4/2/09

Yesterday I was sitting on the couch watching TV with Fred, and I was flipping idly through a magazine, and out of nowhere GOT A GODDAMN PAPER CUT FROM ONE OF THOSE MOTHERFUCKING BLOW-INS.

WOE.

Lord, I ask you: WHEN WILL THE SUFFERING END?!

***i’mjustadividerlineyesi’monlyadividerlinedividingthissectionfromthatandthatfromthisawwwwyeah***

 

Scenes from around Crooked Acres, ’cause I’ve got litter boxes to scrub out and kittens to cuddle; oh my rough, rough life.

Two of the baby chicks born at the beginning of March, facing off. Clearly they’ve hit their goofy stage, and are racing toward their gawky stage as well. Still cute, though.

One of the Polish crosses. Her mohawk is coming along nicely, dontchathink?

More of the ones born at the beginning of March. I love their little fluffy tails. They crack me up.

Good ol’ Charlie. She’s a mess, but she seems to be doing better – she’s able to get in and out of the coop on her own the last couple of days, so hopefully her wing is improving. Assuming that her wing improves and she’s able to get around on her own with no troubles, she’ll likely end up permanently living in the blue coop with whatever flock ends up there.

This guy’s from the batch of 7 born… Uh. (Let me think…) At the beginning of February, so he’s almost two months old. He’s very friendly – we’ve started calling him “Red Friendly”, to distinguish him from the black and white speckled (much older) chicken in the back forty known as “Mister Friendly.”

Joe Bob investigates the egg basket to see if the hens have been doing their job.

I usually go out to check for eggs around noon. When Fred gets home at 3:30, he goes out and checks again. Yesterday, I got 21 eggs at noon – Fred got another 12 at 3:30, and then a few more after that. I’d say our hens are doing their job and doing it well!

Sassy McGee kicks around in the compost heap. She sure does live the life of Riley. I should rename her Sassy Riley – but it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

The violets are blooming.

Wisteria! I had never had any experience with this stuff before we moved here, but the blooming of the Wisteria is something I’ve come to really look forward to. I can see it from my desk, and it makes me happy.

Red bud in the front yard. SO PURTY.

All of a sudden, the Spirea burst into bloom. I love this bush, but I sure wish I had any idea how to prune it. The camellia, the winter honeysuckle, the butterfly bushes and rose of sharons, no problem. The freakin’ Spirea is beyond me, though.

Spirea blooms, up close.

***i’mjustadividerlineyesi’monlyadividerlinedividingthissectionfromthatandthatfromthisawwwwyeah***

 

Let me tell you about Phinneas. Anyone who knows me knows of my great and abiding love for orange tabbies, and Phinneas is a good example of why I love them so. He’s a little wild thing, racing around the room, jumping on his brothers and sisters, biting them on the neck one moment and then vigorously grooming them the next. He’ll race across the room to jump on my foot and bite it as hard as he can (and these kittens can bite HARD when they want to!) and then when I pick him up and pet him, he instantly goes limp, purrs loud enough to be heard from two rooms away, and gives me the Eyes of Love.

He’s the biggest kitten, and he likes to eat. Like, a lot. And he doesn’t want anyone else to eat off the plate he’s eating from, so if anyone gets too close, he gives them the Paw of No. Right now he’s at a pound and a half, and he has a big ol’ beer belly. It doesn’t slow him down, though.

NOTHING slows down our Phinneas – but he’ll take time out for a belly rub, of course. A boy’s gotta have priorities!

See more kitten pics over at L&H.

***i’mjustadividerlineyesi’monlyadividerlinedividingthissectionfromthatandthatfromthisawwwwyeah***

 

“That’s right. I started out living in this trash can, and then I moved up to a condo by the back steps. Now I’m back in the trash can. Some might say my downward spiral is due to my addiction to the herb known as The ‘Nip or my failure to take responsibility for my own actions. Maybe even the ECONOMYYYYYYYYY. I think we all know the truth, though – it’s your fault. It’s ALWAYS your fault. Remember that. Now go away and leave me to my stinky trash can in the back yard and my half-gnawed squirrel head. I’ll be fine. Just fine. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME.”

***i’mjustadividerlineyesi’monlyadividerlinedividingthissectionfromthatandthatfromthisawwwwyeah***

 

Previously
2008: I try not to do the snackin’ time call unless it’s really snackin’ time, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
2007: When one mows the lawn on a windy day when it hasn’t rained in a long time, one gets a lot of dust on one’s face.
2006: No entry.
2005: I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you?
2004: I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around.
2003: But you’d better believe that if I had a penis, it’d be a big swingin’ one.
2002: “Walmart eating ass” will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious.
2001: No entry.
2000: Well, I’ve got magazines to read, and naps to take.