Squeeky the Cattle Herding Pig. Too cool. I can’t imagine our pigs being so light on their feet, and they’re a quarter the size of Squeeky!
Zack Scott has got some pretty awesome movies on his YouTube page. Katherine sent me this one, and I watched it three times, each time laughing harder. You have GOT to watch it to the end. The looks they shoot each other are funny as hell.
Bella’s got the tortured artist look down:
Pictures from around Crooked Acres:
Sugarbutt peers around the monster tomato plant in the back yard (STILL producing!) to see what Joe Bob (on the other side) is doing.
Michelle the rooster. Such a pretty rooster.
No-Tail does the move we refer to as “umbrella neck.” I’m not sure what exactly umbrella neck signifies – sometimes it seems to happen when the chicken feels there’s danger, sometimes the roosters do it as part of their mating dance. Yesterday, No-Tail was following me around and throwing me the umbrella neck, so I expected him to either start his mating dance or decide I was some sort of threat and attack me.
I’d expect such a pretty rooster to have a more impressive tail. I mean, I know he can’t help the size of his tail or anything, but still. You’d think McLovin’s sons would have prettier tails.
Her name is Lola. She is a show chick. (Someone mentioned in my comments that they think of “Copacabana” when they see the featherheads. I think of this one as Lola now (because she is SO BEAUTIFUL), and the other two (the black chickens with the spray of white feathers on their heads) as the featherheads.
The featherheads, taking dust baths along with some of their sisters.
Little bitty abandoned web in the fence.
Big Pig. (That’s a ball behind her head, not her cheek sticking out oddly.)
Little Pig, grazing like a cow.
Something’s got her excited. Maybe it’s time to eat?
No-Tail, up close. Pretty, pretty.
Scruffy little Amish chick.
I’m calling the Silkie “Princess” these days. C’mon, look at her. Doesn’t she LOOK like a “Princess”?
Big bowl of pecans. Fred filled up the bowl, and we had to start using an empty 40-pound litter bucket to put them in. I pity the fool who has to crack all those damn things…
The foster kittens continue to relax. Claudette still isn’t approaching me to be petted or anything (though if I make the effort to reach out and pet the top of her head, she allows it. She’s a benevolent ruler.), but she’ll come down out of the cat tree and hang out on the floor with her siblings and I. That’s progress. Also, Delmar no longer runs for the cat tree when the door to the foster room opens. That’s progress, too! (Of course, the other three hightail it for the tree as soon as they hear the door handle turning.)
Every day, there’s a little more progress. I’m really enjoying watching these kittens come out of their shells and turn into friendly little purrbuckets.
“RUB MAH BELLEH!”
More kitten pictures over at Love & Hisses.
Oh, speaking of… cats. I have news. About Kara. It seems she’s found a home.
We now have ten cats.
::sigh::
More about that tomorrow.
Clearly she’s thrilled about it.
Boogie says, “If SHE’s staying, I’m OUTTA HERE!”
Previously
2007: You snooze, you lose. That’s our motto at Crooked Acres.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: (We fat chicks love the buffet, don’tchaknow.)
2003: The gluttony, the sloth, the avarice!
2002: The kitties did not care for the tune, the unappreciative bastards.
2001: How to change a tire.
2000: No entry.
1999: But as I see it, more than 2 cats makes you a weird cat person. Am I wrong? Is it three, or some incredible number like ten?