FOAM #5: Food: I pressure cooked 9 chickens on Tuesday and canned them yesterday. 9 chickens = 6 quarts of chicken.
Outside: Turkey on the porch. I guarantee you that if I’d stepped back, that turkey would have come right into the house.
Abstract: My grandmother cross-stitched this cat picture for the spud when she was little. It’s currently hanging in the foster room, and every time I look at it, I think of my grandmother. I love it.
Myself: Lap full o’ Wonkas! (Gus is not really three times bigger than the others, he’s just closer to the camera.)
If you’re interested, there are new jam flavors available hither.
1. I do not know if the Apricot Confetti Habanero Jam is going to remain a regular item or will be a one-time thing. Fred called it “odd”, but my other taste tester liked it. Depends on demand, I suppose.
2. The Cranberry Cruelty Habanero Jam is going to be a seasonal thing – available ’til mid-December, depending on supply and how hard/ expensive it is to find cranberries ’til then.
3. There is no #3. That’s all, folks!
I imagine that if our next door neighbor’s son – the one who likes to stand in his back yard and “fish” – had a blog, his entry on Tuesday would have gone along the lines of something like…
Dear Diary,
It rained all day. I hate it when it rains. Then I can’t go outside and practice my fishing. I can’t wait until the talent scouts realize what an awesome fisherman I am, and come knocking on my door to make me the King of Fishing. It was so wet and rainy that I couldn’t even go into the shed and work on my super secret project.
(I know it drives those nosy-ass people next door NUTS when I go in and they can hear the hammering but can’t see what I’m doing. That’s half the reason I wait until they’re both home before I do it! They sure do spend a lot of time watching me to see what I’m going to do next. I think they might need to get a life.)
I was trying to decide whether I should watch Oprah or take another nap when Ma said “Oh CHRIST. Come see what these idiots are doing now!” So I went to the window where she was staring into the back yard. They had those two great big white barky dogs practically on our property (it’s not enough their goddamn cats tromp across the back yard all the time?), and Mr. Idiot was holding them down on the ground while Mrs. Idiot was all waving her arms all over the place yelling at him.
She sure yells at him a lot. I wouldn’t put up with that shit from no woman on earth.
He said something back to her, and she turned and walked across their back yard.
“What are they doing?” I asked Ma.
“Those two great big galumphing dogs found that the gate to their fenced-in area was open, and they came running out. The idiots chased them and tried to lure them back into the fenced area, but the dogs ran off and were prancing all over hell and creation. Mr. Idiot finally caught them and held them down on the ground -”
“That’s to show dominance,” I told her. “That Dog Whispering guy said so!”
” – and now I think they’re trying to figure out how to get them back in their fenced area.”
I watched for Mrs. Idiot to come back, and while I watched, this fucking FLOCK of turkeys came around the fenced-in part of their back yard, and headed for Mr. Idiot and the dogs. They clustered around Mr. Idiot and the dogs, and finally Mrs. Idiot came moseying across the back yard, holding a couple of leashes.
“TAKE YOUR TIME!” Mr. Idiot said through clenched teeth. Mrs. Idiot picked up the pace, and the faster her feet went, the faster her mouth went. I counted 23 “fucks” before I stopped counting.
She sure does say “fuck” a lot. I wouldn’t put up with that from no woman.
They messed around with the leashes and the dogs, and then Mr. Idiot stood up and started pulling the bigger dog toward the fenced in area. When he was gone, the turkeys stood together in a group and conferred with each other, while Mrs. Idiot continued to hold onto the smaller dog, who just laid on the ground and wouldn’t move.
The turkeys moved past Mrs. Idiot and the dog, and ended up smack-dab in the middle of our back yard. They stood around and stared at the little tree in our back yard, and I thought sure as shit one or the other was going to jump up in the tree and roost, but then Mrs. Idiot stood up and convinced the dog to start moving, and the turkeys got all interested in what was going on, so they started to follow her.
Turkeys are some nosy friggin’ birds. I swear if I see them on our property again, I’m going to grab one up and kill it for dinner.
Mr. Idiot came running up and took the dog from her, and from the fenced-in area where the bigger dog was, came the loudest howling and barking and whining I’ve heard out of those dogs yet. Apparently Big Dog wanted his sister to come keep him company and wanted the entire county to know about it. Those fucking dogs sure get on my nerves with all the barking half the night.
I wouldn’t put up with that from no damn dogs.
I never knew it was going to be so loud, here in the country. Between the big white dogs in the fenced area, and the beagle next door, and the turkeys running around being nosy and needing the Idiots to come herd them back into their fenced area, and the roosters crowing and the cats fighting, I don’t know how on earth I ever get a decent night’s sleep.
Mrs. Idiot sure does spend a lot of time in her kitchen at her sink, glancing out the window. She’s there right now, matter of fact. She’s old as dirt, but I bet she has a crush on me. I’m gonna go give her something to look at. Maybe I’ll practice my fishing some more. Got to keep the skills sharp!
Later,
Fishing Frank.
Oh, my Wonkas. They sure would like to be set free to run through the entire house. I know this because every time I go upstairs, they crowd the door at the end of the hallway and try to slip through. Mike’s made it halfway down the stairs; Gus was pretty close behind. And after I spend time with them and have to leave to go do something (whether I’ve spent five minutes with them, or an hour, it makes no difference), Mike tries to herd me away from the door.
Actually, I guess what they’re really telling me is that they want to be able to follow me around and sit on my lap 24 hours a day!
LESS than 30 days ’til their Combo test, which (I am certain) will show them to be FIV negative, and I guarantee you that when we get home from the vet that day, the first thing I’m going to do is introduce them to the rest of the house!
Sometimes a man’s gotta DANCE.
So, feeding time in the Cookie room goes like this: we put canned food on two plates, and carry two saucers of watered-down formula into the room. Everyone but Pink runs over and either starts eating off the plate or lapping out of the saucers. Pink comes over to us and gives us the Big Eyes of Hope and meows.
I pick her up and take her into the living room and give her a bottle. And she drinks about a tablespoon at each feeding. Last night, she drank far less than that. But she’s still gaining weight, she’s still healthy, and so I strongly suspect that when we’re not in the room, she’s eating out of the bowl of Baby Cat we keep full at all times.
In fact, Tuesday afternoon I was sitting in the room with them, and I glanced over to see her eating a piece of food from the bowl. Then it was like she remembered – “Oh! If they think I’ll eat on my own the bottles will stop!” – and she scurried away from the food.
I’m wise to your game, bratty little Pink!
“Who, ME?”
“Did you say ‘bottle’?”
“I’ll just wait right here for my bottle, thank you.”
Belly = full. Brain = in shutdown mode. Zzzzzs to commence in 4… 3… 2…
“We don’t think it’s fair that Pink still gets and bottle and the rest of us don’t. I’m heading up the protest.”
Yeah, I’d buy into your protest a little more if you didn’t outweigh every other kitten by at least four ounces, porky. I don’t think you’re starving.
Something has disturbed Miz Poo.
Previously
2008: Fucking drama queen.
2007: Whatever I do, I’m sure it’ll be exciting!
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: NOTHING gets by him. NOTHING.
2003: Yep. When you have a crush on a fictional character and whine about how no one in a NOVEL is telling you anything, it’s about time to get a life, say true.
2002: Obviously she’d never taken Customer Service 101, wherein the “‘Thanks!’ = go away” equation is covered thoroughly.
2001: Poor Sadie. Those damn mean cats just refuse to play with her…
2000: No entry.
1999: No entry.