenes from around Crooked Acres.
Spider web on the rearview mirror (don’t know where the spider was, though).
Copper Marans rooster. Check out his fancy feathered feet!
We’re pretty sure this is a Silver Speckled Hamburg. I think she’s shaped like a pigeon. We moved her out to the big chicken yard, but she was so persistent in escaping that yard and hanging around outside the maternity yard that we let her stay there – at least for the time being.
Muppet Momma and her babies.
Roosters always have somethin’ to say.
Young chickens, dust-bathing. Don’t they look guilty?
We call this chicken “One Eye” because, well, she only has one functioning eye (the other eye exists, she just can’t see out of it). She’s a good momma, and this is her second set of babies this year. Buff Orpingtons go broody at the drop of a hat, it seems.
The Maestro, before his hair cut.
And after.
This is the “broody breaker.” When a hen goes broody (ie, wants to sit on and hatch eggs), we put her in the cage for a day or so. Because she can’t get warmth underneath her, eventually the broodiness goes away. That’s the theory, anyway – if they’re still broody after a couple of days, we give up and let them sit on eggs. Basically, they can BE mothers, they just have to want it badly enough. (That black hen on top of the broody breaker is just checking things out – she’s not actually in that trap, she’s behind it. Fred put the trap up there to discourage the chickens from hanging out on top of the broody breaker, but sometimes they’re determined.)
The kittens are now meeting me at the door. I guess they’ve learned the sounds that mean I’m walking down the hallway to their room, and there’s always at least four of them sitting there peering up at me when I open the door.
The other trick they’ve learned? Climbing up the back of my shirt to perch on my shoulder. Only Sam does it regularly, but every once in a while one of the other kittens will see him doing it and think “Hey! I can do that too!” and join him in the climbing.
It hurts to feel their needle-sharp little claws sink into the skin of my back, but they’re SO proud of themselves when they get to my shoulder that it’s pretty much worth the pain.
I have fallen head over heels for these little monkeys. I always do.
How can you not love that sweet little face?
Sweet Bill.
What I’m beginning to think is that Sam just likes to sleep with his elbow propped up.
Terry. Oh, how I have to fight not to squeeze the stuffin’ out of this little guy!
The will to live has been sapped from poor sad Suggie. But keep in mind that when the collars are finally removed for good, he will be SO overjoyed that he’ll be bouncing off the walls (literally) for weeks and weeks. Don’t feel too sorry for him – he spends his days stretched across my desk. When I sit down at my computer, he creeps closer and closer until I scratch his neck, then he lays there and purrs and purrs. It’s a rough life.
Previously
2008: In lieu of a real entry today, sights and scenes from around Crooked Acres.
2007: “It’s not a tumah,” he said, as is standard.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Give me time, I’ll have fifteen different versions of “Xanadu” in my music folder.
2003: MY ARM HURTS.
2002: I think no one ever told Billy Bob that if you ANNOUNCE you’re taking the high road, then you aren’t taking it.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.