We had an absolutely beautiful weekend, with sunshine and weather in the mid-80s (I told my brother on Friday that when I lived in Maine, I would never ever EVER have considered a temperature in the mid-80s to be cool and comfortable, but I guess it’s amazing what 14 years of living in the south will do to your opinion of what’s hot and what’s cold).
I know I’ve mentioned that a lot of our younger chickens are able to get out of the back forty and wander the property during the day. They’re getting out of the back forty by walking under the gap that has developed between the bottom of the fence and the ground. A gap that has gotten so large that, if the fully grown chickens were of a mind to, they could also get out of the back forty and wander the property. It hasn’t occurred to them, though, or maybe they’re smart enough (DOUBT IT) to know that in the back forty they’re protected by George and Gracie. If a dog or some other predator were to come onto our property and go after one of the wandering chickens, there’s nothing that George and Gracie could do.
I don’t think that’s happened, but to be honest we have SO FUCKING MANY chickens right now that if a few have gone missing, we don’t know about it.
So anyway, Saturday morning I went out and started working on the fence so that the chickens who are going under the gap can’t get out that way. This was a fairly tedious process that consisted of cutting fence, pushing it into the ground at the bottom of the gaps, and then attaching the pieces of new fence to the old fence with cable ties.
It looks… not great. It’s kind of a mess, but who do we have to impress? It seems to be doing the job. Sunday morning when I went out to work on more of the fence, there were chickens by the gaps I’d blocked off on Saturday walking back and forth with big cartoon question marks in the air over their heads. I worked on the fence for another couple of hours, and I should be able to finish up the front part of the back forty next weekend. I know there are gaps on the fence going along the side of the back forty, but I don’t think any of the chickens are going out that way. If I’m proven wrong, I suppose I’ll have to do the fence along the side, too.
Right now, the ends of my fingers hurt like a motherfucker.
Worst feeling in the world: paper cuts. I got one on the end of my thumb and just thinking about the feeling of the cut happening makes me shudder. HATE PAPER CUTS.
(Do you glue your paper cuts shut with super glue too? It works like a charm!)
Is there a word for taking corn off a cob? I made a shit-ton of corn on the cob last night so that I could use the cobs for cob jelly (shaddup, don’t judge), and had to take the corn off the cob to use the cobs, and I have NO CLUE what the word for taking the corn off the cob is. IS there a word? Dekerneling? Decobbing? Anyone know?
Last weekend, Nance posted a picture of a damn tasty-looking cheese danish. Naturally, it got me craving a good cheese danish, so I started looking around to see if I could find a recipe for a simple danish I could make at home.
I found one (and not one that requires you to make your own dough, thank god), and made half a batch of them on Friday.
Oh my god, they were SO FREAKIN’ GOOD. Too good. So good I need to never make them again because I could NOT stop shoving them in my face.
Moxie, Melodie, Martin, and Dodger continue to explore the house. They start howling to be let out of their room a little after 6 – unless they hear me up and moving around earlier than that. I give them their morning snack, then let them free to roam the house. Marty is completely comfortable in all corners of the house and has staked his claim to one of the beds on my desk. Moxie also occasionally sleeps on my desk. Melodie and Dodger haven’t quite gotten that comfortable, but they’ve at least gotten to the point where they’ll come downstairs.
All four of them ADORE Jake. He really is the Charlene Butterbean of Crooked Acres – he plays with them, he grooms them, he snuggles with them. It’s way too cute.
Bolitar and Rhyme: still unadopted. Wah! But reports are that they’re calm and friendly and NOT hiding in the litter box any more, so I’m not too worried about them. It’s only been two weeks, I guess it’s going to take a little time.
In the meantime, we give Corby and Reacher all the snuggles they can stand, because it could be their turn to go to the adoption center any time!
God, Corby. I wish you’d learn to relax a little. You’re stressing me out!
Miz Poo reflects that someone needs to clean that window.
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “You,” I said to Flappy through clenched teeth, “Are the stupidest goddamn animal in the entire world. GET IN THERE!”
2006: Maddy!
2005: let’s just say I am NOT very fond of Robyn v. 2002 right now.
2004: My mother hung up the phone and said “If she wanted closure so bad, maybe she should have shown up at the nursing home to see her!”
2003: No entry.
2002: I think he has a camera hidden somewhere in the bathroom, and when I’m in the shower, an alarm goes off and tells him to call me immediately.
2001: Time to go cold turkey, Deb…
2000: WHEN WILL THE SUFFERING END???