The other night when we were sitting down to watch TV and the Presidential Address was on, I said to Fred “I still can’t believe we actually have a black President. That’s way too cool. I feel like we’re living in an episode of 24. I expect to see Jack Bauer sidling across the background … Continue reading “2/11/09”
The other night when we were sitting down to watch TV and the Presidential Address was on, I said to Fred “I still can’t believe we actually have a black President. That’s way too cool. I feel like we’re living in an episode of 24. I expect to see Jack Bauer sidling across the background wearing his man purse.”
Fred laughed. “Welcome to the future!”
Maybe we’ll see a female president in office in a couple of seasons?
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I finally FINALLY have a PO Box closer than the one in Madison (the drive to check that PO Box was getting on my nerves). If you’ve got my PO Box address, update your address books, ’cause the one in Madison will be going bye-bye soon*.
AND THEN SEND ME ONE MEELLION DOLLARS!
*Well, it won’t really be going anywhere – it’ll still be there, I just won’t be getting the mail that goes there.
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The good thing about having a BrooderCam is that I can see what the baby chicks are doing without having to haul my ass the 80 feet to the outbuilding to see in person (though of course I go out there regularly to touch the babies with the fangers, ’cause they’re so damn cute).
The bad thing about having a BrooderCam is that if a baby chick is laying asleep in front of the camera for too long, Fred will call and ask me to look at the live feed and determine whether the chicken is sleeping or dead. (Luckily, the answer all day yesterday was “sleeping.”)
Fred called when I was at the grocery store yesterday and told me to call him when I got home because he had news.
“Well, tell me now!” I said.
“I’d rather wait ’til you’re at home,” he said.
“Oh, will it make me mad and want to swear profusely?” I said.
“No, the opposite I think,” he said.
So I called him when I got home, and he told me that this time when he called the niece of the woman who’d built our house (he’d tried calling before a few times and didn’t get an answer), she answered, and they talked for about 45 minutes.
She said that it brought tears to her eyes to hear that we love our house so much, and that we did a lot of work inside, that we’ve got a garden and chickens and a small orchard.
And the best thing? She said that she has a box of pictures, and that she’ll get them out of storage and send them to us! We’ve wished ever since we first saw this house that we could see what it’s looked like in the years since it was first built, and now we’re going to get to!
That is way too awesome.
She also said that she has friends in the area and gets down this way every now and then (she lives in Tennessee), and she’d like to stop by and see the inside of the house if that was okay with us.
“Did you tell her that she’s welcome to stop by whenever she wants, because we’ll pump her for information?” I said.
“I did,” Fred said.
The house was built in 1930, she said, which means it’s 79 years old – older than we thought! They had chickens here, and a mule that they used to plow the back forty (which was pasture), and the cement pad in the back yard held a house that was floor-to-ceiling shelves that held all their canned goods. What’s now the computer room and laundry room used to be one big sun room, and what’s our dining room now used to be a bedroom/ sitting room.
I am DYING to see those old pictures. I can’t wait!
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BEST foster news ever! Lem and Delmar got adopted last night – TOGETHER!!!! Yay!!!!!
Marion is in “quarantine” in a foster home because she bit someone at the store, and Claudette is in a cage by herself at the store. The side benefit of Claudette being alone is that now she’s starting to come out of her shell.
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Samba and Rumba are going to be spayed tomorrow. Of course after I mentioned yesterday that once I bring them home tomorrow night I’m going to separate them for a few days and see if that’ll help make them friendlier, Rumba started coming around to be petted last night. She’s actually the friendlier of the two kittens, but I’m still going to separate them to see if I can get Samba to the point where she doesn’t look like I’m trying to murder her if I attempt to pet her.
Have I mentioned that these kittens are seriously cute? Probably not. They are, you know.
Sometimes I let them “catch” the light, and then they don’t know what to do.
Kitten’s all “I think that’s my food?” Miz Poo‘s all “Don’t make me hurt you, kid.”
Kitten’s all “::Gasp!:: It’s Tom Cullen, the Ambassador of Love!”
Tommy’s all “Is there some of that tasty kitten food in here? I think I smell some. Bring on the food!”
More kitten pics (fun with the laser pointer!) over at Love & Hisses.
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I think Miz Poo’s ready to put the smack down.
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Previously 2008: We watched as fucko stopped, picked something up, and went back to his own property.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: Why she felt the need to ostentatiously walk up and down the property line so many times instead of just coming over and talking to Fred, I have no idea. 2004: Interesting how that works, no? 2002: Woulda made a good picture.
2001: No entry. 2000: Have you ever noticed that if you read or say the same word over and over, it ceases to make any kind of sense?
Poor little Zippy – the tiny chick who was born last on Sunday morning – didn’t make it. Both Fred and I are bummed because the little guy fought so hard to be born, but he was just too weak. Late yesterday he could do nothing but lay on his back and flail around chirping, … Continue reading “2/10/09”
Poor little Zippy – the tiny chick who was born last on Sunday morning – didn’t make it. Both Fred and I are bummed because the little guy fought so hard to be born, but he was just too weak. Late yesterday he could do nothing but lay on his back and flail around chirping, so Fred made the hard decision. It’s probably good that he was willing to, because I sure did like that little chick.
On the good side, I’m going to recycle the name for Sassy’s baby. I couldn’t come up with a good name – I suggested “Saucy” to Fred, who rolled his eyes – and Zippy’s a pretty damn good name.
Zippy McGee. I think it works well.
And to our utter amazement, one of the biggest, healthiest-looking chicks, a yellow chick that appeared to be a Buff Orpington – up and died overnight, too. This is the part I hate about having baby chickens, frankly – not knowing when one that appears to be perfectly healthy is going to up and die on you.
I was told last night that the guy at the store where we bought the Silkies (oh, hi. I think I didn’t mention that we got a white Silkie a few weeks ago, did I? We did. Shut up.) is going to have fertile eggs for Fred this weekend. These eggs are going to come from Golden-Laced Wyandottes crossed with a Buff Orpington rooster.
Laced Wyandottes are probably the prettiest chickens on earth. The Rock Star looks very much like a Golden-Laced Wyandotte and I love her markings.
So yes, apparently we’re going to be hatching more eggs soon. Don’t roll your eyes at me – it wasn’t MY idea.
Fred’s got a BrooderCam up and running for at least a few days. Sometimes those chicks get right up in the camera, and sometimes they disappear. Ya never know what you’re gonna get.
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The other night when we were sitting in the living room, I told Fred the story of how Xeney was in Rite Aid and a jerk told the cashier working there that he’d heard Rite Aid was going under, and kept it going even though the cashier was freaking out. Xeney told the guy he was an asshole, and rightly so.
Fred did a double-take and gave me a face of amazement.
Wow, I thought to myself. That’s kind of an overreaction.
He asked a few questions, and then I came to understand that even though it had APPEARED that he’d been paying attention to what I was saying, he had been off in his own little world, and he’d tuned back in about two-thirds of the way through the story. He was under the impression that I had been in that Rite-Aid line and chimed in when the person in front of me told the guy he was an asshole.
And then I realized that Fred is Joey.
(Except that in Fred’s head, there are show tunes.) (Also, I suspect he’s more a cross between Chandler and Joey.)
Usually, Fred’s Ross and I’m Chandler. Or Joey. Except that I’m kinda ditzy like Phoebe. I am an amalgam of Friends characters!
::sigh:: I miss Friends.
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I never did make an appointment for Rumba and Samba to be spayed/ id chipped/ rabies shotted, but I’m going to call and do that today. They’re doing well. The best time to hang out with them is when there’s sun flooding the foster room. Something about the sunshine makes them friendly, and they’ll come over to me to be petted.
After they’ve been spayed, I’ve decided that I’m going to separate them for a couple of days. Separating skittish kittens often changes them into more friendly cats for some reason, so I’m going to put one in the foster room and the other in the guest bedroom and see if it makes any difference. If they’re miserable apart, of course, I’ll reunite them, but hopefully it’ll make them a little more willing to be petted. I’ll report how that goes, of course.
I don’t remember what I was dangling over their heads – some toy or another, I’m sure – but I certainly had their interest!
Truly, Kara does not approve of those big loud barking things.
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Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry. 2006: Unless maybe it’s a magic leotard and the source of all her powers? 2005: “Life’s too fucking short to read books that suck.” 2004: Damn you, DVR! I WANT to love you, but you’re toying with my emotions!
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: I’m not sure what effect, if any, it had on her.
I spent a lot of time in the kitchen this weekend, actually. I went through the pile of recipes on my desk (I tend to print out recipes that look good to me and then just pile them on my desk for months before I ever get around to making them) and chose three to … Continue reading “2/9/09”
I spent a lot of time in the kitchen this weekend, actually. I went through the pile of recipes on my desk (I tend to print out recipes that look good to me and then just pile them on my desk for months before I ever get around to making them) and chose three to try.
The first, Double Chocolate Caramel Turtle Treats – basically Rice Krispies Treats with chocolate, caramel and pecans added in – caught my eye because of the name. When we go to Gatlinburg, my number one favorite candy to buy are Turtles, something about the chocolate and caramel really appeals to me. So I made the Double Chocolate Caramel Turtle Treats and they were good. EXCEPT that I had made a batch of Sweet-Hot Habanero Sauce in that pot, and apparently there were still habanero oils present in the pot even though I’d diligently cleaned it, and so the Treats came out tinged with a hint of habanero. I ate a few small squares because they are JUST that good, before I gave up and let the pigs have the rest. I plan to make them again one day WITHOUT the habanero surprise, thank you.
The next, Lemon Ricotta Cookies with Lemon Glaze were not difficult, but they were kind of time consuming. First, you have to zest a lemon, then you have to bake the cookies, THEN you have to let them cool on the cookie sheet for 20 minutes, THEN you let them cool completely, THEN you glaze them, THEN you let the glaze harden for two hours before you can put them in a container for storage. I made the cookies and Fred and I split a cookie before I put the glaze on them, and they are really, really good. Then I glazed them, and Fred LOVED the cookies – he said the glaze added just the right lemony zing. I thought the cookies were better without the glaze, honestly, but even with the glaze they’re pretty damn good. The cookies are big and soft and kind of cakey, and I think we all know how very much Fred enjoys his cakey cookies! Next time, I’ll likely make smaller cookies (these cookies are pretty big), and I’ll only glaze half of them.
The last was a recipe I printed out ages ago from Say’s Groovy Mom blog, Girlfriend’s Graham Cookies. She said in her blog that they’re reminiscent of the Girl Scouts Samoas cookies, which are my favorite Girl Scout cookies. I had a few problems, though. I couldn’t find unsweetened coconut, so I used sweetened, but the biggest problems I had were in the baking of the cookies. I think my oven might be having issues (and I need to get an oven thermometer to check on it), because I took the first sheet of cookies out at 9 minutes and they stuck to the cookie sheet. Then I tried spraying a cookie sheet with nonstick spray, only to have the cookies spread out way too thin and burn at the edges. The last sheet I put in, I used parchment paper and baked them for 8 minutes, and they came out perfectly. At first I wasn’t sure if I liked the cookies and Fred said “These are very active cookies.” Truly, they have a lot going on, between the chocolate chips, the walnuts, and the coconut. The more time that goes by, though, the better I think they are. At first I thought that maybe next time I’d leave out the walnuts, but two days later I think they’re perfect the way they are.
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So I posted on Saturday that I wasn’t sure if the pigs were going to be going back or not. In the end I made my opinion clear to Fred – I thought they should go back – but told him whatever he decided would be okay with me. Sunday morning I slept in ’til after 7 (SLACKER) and when I made my way downstairs, Fred told me he’d put a hog panel around the end of the pig shelter so that they were confined to their shelter and a little bit outside their shelter. Which was going to make it easier to catch them and put them in the carrier.
(The carrier, by the way, is one we bought when we were getting George and Gracie. Either of the dogs could easily fit in the carrier even now, so there was more than enough room for the pigs. In case you were wondering. We weren’t using tiny little cat carriers.)
“So we’re taking them?” I said.
“Yeah,” Fred said.
We went out to put the pigs in the carrier, and I don’t know that it could have been any easier. Fred went into the shelter, and the pigs squealed in alarm the way they always did when he walked into their shelter, and then they ran past him. He caught one, put it in the carrier, then caught the other one and put it in the carrier. It took about a minute to get them both caught and in the carrier, if that.
We put the carrier in the back of the truck and went to take our showers.
The traffic going down the road to the flea market was heavier than we’d ever seen it before (it was in the low 70s over the weekend, so we figured the heavy traffic was due to the nice weather). We parked and then carried the carrier to the guy we’d bought the pigs from.
I managed somehow to get a smear of pig shit on my pants leg. How? I don’t know, I never came into direct contact with the pigs once they were in the carrier – I’m guessing there was pig shit on the carrier. The guy took the pigs out of the carrier and put them in the small wire cage he had all set up, he and Fred chatted for a minute, and then we carried the carrier back to the truck. After we left the carrier in the truck, we started looking at the stuff for sale, and by the time we wandered back by the pig man’s booth twenty minutes later, he’d sold the pigs.
So yes, the pigs are gone and I don’t feel guilty.
(Much.)
The guy we got our first two pigs from last February has got a litter of piglets due in a couple of weeks, so unless we stumble across someone else selling pigs before then, we’ll likely be buying them from him.
We wandered around the flea market for another hour or so. Fred had hoped that the guy selling trees would be there, but he wasn’t. According to the pig man, the trees that guy sells aren’t the greatest anyway.
“They’re rejects from the nursery!” he said. “I bought (however many) trees from him and (however many minus two) died!”
“Well, we learned from those pigs about staying away from rejects!” Fred said. I waited for him to add a big “HAW! HAW! HAW!” in there, but he managed to restrain himself.
I had to practically drag Fred away from a guy who was selling Silkie eggs. “I wonder if they’re fertile!” he whispered to me. “We have brand new baby chickens right now, now is NOT the time to be hatching more. We’ll come back in a few months!” I said to him, and he finally (reluctantly) agreed.
We left the flea market buying only a few drill bits and nothing else. That might be a record for us!
Fred was pretty unhappy that the tree guy hadn’t been at the flea market, so we ended up stopping by L0we’s to see what they had in the way of fruit trees. Nothing they had was what we wanted, so we went up the road to Wal-M@rt to look at their trees.
After talking about it for a long time, we ended up buying sixteen trees – four Red Delicious, four Golden Delicious, and eight peach trees.
“Robyn,” you are saying. “What the fuck? Why so many fruit trees?”
Well, let me tell you why – because when Fred’s outside working in the summer, the son of the woman who lives next door likes to sit out on their deck. And while it might be our imagination, it sure does look like he spends all his time staring at what Fred’s doing, and Fred is not fond of the scrutiny. So the fruit trees are going to act as a fence to protect Fred’s privacy.
And if all these trees bear fruit, we’re going to be buried in apples and peaches and we very well might have to set up a fruit stand by the road.
I didn’t think we were actually going to fit all sixteen trees in the back of the truck, but we managed, and as we drove down the highway toward home with those trees and a big pig carrier crammed into the back of the truck, I felt very Clampett-like.
You better bet Fred was exhausted at bedtime last night after planting sixteen trees!
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So, the eggs started hatching Saturday morning, and so far we’ve got nine baby chicks out in the brooder. There are still four eggs sitting in the incubator. Fred has detected no movement or sound from those eggs, but he said that he’s heard of eggs taking up to 23 or 24 days to hatch, so we’re leaving them for now just to be sure we’re not giving up too soon.
Fred’s unimpressed with the number of chicks we got this time around. We started out with 42 eggs, after all, and 9 is not nearly as many as we hoped to get.
They’re awfully cute little things. I was thrilled that both of the Polish eggs hatched, and that Sassy’s egg hatched, too. Of the three eggs we really wanted to hatch, all three of them did, so I’m not complaining.
(In a few months we’re likely going to hatch another batch, and I guarantee you that there’ll be some of our Silkie eggs in there!)
The last egg to hatch hatched yesterday morning. When the egg cracked open and the baby spilled out, we saw first of all that he’s a tiny thing, and second of all that there appeared to be another yolk in there. Fred said that likely that egg was a double-yolker, and only one of the yolks developed. The chick is small and wobbly (wobblier than usual, I guess I should say) and tends to tumble over easily when one of the other chicks runs by. That’s usually not a good sign when it comes to chicks, but we’re keeping all our fingers crossed that this one makes it. I’ve already named him Zippy.
Sassy’s baby is apparently mesmerizing the other chicks with her long, long toes.
Someone needs a nap.
The two babies from the Crested Polish eggs. I suspect they’re going to be purty.
Another shot of Sassy’s baby.
Another shot of one of the Crested Polish babies.
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Oh, I thought I was SO smart, moving the filing cabinet over next to my desk so I could put two more beds there, because two beds were NOT enough for the cats who wanted to be closecloseclose to their Momma. Except that apparently FOUR beds is also not enough, as you can see by the fact that Miz Poo is taking up valuable real estate in front of the monitor (it makes it pretty tough to get things done when she’s RIGHT THERE where my arms go!). The only solution: I need a bigger desk!
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Previously
2008: No entry. 2007: Beach Roses (fiction). 2006: Giggling like that is EXACTLY something Fred would do. 2005: Taking the day off. 2004: I don’t believe I mentioned that the Bean has tapeworms.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: And I yelled “Any fucking thing else?!”, addressing, I guess, God. 2000: Okay, so I don’t have much to say today.
So after we made our decision the other day to return the pigs to the guy we’d gotten them from, Fred started posting online at the forums where he hangs out, and to my dismay people started giving him suggestions on how to solve the hernia problem. The most popular suggestion was to slap duct … Continue reading “2/7/09”
So after we made our decision the other day to return the pigs to the guy we’d gotten them from, Fred started posting online at the forums where he hangs out, and to my dismay people started giving him suggestions on how to solve the hernia problem. The most popular suggestion was to slap duct tape over the hernias for a few days.
You can imagine how thrilled I was.
Fred waffled about it for a few days, then called me on Friday when I was on my way to the post office.
“Would you be WILLING to try getting the hernias to stay in before we return them? I think that we could wrap some of that tape that sticks to itself around them, and then use duct tape on the ends to make sure it stays in place.”
Well. Really. What kind of an unreasonable bitch wouldn’t be WILLING to maybe fix the hernias so we could keep them? That little one really has an appealingly bossy personality.
“I SUPPOSE,” I grumbled.
On his way home from work, Fred stopped and picked up the supplies, and after we made a quick run to Hartselle to pick up something for his tractor, we headed out to the pig yard to what had to be done.
Thanks to fabulous reader Maureen, I now knew that holding a pig by its back legs was a better idea than trying to hold it by its ears, so when Fred went into the shelter and the pigs grunted in alarm and tried to run out and he pinned Big Pig down, I grabbed one of Big Pig’s back legs and then the other. He flailed and grunted and squealed (and the pig had a lot to say about it too HAR HAR HAR), but he was a lot calmer than when I had him by his ears the other day.
Fred worked as quickly as possible, but as I feared, we weren’t in position very long before the little bastard’s fear worked its way out of his body in a most fearsome and foul-smelling manner.
“IF I GET PIG SHIT ON ME, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” I bellowed at Fred, who didn’t hear me, because we were both wearing ear protection to protect our hearing from the loud-ass pigs.
I never did get any of the foul-smelling stuff on me, thank god. Fred wound the tape around the pig’s hernia and then around each leg and when he was done it looked, in essence, like a thong that needed to be pulled up.
It’s to my everlasting dismay that I didn’t bring the camera out with me.
When Fred was done, he told me to let the pig’s legs go. I did, and the pig? Couldn’t walk. Apparently the way the tape was wound around him was preventing him from walking, and he kind of flopped around for a few seconds before Fred told me to grab the pig’s legs again, and he cut the tape off.
As we walked back to the house, he said “At least I can take them back on Sunday knowing that I tried it and it didn’t work!”
And then all day today he waffled back and forth. The little pig, as mentioned, is a sassy little thing and has quite a personality. He said “We could just let it go, and if the hernias get to be a problem, I’ll shoot them and we can eat them!”
He said “I sure do like those little pigs.”
He said “I sure don’t want to have to deal with the guy we bought the pigs from, and I’m sure he thinks I’m an idiot now.”
He said “You know he’s going to just put them in a tiny cage and feed them and never let them run around, and now that they’ve tasted nirvana, they’ll think they’ve gone to hell!”
He said “We could just see what happens!”
So who the fuck knows? At this point, I have no idea whether we’ll be returning the pigs tomorrow or not. I’d say the odds are about 60/40 FOR returning them, but that could just be wishful thinking on my part.
“GIMME the Fig Newton!”
“I WANTS the Fig Newton!”
“I has the Fig Newton!”
Piggies in the sun.
Not to be gross, but those bulgy things behind their legs? Not balls. Those are the hernias. If you’ve ever wondered what pigs with hernias look like, wonder no more!
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The eggs we put in the incubator almost three weeks ago have started to hatch! Number one came early this morning. Then for a long time, nothing. Finally we got numbers two and three pretty close together, and recently got number four.
Fred’s got a webcam up over on his site for the time being – probably once the eggs are through hatching, it’ll be a chickcam (in the brooder) for a while longer.
Number one is the reddish one in the back. Number two’s over there on the left – the chick born of an egg that Sassy (the chicken who leaves the chicken yard and travels to her childhood coop to lay her eggs) laid. Number three came out of a Polish-laid egg. I don’t know if it was a Featherhead who laid the egg, or the Rock Star, but it was one of the three. No idea who the father is.
Number two (Sassy’s baby) and four (from a flea market egg).
Number two, Sassy’s baby. I think s/he is going to be gorgeous.
Sassy’s baby (before s/he was born, obviously), getting ready to get the hell out of there.
Baby number four is a cutie. (Well, they all are, obviously.)
Edited to add:
Number five! This one’s from a Polish mother (either a Featherhead or the Rock Star) and an unknown father.
Number one snuggles up to the newborn.
Edited to add:
Babies number 7 (the fluffyish yellow chick on the right), 8 (the black one in the back) and 9 (the reddish one in the front). We have four more eggs, but none of them are showing any signs of life. We’re going to let them go until tomorrow, but I don’t expect we’ll get anything from them.
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“Updating on the weekend? Is that allowed?”
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Previously 2008: Please don’t tell me she’s a flighty mess in real life. 2007: She became entirely liquid somehow, and flowed through my fingers and across the room, ending up under the bed. 2006: I think that the next thing Apple should create is a cell phone/ iPod player. 2005: Yes, I use the same kind of lotion as my CAT.
2004: No entry. 2003: Anyway. Enough about my underwear. 2002: You’ve been warned, skank hos out there who would swoop down upon my husband in his grief and get him to marry you. 2001: Yeah, that’s me, not giving a shit if they can see me or not… 2000: Really, what other journaller will thrill you with pictures from the litter box?
So, the pigs are going back from whence they came. With these two, we really bit off more than we can chew. To quote from the email Fred sent out to the various people who were buying one and a half of the pigs (the last half being ours, of course): The pigs I bought … Continue reading “2/5/09”
So, the pigs are going back from whence they came. With these two, we really bit off more than we can chew. To quote from the email Fred sent out to the various people who were buying one and a half of the pigs (the last half being ours, of course):
The pigs I bought in Tennessee came from a factory farm hog raiser,
and they were considered “culls” because they have inguinal hernias,
which are small holes in their abdominal walls. Their intestines can
come out through the hole, making a bulge on the pig’s underbelly.
According to the man I bought them from, it’s a simple matter to “poke
the guts back up in the hole” regularly, and the pigs will eventually
get big enough that their intestines no longer protrude.
I did not find this to be the case.
After days of crawling through poop and wrestling squealing pigs, I’ve
had enough and am returning them to the man I got them from.
I’ll let you know when I find another (normal) pair.
Sorry for any inconveniences this may cause.
On Tuesday when Fred got home from work, we went out so that I could hold each pig while he “poked the guts back up in the hole”. These pigs are little but HOLY SHIT were they hard for me to hold. Apparently the best way to hold a pig is by their ears, and although I was reluctant, I did it. It didn’t, for the record, hurt them. Just made them angry and squeal very loudly.
(The volume of a tiny pig squealing is utterly amazing.)
So Fred did the poking, and after their guts were poked up into the hole, the guts? Immediately slipped back out. Okay. Well, apparently their guts were big enough to stay, right?
Yesterday when Fred got home from work, we went out. Only this time, instead of looking curiously at us when we walked into their shelter, the pigs remembered the horror from the day before (and again, nothing we did HURT them, it just scared them) and went shooting out of the shelter. Big Pig made it – we managed to catch Little Pig. I was just barely able to hold on to the pig while Fred did his thing. Big Pig, seeing that we were distracted by Little Pig, came over to investigate, and then bit my boot, hoping it was food.
Pigs = stomachs on legs.
Little Pig done (and yes, the guts slid right back out), we had to lure Big Pig with food. The dogs were exceedingly interested in watching us. I had a VERY hard time keeping hold of Big Pig, and after trying his best to push guts, Fred finally gave up and told me to let Big Pig go.
We came inside and discussed it, and Fred called the guy we’d gotten the pigs from. The guy told him “Oh, you don’t need to do it every day, just every ten days or so.”
“Here’s the problem,” I said to Fred. “I was – barely – able to hold onto the pigs today. In ten days, I don’t know that I’m going to be able to.”
We talked some more, and ultimately decided to give the pigs back to the guy this Sunday. The man who sold us our first two pigs last year will have some later this month, so chances are good we’ll be buying from him. The guy who sold us these two pigs will likely be able to find someone at the flea market to buy these two, so they won’t be going back to a factory situation.
And that’s what’s going on with the pigs!
It’s kinda too bad that they’re going back, because they’ve certainly got personality.
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From the side yard, driving Sugarbutt crazy:
Tufted Titmouse, keeping an eye on you.
Finch sock, right outside the side door.
The other Finch sock, about twenty feet away.
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From the chicken yard:
Chicken George has gone broody. Fred put her in a cage last night to break her from the broodiness.
Our wee Silkie has started laying the prettiest little pink eggs. In a few months, we very well may try hatching a few. (Silkies are purported to be very good mothers.)
Silkie in the yard.
Michelle and the wimminfolk.
Life on the farm is kinda laid-back.
The speckled rooster. I think he’s awfully pretty – I’ve started calling him Bob. Fred was going to process him back when he did all those chickens a few weeks ago, but I begged for his life and Fred relented. (Or I said “No, let’s keep him.” One or the other.)
Keeping an eye on the flock.
It’s a George.
Eyeballing the flock.
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Things that ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF ME:
Every goddamn time we go somewhere and Fred needs to run inside or go do something at the other end of the vehicle while I wait in the vehicle, he leaves the goddamn door wide fucking open. WIDE OPEN. It was like TEN GODDAMN DEGREES that day, and we were getting straw or feed or something, so he backed up to the loading dock and got out to give his sales slip to the guy, and left the door wide open. WIDE MOTHERFUCKING OPEN. Occasionally he’ll give the door a half-hearted push so that it closes part of the way. I fucking ASK YOU – how DIFFICULT is it to shut the goddamn door? JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY.
When I do the dishes, I do the dishes. That is, I put whatever will fit in the dishwasher into the dishwasher, I wash what doesn’t go in the dishwasher, then I dry and put said dishes away. THAT is what I consider “Doing the dishes.” Because if you leave dishes drying beside the sink overnight, you just might walk into the kitchen to find that a cat has helpfully peed upon the drying dishes. (YES, THIS IS MY LIFE. CAN WE GET MORE CATS, PLEASE?) Fred, on the other hand, puts what he can into the dishwasher, washes what won’t fit, and then piles them to the side of the sink and leaves them there forever. (IF YOU SAY “WELL AT LEAST HE DOES THE DISHES” I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND CUT YOU. Most nights “doing the dishes” for him entails putting his dirty dinner dish into the dishwasher.) Last night, after I gave him shit for not putting the dishes away, he said “Well, you should have said ‘Can you come put these dishes away?'” (1) WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO? DOES HE NOT SEE THAT THE DISHES NEED TO BE PUT AWAY? (2) If I had, I GUARANTEE I would have gotten the “Oh, you’re allllllllllways thinking up things for me to do!” PARDON ME if I think that picking up the bag of cat shit and taking it over to the garage WHEN YOU ARE HEADED THAT WAY ANYWAY is “thinking up things for you to do”, motherfucker!
(It might be one of Those Days. You know, a day that started off with stepping in a puddle of cold cat barf, followed by a couple of cats screaming at each other? Yeah, like that.)
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I love how it looks in this picture like Rumba’s yelling at Samba. “You just stay over there! I need my space!”
Previously 2008: At one point I turned around to say something to Sugarbutt, who was sitting by the screen door leading to the back yard, smacking at the cat door, and I saw every single chicken sitting on the back steps, staring expectantly at me, hoping I’d send some food their way. 2007: God. That sounds just like a herd of elephants, I thought.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry. 2004: I DON’T KNOW YOU, I CAN’T CHAT WITH YOU, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. 2003: Pictures found. 2002: That’s just the kind of sucky slacking emailer I am. 2001: You know, if I had ANY self-control at all, I’d wait to buy these books ’til they come out in paperback.
2000: No entry.
I know I mentioned all the pecans Fred picked up from the ground under the poltergeist tree (located in the old chicken yard) last Fall. He ended up filling up almost three buckets that had previously held 40 pounds of Fresh Step kitty litter. We took the first two buckets to the Co-op to have … Continue reading “1/30/09”
I know I mentioned all the pecans Fred picked up from the ground under the poltergeist tree (located in the old chicken yard) last Fall. He ended up filling up almost three buckets that had previously held 40 pounds of Fresh Step kitty litter. We took the first two buckets to the Co-op to have them cracked, and then when we picked up those two buckets, we dropped off the third bucket.
It took for-fucking-ever, but we got the first two buckets shelled and washed and then frozen. The third bucket, though, I decided I needed a break while I finished the cross-stitch picture I was working on. (I always have to be doing something else when we watch TV in the evening, I can’t just sit there and watch TV, usually. For a while I’d sit and surf on the laptop, but I felt like I was spending too much time online, so I moved the laptop up to my bedroom (where it sits, pretty much ignored all the time) and for a while I was shelling pecans every night, and then when I needed the aforementioned break, I cross-stitched. Sometimes I read magazines. Fascinating, no?)
So earlier this week I finished the picture I was cross-stitching, and I brought the bucket of pecans out to the living room with me at TV time, and I started shelling the pecans. I got a couple of cups of pecans before I got to the nasty ones. It turns out that those pecans had been sitting there waiting to be shelled and they’d somehow gotten damp in the cracking or the waiting process. After the top layer of pecans, every pecan I picked up was moldy.
Fred tossed the pecans onto the compost heap, and I left the pecans I’d gotten shelled in a bowl on the counter for a couple of days. Tuesday, I finally got around to rinsing the dirt off them, and then I spread them on a cookie sheet and put them in the oven at 170º to dry and then lightly roast.
When I decided they were dry and roasted enough, I turned the oven off, but left the cookie sheet in the oven.
If you’re, like me, a fumbling idiot, you probably know where this is going.
Wednesday night I turned the oven on to 400º to preheat it for the chicken pot pie, and after a little while I thought “What is that odd smell?” That odd smell was the pecans, in the oven, starting to burn.
They didn’t get burned to a crisp, but they did get lightly burned, and so I set them aside to cool, figuring Fred could try them out and decide whether he wanted to eat them or if they needed to go to the compost heap.
Long story short (too late!), he tried them and pronounced them REALLY good. I finally gave them a try myself, and I have to admit he’s right. They’re pretty damn good!
Who knew lightly singed pecans would be so good?
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We are in the process of getting our new roof. When I got home yesterday, there were two guys on the roof pulling up shingles and tossing them down into a trailer. They worked through the day and got the front part of the house three-quarters of the way done, and I assume they’ll be back later today to get some more of it done (maybe finish it?).
It honestly never occurred to me that our homeowner’s insurance would pay for any of the new roof – I thought that getting a new roof was going to be one of the (very expensive) things that homeowners just have to suck it up and pay for. Imagine my surprise – and DELIGHT – to find out that it’s not so.
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Real Housewives of Orange County:
Shane is the king of all douchebags and needs a good, hard smack upside the head. That is all.
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I know this entry is really old but I’m working my way backwards. Yes, I peek at the end of books too.
Anyway.
My cat, who was about 8 at the time, had what can only be described as a pet squirrel. This small (baby?) squirrel got into the house and was living in the basement with the cat (the cat is allowed the whole house but the basement is his den, and no one bugs him down there) for like 3 weeks – we couldn’t catch the squirrel. We’d see them both sitting in the basement window together, and once even saw the squirrel eating the cat’s food. Seriously dumb cat – he just didn’t realize it was a rat with a prettier tail. Eventually the squirrel was captured and released and the cat was friendless once again.
I wanna know if the cat even noticed that the squirrel was gone – like, was he sad that his BFF had been kicked out of the house, or did he even notice?
(Also, I wish there were pictures to go along with this story!)
And a question about the robots.txt file… I’ve noticed that a lot of people who don’t make their sites non-googlable will do this odd little “disguising” thing – like typing “L0we$” instead of “Lowes,” or “we saw a D-sney movie” or “we went to A p p l e b e e’s” to make at least those terms non-googlable. (“Google” here being shorthand for “search engine.”)
And like, where you said, “as often I use the many forms of ‘fuck’, I thought it best to try to slow down the flood of random surfers.”
I don’t understand the reason for that. Is it a bandwidth issue? Am I being incautious by not particularly caring if someone googles a brand name, or something indelicate, and winds up on my site instead? (I always just think it’s funny how they were probably expecting something wild and raunchy and instead got a boring story about my kid and my cats.) What am I missing? So many people do this that there has to be a good reason for it, but I can’t figure it out.
(One person that I asked about it said that she didn’t “want any pervs looking at” her site, and I thought, “Oops. Guess I’d better go, then.”)
The only reason I’ve got the robots.txt on my site to slow down the flood of random surfers is because if someone’s surfing on some pervy term in particular and they end up on the journal of a crazy cat (and chicken… and pig… and dog…) lady, they can get kind of nasty. And I don’t mean nasty in a pervy way (all pervs welcome here!), I mean nasty in a rude way and the random drive-by rudeness of strangers annoys me sometimes.
Also, after posting a story once upon a time about how I bought some sandals and they gave me blisters, I got an email from someone who’d wandered across my site via some search engine or another, and they wanted details. About my feet. And what size were my feet? And could I put up pictures of my feet? And what I do with my feet. And so forth. I think that was the same year I got linked by some K3ds fetish site after I mentioned I’d bought a pair.
I know I disguise the names of some of the stores we visit and restaurants we go to, because I don’t particularly want someone who works there to stumble across me bitching about the service. Actually, I’d kind of prefer it if no one in Smallville knew this site existed, but judging by my stats, I’ve already been discovered.
Final thought: JoeBob looks like he might be a little bit dead up there. Have you poked him recently? (c:
Joe Bob is perfectly well and alive, and he has abandoned his nest atop the bookcase in the kitchen – I think he was tired of fighting with Stinkerbelle over it – for a cat bed on the guest bedroom bed.
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I am embarrassed to admit this….but the Shamwow works. Maybe not to the extent that “Vince” says it would but I have used it on everything to coffee and wine spills and a one time fluke dog accident and it really worked. The things you buy when you stand in line too long at Bed, Bath and Beyond.
I never did work up any test spills to see if my Shamwow works! It’s good to know that it does work, at least to some extent!
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“she bit his tech and pooped on the doc” In the past when I was still a vet tech we had a tortie come in for shots/exam and it went like this. Cat flipping around on the table, me trying to hold cat semi-still for exam and not get bit, cat flipped on back starts peeing, imagine fountain, cat still on back starts pooping, imagine those guns they use to shoot t-shirts into the crowd at sporting events, cat gets shots and back into carrier. No one got bit, cat got shots, I cleaned up the exam room. 30 minutes later I’m still smelling cat poop, check bottom of shoes, no poop. Still smell poop, can’t find poop. More time passes, reach into labcoat pocket for pen, find cat poop. Yeah, I’d been carrying it around in my pocket for about an hour. Nice. Oh the stories I could tell.
HEE.
If I were a vet tech, I would surely have stories like this one. It almost makes me want to BECOME a vet tech, except for that whole pesky “working” thing.
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I have a trapping a cat story – it’s really sad… About 10 years ago, I had changed positions at my current employer. It required that I travel for 6 months solid (only an occasional weekend home). I talked my Aunt into taking my two kitties while I was gone. When I went to pick them up 6 months later, she said she hardly saw either one (never seeing the 2nd). I went and spent the night and got my Terry to come to me after much work (his love of cottage cheese did the trick). But could not find Timmy. He was hiding in my Aunt’s laundry room which was stacked to the ceiling with stuff. So my Aunt called her friend that caught feral cats to fix and release and borrowed a live trap. It took 2 days, but my poor Timmy was in the trap in the laundry room. I had to run (3 hour drive) to go get him. He was so scared – he peed on the floor. When I got him home, he remembered the house and actually came to me more often then before. I think my act of “saving” him gave me more love credits with the silly kitty. He actually let me pet him with my hand instead of my foot.
Awww – it’s a sad story, but it’s got a happy ending!
(Also, the idea of a cat who would only let you pet him with your foot? PRICELESS!)
Just a tip on towels and cleaning rags – if you use any kind of fabric softener, whether liquid or dryer sheets, that will hinder their absorption. (I think you mentioned you don’t use fabric softener, though, at one point (?) so maybe it’s a moot point?) Just thought I’d share.
Yeah, I’ve known since I was a kid that you can’t use fabric softener on towels and cleaning rags if you still want them to be absorbent. Nothing annoys me more than a towel that doesn’t absorb when I’m trying to dry off after a shower!
Reading that makes me realize just how little of this state I’ve seen in the twelve years I’ve lived here – and it makes me want to do some exploring!
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ah, my Kara mia. She looks like she is a little fuller around the face. Probably just the collar.
Kara has gained a little weight since she birthed her kittens last April – I say she’s built like a linebacker, all short and stocky and muscular. Which makes it interesting (to me, at least) that her kittens, Nate and Dora, are long and lean and sleek. It’s too bad there’s no way to know what their father looked like!
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Ok. I got through the chicken blood and guts in the kitchen and the pig hernia poking, but I nearly lost it at the consumption of the kitty booger. Blech, blech, blech.
Also, I seem to have dropped the ball on the pigs. I don’t remember the last two leaving? Were you pigless for a while? Or are there now four pigs? That can’t be.
How’s this for gross (skip this if y’all are eating or have a weak stomach!): yesterday before I went to my hair appointment, I went into the kitten room to hang out with Rumba and Samba, and Rumba climbed into my lap, and as I started to pet her I realized she had a smear of poo along her side. How it got there, I have NO idea. I had to go get the wet wipes and clean her off.
Fred took the last two pigs to be processed at the end of November (when I was visiting Nance), and we’ve been pigless since, until last weekend.
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I seemed to have missed the “episode” of taking the females to the butcher. Did they yield anywhere close to the first 2? Was it easy to get them out of the pen? You know we have to know cause the closest farming I get except living thru you is playing “my farm” on facebook.
They yielded less this time than the first two, because they were smaller pigs. I can’t give specifics as to how much we got from each pig, ’cause I don’t know, though. Fred didn’t have a hard time getting them to the processor, luckily, because about a week before they were going, he started feeding them in the back of the trailer. So the morning they were going, all he had to do was bring the food to the trailer, and they went in with no problem, and he closed the gate.
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Those are definitely the cutest pigs you’ve had yet. Are they younger than the others and that’s why they are so cute? Or are they just more photogenic and less dirty?
I think they’re about the same age as the first two were, but the first two were absolutely caked with mud and crap, which made them a little less cute, I think. The second two were a bit older, but cleaner. This set is both young and clean, I guess, which makes them pretty cute!
They spend an awful lot of time snuggled up in their shelter, though. I guess they don’t like the cold weather any more than I do!
I love that! I think our back yard at the old house in Madison would have been awesome for a small flock of chickens – but I can only imagine how that would have gone over with our neighbors!
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Can you tell me where you got the cat bed that Maxi is in? I need MORE of those!
I got that bed at Goody’s, which is currently going out of business. After I bought that bed and brought it home and found out that the cats think it’s the BEST! BED! EVER!, I went back to buy more, but they didn’t have any more and never got them back in stock.
However, smartypants reader Gracie found them on Overstock! $14.99 is definitely not a bad price for these beds, they’re big and deep and comfy, and there’s always a cat snuggled up in the bed on the dining room table.
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By the way, you seem to have a lot of gang trouble in your neighborhood. Have you contacted the police?
Are you implying that Sheriff Mama isn’t doing her job?
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hasn’t it been 5 years for Tubby (2004-2009)? I am so sorry for the loss. I cried. JoJo is overweight and having some cleaning her butt issues (TMI I know). Anyway, I feel for you…
Yeah, apparently I can’t do the math – it has been five years. And I feel for you – having a cat who can’t reach her behind to clean herself is no fun at all!
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Great minds think alike. I just made pot pies the other day and they were ridiculously good. I’m thinking I might want to make a batch and freeze them to bake off at will. Mmm, potpie!
I told Fred that I think I’d like to try making single-serving pot pies with that recipe to freeze. I just need to find the right baking dishes to do that in.
Speaking of the pot pie, Fred said last night that he thinks a couple of diced potatoes added to the recipe would make it perfect – and I think I agree.
Also, speaking of recipes and such – if you ever have a recipe that calls for white wine and you (like us) don’t keep white wine on hand, you can always substitute chicken broth. The recipes I do this with turn out perfectly fine with the substitution, as far as I can tell.
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Wow!!! I just got my Scorchin’ Strawberry-Habanero jam and hot sauce delivered about a half hour ago. Just in time to try some jam on a freshly baked corn muffin. It is awesome! The perfect hot/sweet, in my opinion. The heat lingered for a bit, but since I like spicy, it was all good. Great, in fact! Thanks so much! (I have now exhausted my exclamation point quota for the day. 🙂
Thanks for the ringing endorsement! Anyone who’s interested, we’ve still got jams and hot sauces available – and I’ll be making more this weekend, so there’ll be more half-pint samplers and half-pint single jars available on Monday!
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I just searched your site for hand held vacuums but didn’t find what I was looking for. I have wood floors and two shedding dogs. I’m looking for a good hand held vacuum with attachments that I can use to suck up all the pet hair from the floors as well as the wood staircase. I know you have wood floors and lots of shedding cats so I was wondering what you use. I have an upright with attachments that works well for the stairs but it’s heavy and a pain to use. When I use it on the wood floors it blows away more pet hair than it sucks and sweeping causes a lot of hair to fly around the room. I remember that you wrote once that you love your Dyson upright but you weren’t impressed with the Dyson handheld (if I’m remembering that right) and use another brand. Mainly I just want to know how do you remove pet hair from your wood floor and wood staircase?
Usually, I just vacuum with the Dyson upright (and you’re remembering correctly, I’m not impressed with the Dyson handheld at all). On the stairs, I generally use a Swiffer to pick up the cat hair, and if there’s a lot of cat hair on the floors, I’ll use the Swiffer to get most of it before I vacuum. The Dyson does kind of blow the tufts of cat hair around, but I find that if I position the Dyson right, the tufts of hair will end up against the baseboards, and I can “catch” them with the Dyson at that point.
I have no real words of wisdom on this topic, unfortunately. Readers? Suggestions?
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As I mentioned, when I got home from my appointment yesterday, there were guys on the roof pulling up shingles. The part where they were working was right outside the foster kitten room, and when I walked into the foster kitten room to check on them, Samba and Rumba came slinking out of the closet and came right over to me, then leaned against me to be petted.
They were like “It’s about time you’re home! Who are those guys and why are they terrorizing us?!”
If I’d known all I had to do to get them to like me was to get someone else to scare them, I would have done it ages ago!
(Okay, not really.)
Fred said when he went into the room before bed, they came right over to him to be petted. Funny the things that will turn unfriendly cats into friendly ones, isn’t it?
Last night when I went into the foster kitten room before bed, I let Newt in with me, because he was hovering outside the door. I wish I’d had the camera with me, because Rumba’s reaction was instant – she turned into a little Halloween cat, back up, tail puffed out, ridge of fur on her back standing straight up.
Is there anything LESS threatening than a little kitten who’s all puffed up and indignant?
Eventually, after many theatrics, she sniffed his tail and hissed at him. Samba spent most of Newt’s visit as far away from him as she could get, though as time went on, she got closer.
This morning, as soon as she heard me get up, Rumba started howling at the door. I put baby gates in the doorway to the kitten room, but she just stood at the gates and howled – she’s escaped the room a couple of times (when we open the door, she’s usually RIGHT there and can scoot out before we know what’s going on) and has apparently decided she wants to explore. So I moved the gates down the hallway a little, so they have the bathroom to explore, as well as their room. Depending on how things go today, I may move the gates further down the hallway so that they have my room to explore, too. We’ll see.
Rumba’s far more interested in exploring than Samba is. Samba has run into the bathroom a few times to look around, but she prefers being in the kitten room.
Snackin’! Time! has come and gone, but these three live eternally in hope that there’ll suddenly be a second Snackin’! Time! and only those who are prepared for it will be allowed to take part.
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Previously 2008: Visiting dogs = okay. Permanent dogs = not gonna happen. 2007: How old are these guys, that you’ve got to tell them to flush the toilet, I’m wondering. 2006: Off to the hospital!
2005: No entry. 2004: Poor Bean. 2003: About the cats. 2002: When did Dick Gephardt die? 2001: The illness continues. 2000: I am officially the laziest chick in the world.
Today marks a year since Spot died. And yesterday marked four five years since Tubby died. The end of January is apparently not a great time to be an And3rson kitty. Um, not that any of the cats are sick or feeling poorly – that wasn’t a lead-in to another kitty death story, thank god. … Continue reading “1/28/09”
Today marks a year since Spot died. And yesterday marked four five years since Tubby died.
The end of January is apparently not a great time to be an And3rson kitty. Um, not that any of the cats are sick or feeling poorly – that wasn’t a lead-in to another kitty death story, thank god.
Since it’s been a year since Spot died, that means it’s been almost a year since Joe Bob came to live with us, and I have to say that finally, FINALLY he’s really fitting into the pack comfortably. He’s not spending all his time on top of the bookcase (though that might be because Stinkerbelle has kind of claimed that space), and he’s coming around to be petted and to sit in Fred’s lap more. There have been fewer instances of Mister Boogers, Tommy, and Sugarbutt (the Asshole Gang, is how I think of them) picking on Joe Bob, which means thankfully that there have been less ear-piercing screams.
Actually, now that I think about, Stinkerbelle has been coming around more often, too. Last night she felt the need to come into the computer room, swish about the room, then meow bitchily before stalking back out of the room. I’m not sure what her point was.
Fred has started using the Cesar Millan “SHHHHHT!” on the cats when they’re acting up. It works as far as distracting them from whatever assholery they’re beginning, but it doesn’t surprise them into instant obedience the way it does with the dogs on The Dog Whisperer.
Speaking of The Dog Whisperer and his “SHHHHHHT!”, Fred uses it on George and Gracie, and it works amazingly well. That, and “Hey!” are his words to correct the dogs. I myself use a very negative sounding “ANNHHT!” (that’s the closest I can come to spelling it out) and they seem to know I mean business.
It surprises me a little that I can take a big bowl of kitchen scraps to the chickens, and keep the dogs back while the chickens dig in – despite the fact that they are VERY much interested in whatever it is – with just a look and body language.
I mean, given how many people have told us that Great Pyreneeseses (or, as the hoi polloi call them “Great Pyrenees”) are obstinate and not prone to obeying, I suspect we’re probably still in the honeymoon phase with those two, but I’ve gotta say – they sure are sweet. I think I mentioned that if I go out to the chicken yard, they’re very happy to see me. If Fred goes out to the chicken yard, they’re very happy to see him. But if we go out there together, it’s apparently Christmas, Mardi Gras, and Independence Day all rolled into one. It’s apparently THEIR DREAM COME TRUE, and they get very excited. They don’t jump up on us – that was the first thing we did, teach them not to jump up on us – but they jump up NEAR us, and it’s awfully damn funny to see them go from a sitting position to jumping straight up into the air because the excitement of having both of us in the same area is too great to be contained.
I told Fred the other day that I need to stop taking treats for the dogs with me every single time I go out there, because they don’t need THAT many treats, and I don’t want them to expect a treat every time they see me.
(Fred ate one of them when he got home since there was nothing gross in them, and he said they were pretty good. I haven’t eaten one, ’cause that’s not a habit I want to get into, and luckily I don’t care for peanut butter cookies, anyway.)
I have made a concerted effort to NOT bring treats with me every single time I go out there, and George and Gracie seem to love me just as much.
I’ve put a permanent link to George and Gracie over there on the left sidebar – every time I put pictures of them up, a million of y’all do searches to find out what breed they are, so I helpfully put that information under their picture.
I also changed the “foster kitten” information, since Samba and Rumba will be staying ’til they’re ready to go to the pet store. Their previous foster mother and I decided that it’d be best for them to just stay here instead of being uprooted and going back to their previous home.
I stopped medicating Samba (last night was her last dose of medicine), because she sounds all clear. I’ll give her through the weekend just in case she feels like relapsing (something that’s never happened in all the time I’ve had foster kittens, but still something I worry about), then as long as she sounds okay, I’ll make an appointment to have them spayed and id chipped.
Rumba is the friendlier of the two kittens, but I’ve actually been able to pet Samba several times too. They have to be in the mood to be petted, though. I can lure them close to me using a toy, but if they don’t feel like being petted, off they scamper when I reach out to them.
They are SO SWEET, have I mentioned?
As she reached for the slot machine arm, Samba sent a prayer to the Big Cat in the Sky.
“Please, Big Cat,” she whispered. “Samba needs a new pair of shoes.” Except that cats don’t wear shoes. Samba secretly wanted to win a ton of dough so she could blow it all on catnip toys. She suspected that the Big Cat in the Sky wouldn’t approve.
Samba kissed the slot machine arm for luck, then gave a mighty pull. Rumba sent a prayer to the Big Cat in the Sky. “All Sevens!” she whispered. “All Sevens!”
Upon realizing she’d once again gambled away the food money for the week, Samba frantically pulled the slot machine arm again and again, to no avail.
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Tommy, Sugarbutt, and Newt, looking for trouble. I don’t call ’em the Crooked Acres Gang for nothin’, y’know. If there was a stagecoach coming through here regularly (or at all), I’d be concerned for the safety of the passengers.
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Previously 2008: Yes, he is a good dog. No, we’re still not keeping him.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: Yesterday marked one year since Tubby died. 2004: Tubby is dead.
2003: No entry. 2002: Signs of spring.
2001: No entry. 2000: Some work day, huh?
Saturday, Fred was knee-deep in c0cks all morning long (and into the afternoon). I spent the morning cleaning the house, doing laundry, and hanging out with the kittens. I spent some time bagging chicken as he finished cleaning each one (“This would go a lot faster if I weren’t the only one doing this,” he … Continue reading “1/26/09”
Saturday, Fred was knee-deep in c0cks all morning long (and into the afternoon). I spent the morning cleaning the house, doing laundry, and hanging out with the kittens. I spent some time bagging chicken as he finished cleaning each one (“This would go a lot faster if I weren’t the only one doing this,” he said with a significant look in my direction. Uh, no thanks. I don’t do chicken cleaning, I have to cook them, isn’t that enough?)
So we ended up with a total of 14 small roosters cleaned, bagged, and put into the refrigerator to “age” for a few days before I move them to the freezer.
“We need to eat chicken more often!” Fred said.
The problem (not that it’s really a “problem”) is that with only the two of us, every time I make something we end up with at least two meals for each of us. I made chicken and dumplings last week, we ate it for dinner Thursday and Friday, and Fred ate it for lunch yesterday.
I’m not complaining, though – if I can make it so that I cook once and then we eat twice, that just means less cooking for me, and that’s always a good thing!
Once Fred was done with the cleaning of the chickens and they’d all been stowed in the refrigerator, he said “I’ll take care of the outside cleanup and you take care of the inside cleanup, okay? I’m pretty sure my cleanup job of the kitchen wouldn’t up to your standards.”
You are correct, sir.
So he went out and took care of the feathers and guts and I scrubbed down the kitchen until it looked as though there’d never been blood and guts strewn all over.
Saturday being our eat-dinner-out day, we got subs from Domino’s (I got the Italian sub, ate a little more than half. It was okay, but if I never have another one, that’s alright by me) and stopped by the movie store. We watched Swing Vote Saturday night, and it was entertaining enough. Kevin Costner does the fuckup-who-redeems-himself role pretty well.
Sunday morning we had to get up and out early, because we had a date at the flea market in Tennessee. After stopping at the ATM for cash, running by the movie store to drop off a movie, and stopping to gas up the truck, we headed for Tennessee.
Where we got our new pigs! Two little pigs, boys, to put in the pig yard. They were scared and kind of cold (we were told that they were used to being in a heated building), so once they were settled in the carrier, Fred piled a little straw on top of them and they seemed to get the idea that burrowing down into the straw would warm them up.
I don’t have any really good pictures of them, because they’re scared and hiding in the straw in their shelter for the time being. Maybe once they’re accustomed to their surroundings, they’ll come out and pose for pictures.
They sure are cute.
To quote Fred, Our new pigs came from a commercial grower who houses 1500 sows, via the guy we bought some hatching eggs from last week. These two didn’t make the cut for the commercial world because they have small hernias and that’s a no-no. I’m supposed to push on the hernia daily on each to make sure their guts aren’t poking out. When they get a little bigger, their guts won’t fit and everything should be fine. They don’t go commercial because the big guys don’t hire an official hernia poker to check the little pigs all the time.
When we got them home, we carried the carrier out to the chicken yard, and we put the carrier down on the ground and called George and Gracie over to sniff at the pigs through the carrier. George was all “Um, yeah, did you say you have food? Is there a snack involved? Because otherwise, I am not so much interested.” and Gracie sniffed cautiously a few times and then began barking her fool head off. For the rest of the day, if she heard the pig squealing (which they did on the occasions that Fred invaded their space and touched them with the fangers) she’d bark. Otherwise, she minded her own bidness.
Fred took them some cookies yesterday beginning, as he said, the conditioning where they realize that seeing a human come toward them is a good thing and is usually followed by tasty, tasty food.
Since it turned out to be pretty freakin’ cold Sunday, I ended up making a fire and after a few hours it was putting out some decent heat. Who knew I’d be such a good fire builder? I should totally be on Survivor!
(Except that I suspect they don’t provide Kindle Candles on Survivor. More’s the pity.)
I harassed Fred for the rest of the day saying “Look at that fire! Isn’t that an excellent fire?” and “What a fire!” and “Go stand by the fire and feel that heat!” and “What a magnificent fire!” and “I bet you wish you could make a fire as good as I can!”
We had a late lunch of pork steaks, baked potatoes, and spinach salad Sunday afternoon, and then I spent a good hour cleaning off my desk (I don’t know how on earth it gets to be such a freakin’ mess!), then got the jams and hot sauces page up and running, and then I tried to scan something for my sister, whereupon I discovered that the shitty all-in-one printer/ scanner/ copier will still copy and print, but won’t scan. So I spent the rest of the afternoon looking for a decent scanner, because I NEEDS ME SOME SCANNING ABILITY JUST ‘CAUSE.
Also, I nagged and harassed Fred ’til he put hooks in the door frame by the back door so we can hang our slobbing-around-the-40 jackets there instead of hanging them off the chairs in the dining room.
And that was my weekend! Exciting, no?
(If you’re keeping count, that means we now have (approximately) 70 chickens, and another 30 or so coming in a couple of weeks. Also, we’re up two pigs.)
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Samba and Rumba are doing well. Samba’s still on medication for her congestion. She seems to start out the day sounding fairly clear, then gets more congested as the day goes on, it seems. I’ve seen her have a couple of coughing fits, both times in the afternoon. Fred said he saw her have a coughing fit Friday, and then she sneezed out a big ol’ green booger.
(Which she promptly ate, of course.)
Two or three times when I’ve walked into the room, Rumba has looked at me, started howling, and then run over to me. When I sit on the floor, she slinks back and forth and lets me pet her while she stretches and sharpens her claws on the carpet. Yesterday for the first time Samba actually approached me for some petting. I mean, once I started petting she rethought whether she wanted to be petted, and after putting up with it for a few minutes she ran off, but hey – that’s progress, right?
These sisters are so adorable, they kill me!
“What’s that?! Over there?! Behind you?! A serial killer?! Or a piece of fuzz?! One or the other?!”
Previously 2008: The dog continues to improve. (Read here to see how the dog came to be in our possession.) 2007: Are ya feelin’ bubbly, punk? Well? Are ya? 2006: I think it would be hilarious if someone started manufacturing imitation Maui Jim sunglasses and called them “Oahu James” sunglasses. 2005: I figure they’re professionals and know what they’re doing, so I have no desire to clutter up the small amount of space left in my brain with that kind of information. 2004: I sense that there is a battle of epic proportions in my future, a show-down between Miz Poo and I as to just WHO the blanket belongs to.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: But don’t tell Miz Poo I’m admiring another cat, please… 2000: It’s a conspiracy!
I watched the two-hour episode of Lost yesterday, and then I started watching the hour recap show that aired before that (then I stopped watching the recap show, because I had the latest Housewives of the OC show to watch), and may I just say – HOLY CRAP, I forgot how much hotter Sawyer was … Continue reading “1/23/09”
I watched the two-hour episode of Lost yesterday, and then I started watching the hour recap show that aired before that (then I stopped watching the recap show, because I had the latest Housewives of the OC show to watch), and may I just say – HOLY CRAP, I forgot how much hotter Sawyer was with short hair!
If Saturday Night Live does a parody of Lost, they should have the time-shift, then Sawyer and the gang wandering through an episode of My Three Sons, time-shift, then the gang wandering through an episode of The Brady Bunch, time-shift, wandering through an episode of CSI, and so forth.
No? Too obvious?
By the way, are Fred and I the only ones who see Sean Whalen (Neil, who existed in that episode of Lost only to pull off the “Fire!” line) and say “Hey, look! It’s the Aaron Burr guy!”?
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I also went to see the movie Doubt. It was great-it totally captured the feel of a 1960’s parochial school/parish experience (minus any abuse in my case). I think it should have won some awards. Heavy subject matter but I like that. Meryl Streep was wonderful.
I really, REALLY want to see Doubt – Fred sent me the link to the trailer when it first came out, and it’s so rare to see Meryl Streep in the part of the “bad guy” that I’m looking forward to seeing it.
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I actually like this cookie recipe. I do alter it a little. I use jumbo eggs (because that’s what we always buy), milk chocolate chips, and add a little extra bread flour to compensate for the larger eggs. Anyway, my family and friends really like them. Cookies are my thing, though. I can’t cook, but I can bake cookies. I’m going to try your frozen egg thing one of these days too!
I might have to try that recipe this weekend – it looks good, and you can never have too many chocolate chip cookie recipes!
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About the Kindle and other reading devices…they seem neat, but here’s my problem with them. You don’t go to bookstores to get your books anymore. BOOKSTORES! One of my all-time favorite places to be. Also, I like the feel of books, the paper kind.
That was my original thought about the Kindle – but then I thought about it some more, and you know, I think it wouldn’t actually completely replace real books for me. I’d probably use the Kindle to read the books that I know I want to read, the ones written by my favorite authors or that other people strongly recommend. But I’d still go to the book store and browse, and I’d definitely still visit the used book store. The Kindle would be more of a supplement to real books for me, not a replacement.
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I realized at some point that there are lots of people who know their blood type. I didn’t know my blood type, and (apparently) that’s some really important information to know. So, just to find it out, I donated blood at the local red cross! Turns out I’m A+
I feel it important for some reason to note that at one point I did know what my blood type was, but since it was nothing exciting, like the universal donor type or the universal recipient type, I promptly forgot what it was.
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Just a thought… I wonder how many people looking for infertility treatments end up here this week b/c of all the frozen egg references?
I actually have a robots.txt file on my site to stop random people from Googling up things like frozen eggs and ending up here. If you search specifically on “Bitchypoo” or some other terms you’ll probably still end up here – but as often I use the many forms of “fuck”, I thought it best to try to slow down the flood of random surfers who were ending up here. So far, it seems to be working fairly well!
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The best recommendation I’ve heard for a stray cat ‘house’ is to take an old piece of carpet or an old stiff throw rug, roll it up and put it inside the pet carrier making a sort of tube. If you’re feeling particularly nice you can add a towel or old throw blanket as a liner. The carpet will insulate and cut down on cold wind. I used this a few years back when a friend bought a house that came with an outside cat – I gave him the insulated carrier to use on his back porch until there was enough room at the shelter where I volunteer to bring in the cat.
What a neat idea!
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We got a kitty-sized igloo (kittyloo?) for some ferals that live outside our front door and put some nice clean straw in it. The kitties seem to love it. We keep trying to coax them indoors but they always run away. We’d really like to get them to vet and have them fixed — any ideas?
It sounds like you’re going to need to trap them. If there’s a Friends of Ferals in your area, they might be willing to lend you a trap or two to get the task accomplished. In fact, you might check with any shelters in your area – they might be able to lend you a trap or tell you where to find one cheap!
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For the Cat Enabler: please give that kitty an option other than someone’s car engine to crawl up in. *SHUDDER* I remember a cold morning with a stray kitty next to a fan belt and parents going to work…. You are a kind, generous person ((hugs)) to you!
Indeed!
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Here is another great website much like TasteSpotting.
Thanks for the link – I’ve added it to my Google Reader!
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You mentioned not too long ago that your cleaning rags had some sort of build-up on them and weren’t absorbing as they had before. You were going to try using some Tide (I think) to see if maybe the homemade laundry detergent was the source of the build-up. Did the Tide help any? I use some microfiber rags from Sam’s around my house, and now I, too, am finding they don’t absorb like they used to. Since I was a few months behind you in trying out the homemade soap, I’m wondering if it’s the cause.
I did try the Tide, and after a couple of washes, my cleaning rags have gone back to absorbing like they should. I’m going to use Tide for my towels and cleaning rags from here on out – because what good is a towel that won’t absorb, I ask you? NO GOOD AT ALL!
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My mom is about to become a 6 cat household. I blame you.
Oh, sure. Y’all alllllllllllways blame the pusher!
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oh my Tortie used to excessively groom. She was bare on her underside. Since she’s trimmed down almost 5 pounds in 2008 (she was 18 lbs and is now 13), she hasn’t done it. Today she broke in the new vet. She bit his tech and pooped on the doc. She HATES the vet’s office.
“She bit his tech and pooped on the doc” make me laugh out loud. HEE – I bet the vet didn’t know what s/he was in for!
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A+-the same as my Mom. Found out when I donated blood 30 years or so ago (God I’m getting old). Sweet that Fred’s Dad was so concerned. I am the oldest of five and we look somewhat different so we teased my Mom about the milkman, mailman, eggman , butcher etc. I am also one of the two planned kids. Did you know in 1970 a woman needed to have 5 children and her husband’s signature to get her tubes tied? My Mom’s last pregnancy almost killed her too. It’s a good thing times have changed. I wouldn’t trade my siblings for the world but those rules were rough on women.
Holy crap – five kids AND her husband’s signature? I had no idea! Hey – I don’t remember having to sign anything when Fred had his vasectomy. I wonder if I could sue!
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Can you guys maybe post a sign saying something to the effect of “Sorry–chickens are not for sale!”?
Probably we could, and if it keeps up, maybe we might! (But then, what would Fred over-explain to complete strangers?!) (I’m sure he’d find something! Heh.)
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Last time I was over in Decatur, I saw a truck with some sort of poultry (guessing chickens). They were stacked in these tiny cages with no protection from the wind and noise and I felt so damn guilty for ever eating chicken in a commercial restaurant that probably buys them from a factory farm.
We see a lot of big trucks with stacks and stacks of cages stuffed with chickens when we’re driving into town. I hate seeing them, but what I hate even worse is when we see several dead chickens by the side of the road – occasionally, it appears, one of the cages comes open and the chickens fall out, and it’s just a very sad sight to see. Poor things.
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I planted an ash tree in our previous backyard and my 2 dogs chewed it down to about 6 inches but it must’ve had a good root system–it started growing again the following spring! Maybe your weeping willow will do that too, I imagine that would make a great shade tree for them.
Neither of us thought of that – unfortunately, Fred pulled the resultant Weeping Willow stick up and let the dogs have it (they like to play rousing games of “I have the stick!”/ “Hey, that are mine!”). We’re going to the flea market again this weekend, maybe we’ll buy another Weeping Willow and give it a try!
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Maybe you’ve addressed this before, but … sheep? Have you considered adding sheep to Crooked Acres? You could grow your own lamb and … sweaters? Anyway, if you did, would George and Gracie also guard them or are they purely for the chickens and you’d need to add to your canine population as well? And this could get out of hand REAL quick.
I actually want sheep less than I want goats, and I want goats not at all.
I don’t think we really have enough land to put sheep back there – I don’t want our 4 1/2 acres to get crowded, and the back forty is really (as far as I’m concerned) for the dogs and the chickens. If we were, against my desires, to get sheep, I’m not sure how that would work – I’d imagine that George and Gracie would learn that the sheep are part of their flock and thus need to be protected as well.
We’re going to get pigs this weekend, and I’m curious to see how that’s going to go. The dogs can’t get into the pig-yard portion of the back forty, but they’ll obviously be able to see and smell the pigs, so we’ll see! Fingers crossed that the dogs don’t stand there and constantly bark at the pigs…
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This is unrelated to today’s post, but I finally got around to looking up info on Tim Tams. They’re in Wikipedia, and I learned how to do a Tim Tam Slam; now I must get to Target.
I’ve never actually tried a Tim Tam Slam, since I’m not really one for hot beverages, but I hear it’s close to a religious experience!
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Real Housewives of the OC. Y’all said:
OMG! Lynne needs to shut her mouth. Gretchen needs to get the beneficary thing straightened out. Jesus, I never thought i would never agree with Vicki but damn, she is right!!!! Tamra is still a bitch. Etiquette demands that you treat your guests with respect.
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Speaking of RH of OC, please tell me I am not the only one who has trouble looking at the train wreck that is Vicki? I cannot stand her to begin with but her face seems to be more hideous each time I see the show, which isn’t all that often. If she isn’t the biggest hypocrite in the world, I want to know who is. She clearly hates Gretchen and Lynne. Lynne seems to be a good person for the most part (she would be pure awesome if she wasn’t so vain) and I like how she is trying to protect Gretchen from the other evil blonde ones. Lynne is growing on me somewhat too. And Tamra. OMG! She seems to just be pure evil. How could she try to set Gretchen up for a fall with her own son??? Gross! I have never been in a fight, but I am sure if I ran into Tamra I would have no problem punching her in the throat. OKay… deep breath. Think happy thoughts. Back to our regularly scheduled program. *sigh*
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I can’t wait to hear what you think about the RHoOC. My head exploded when Vicki was attacking Gretchen about how she needed to make sure she was taken care of in case whats his name dies. And then, when Lynne has the audacity to disagree with her, Vicki has a hissie fit and tells her *she* is being confrontational. Plus, does Gretchen really deserve to be “taken care of” because she is the last girl that whats his name has screwed? I don’t think so. It sounds like that guy has been married many times before and has several kids (who are almost her same age). The kids should get his money and Gretchen should be happy to have her ginormous ring and the money he has supported her with these last few months. Plus she is a total babe, she could find another sugar daddy in two seconds.
And I said:
1. Tamra seems REALLY determined to believe that Gretchen’s envious of her, isn’t she? I think Tamra is DREAMING. Also, I knew Gretchen wasn’t going to go off and make out (or sleep!) with that weasel Ryan. She might have been drunk, but she’s a good girl.
2. Jeanna really kind of does seem to like to make excuses for other people, doesn’t she? Vicki’s alcoholic ex-husband, now Jeff’s ex-wife showing up at the hospital? That – the ex-wife showing up at the hospital – seems kind of weird to me. If my ex-husband were dying in a hospital, it would never occur to me to show up to sit by his bed! Not that I wish him ill or anything, I would just consider it very much not my place.
3. Those bracelets that Lynne makes and that sell for $200 – $300? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Between that, and Lisa (Atlanta)’s jewelry (strung together at the kitchen table with a bunch of friends), I think that maybe I need to go into the jewelry business. I mean, given – I don’t know anything about jewelry, I don’t really wear much, but did those cuffs look all that super-fabulous to you? She puts fabric on them, then glues random stuff to the front! What a business woman!
4. The discussion at lunch, with Vicki and Jeanna on one side and Lynne on the other – I actually kind of see both sides. I understand that Vicki and Jeanna wanted Gretchen to make sure she was “taken care of” and I understand that Lynne was appalled, because she thought that it was morbid, like they were saying Jeff was GOING to die, instead of hoping for the best. BUT Lynne was being too idealistic (I think maybe she didn’t understand how sick Jeff was), and at that point, I don’t know that he was up for the “If you die, am I going to be okay?” discussion with Gretchen. If she was going to have that discussion with him (and she seemed pretty uncomfortable at the idea), she should have done it months ago.
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I have the Bubba Keg!! The second bigger one, that is. Hubby picked it up for me over the road (truckdriver) to drink water out of and I love it. I can fill it up before bed and it will still be cold by noon the next day. The only complaint I have is I can’t get the damn lid off half the time. The seal must be good on it!
I used to wash Fred’s coffee cup on the weekends, but I had such a hard time getting the lid off that I stopped – I figure, if he’s that bothered by how dirty it is, he can wash it himself. There are limits!
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“Matrix move!” Bwah! I’m stealing that. Simon does that as part of his victory lap after a successful trip to the pan. Weirdo.
So many people have mentioned that their cats do the “victory lap” (ha!) after a trip to the litter box that I’m wondering if that’s when Sugarbutt gets ass-on-fire-itis. Next time he’s racing around like a lunatic, I’ll have to peek at the litter box and see if that’s what got him going!
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Are the doohickeys on some of the cats’ collars invisible fence thingies or something else?
Yeah, those collars – as seen here:
are electric fence collars. We have an electric fence around the back yard, and the collars prevent them from leaving the back yard and wandering off to get mauled by coyotes or whatever. Right now, only four cats – Tommy, Sugarbutt, Mister Boogers, and Kara – wear collars, because they’re the only ones who regularly attempt to get out of the back yard. The rest of the cats are good kitties.
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But you DO have chicken cancer. Sort of.
Cancer is when cells suddenly begin to experience uncontrolled/unchecked growth and multiplication, creating a tumor which consumes resources that would otherwise nourish the rest of the body, right?
And y’all started out with one or two or four or eight little baby chicks, and are now experiencing (almost) uncontrolled/unchecked growth and multiplication of them (not those precise chicks, but you’re gonna be up to, what, 120 after the next batch hatches?). This has created a “chicken yard” which requires new henhouses, and rearranging the garage for the incubator, and buying/training guard dogs, and fending off eager would-be chicken purchasers, and…
I wonder if your subconscious is telling you to lay off of the chickens for a bit. (“LAY” off, get it, chickens, “LAY” off, see what I did there..? …? anyone?)
I saw what you did there, smartass.
Yeah, depending on how many chicks we get from the batch currently in the incubator, our chicken population will number in the low 100s. And I wouldn’t be surprised if my subconscious is all “Okay, NOW we have enough chickens?”
This chicken cancer is OUTTA CONTROL, though! Nothing can stop the growth!
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I took my cat Elphaba to the vet yesterday for a checkup and shots. She is perfectly healthy but at 17 mo old is 14 lbs. She is not a big cat she’s kind of small. I have cut back on her dry food. She gets half a can at night. The vet recommended light cat food. I’ve never seen it but I’m sure it exists. Anyone have any suggestions? She’s not a fussy eater so far (obviously she loves her food just like her owner). I wonder if she’ll hate the diet food.
I know at one point in the past we were feeding our cats “light” food – I think it might have been when Tubby was still alive – and I recall our cats liking it. I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was, though. Aren’t I helpful?
Readers? Got a diet cat food suggestion?
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Grey’s Anatomy
Hey, I haven’t watched Grey’s for a couple of seasons now so help a girl out- didn’t Denny DIE? If he is the one I’m thinking about he is delicious!
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I can’t stand the Denny story-line. I hope they’re going somewhere with that, otherwise I will be bothered. Yes, Izzy is crazy. We all know it. Fine. Be done. At least Mer & Der don’t break up every other episode. That was getting tiresome. Have they drawn up the plans for their house?
Yeah, you’re remembering Delicious Denny correctly – and yes, he did die. But Shonda Rimes apparently has the Denny love going on, and thus spawned this ridiculous story line wherein he’s DEAD, but Izzie can still SEE him and TOUCH him and HAVE SEX with him. It’s pretty idiotic.
And of course Meredith and Derek haven’t drawn up plans for their house – if they do that, then how will they have every intern and resident in the hospital living with them?
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Robyn will you please give us a review of those damn ShamWows? I have wavered back and forth over ordering those things for months, so please let us know if they work as well as Vince (are you following me camera guy) claims. : )
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I echo the request for a ShamWOW! review. I keep having this feeling that they are really ShamWhatevers.
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ShamWow was the subject of my 13 yr. olds science project titled: “ShamWow or ScamWow?”. My husband saw the ads and thought “Vince” the spokesman was a riot and proclaimed all he wanted for Christmas was ShamWows.
Son did the Soda-on-the-Carpet experiment ~ too bad it was a “StainMaster” square of carpet and WOULD NOT absorb much soda (next year’s experiment, maybe?). The claim of “Absorbs 20 Times Its Own Weight!!!!” was proven false. It does, however, hold as much water as 18 paper towels.
I find ShamWows to be kinda stiff and unwieldy, but THEY ARE MADE IN GERMANY, as proclaimed right under the name on every towel several times, like they are cloth BMW’s or something. Come to think of it, that may be the reason why they are stiff and unwieldy. (Hey, I’m German so I can say that.)
I hope I get an “A” on it.
I’ll see if I can’t work up a few simple experiments this weekend and report back. I have to admit that this was a total stupid-ass impulse purchase on my part, and I’m rolling my eyes at myself, because I strongly suspect it’s going to be a waste of money!
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You can get a driver’s license at a grocery store? How awesome.
Yeah, there’s this section off to the side of the Bruno’s (it used to be Bruno’s, I think it might be Southern Family Markets now, I don’t remember) where they do tags and driver’s licenses (just renewals, not the testing) and taxes. It’s pretty convenient!
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How is Joe Bob? You have not mentioned him since your sister was down.
In his cat bed, atop the bookcase in the kitchen, Joe Bob says “How YOU doin’?”
Joe Bob is doing just fine. It’s coming up on a year since we adopted him, and I feel it’s really been in the last few weeks that he’s truly completely integrated into the “pack.” There are less incidences of the other cats picking on him, he seems really happy, and he’s carved out his “spot” in the house (atop the bookcase in the kitchen, usually). He and Stinkerbelle still go at it sometimes, but I think it’s sort of a case where they are secretly in love, but fighting their feelings.
That Stinkerbelle, she’s a hussy.
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Do you read Living the Country Life magazine? Subscription is free. This month’s cover story is on Great Pyrenees!
The funny thing is that not only do we get that magazine at home, Fred gets it at work too, and he brings it home every month, even though I’ve told him we already get it at home.
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i hate the bubba keg with the small bottom. i’m sure they serve ice water in hell with it, but it keeps falling over, spilling, and the sinners never get any ice water.
I share your hatred. I don’t know what Fred did with his Bubba Keg with the small bottom, but I’m kinda hoping he brings it home, so I can beat the shit out of it with a hammer. Fucking thing.
“Thawed in the refrigerator, whole eggs and egg yolks can theoretically be used as normal. We’ve found that we don’t get quite the same leavening in baked goods with previously frozen eggs, so we tend to use them in recipes where this isn’t an issue”
Very interesting – I hadn’t heard that you should add salt to the eggs before freezing, but maybe I’ll give that a try and see how it goes! Thanks for the link.
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They’re coming around, these two kittens. Rumba allows petting more than Samba does – though I can’t blame Samba, really. Twice a day we pick her up and shoot medicine down her throat, who can blame her for being a bit skittish? She’s still an angel about it. She sounds better, but still congested. I think I might put a humidifier in the room with them, I think it would help with the congestion.
They are super-playful little girls. It always amazes me how hard kittens play, kicking and biting and leaping on each other, and no one gets hurt. It’s just part of the day, jumping on their sister and biting her neck, then racing around the room, running up the cat tree, leaping off, and racing in to use the litter box.
Note that while Spanky’s looking at the camera saying “Wha?” and Tommy’s giving the camera his sexy gaze, Newt is looking at Tommy and going “Nyah!”
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Previously 2008: Since it’s getting late and I need to scoot out of here, how ’bout some links to check out, some pictures to admire, and a promise to see you tomorrow? 2007: Questions answered. 2006: You can’t ride two horses with one ass.
2005: No entry. 2004: Damn Home Depot. 2003: Yep. READY FOR SPRING! 2002: Sam’s rocks. Just so you know. 2001: I don’t know how on earth I missed it the first time around. But I’m sure it was Fred’s fault. 2000: “Fred, is F-A-G a bad word?”
I’ve had enough people do searches on my site for what kind of breeds George and Gracie are, that I suppose I need to make up a page for them and add them to the “permanent residents” sidebar, ya think? They’re Great Pyrenees, in case anyone searched and couldn’t find that information. They’re also going … Continue reading “1/12/09”
I’ve had enough people do searches on my site for what kind of breeds George and Gracie are, that I suppose I need to make up a page for them and add them to the “permanent residents” sidebar, ya think?
They’re Great Pyrenees, in case anyone searched and couldn’t find that information.
They’re also going tomorrow for spaying, neutering, and id-chipping. I actually bought them both id tags for their collars, but collars can come off and get lost, but id chips are FOREVAH.
The spud and I went out to hang out with the dogs and chickens on Friday, and I swear to god, George and Gracie adore the hell out of her. They think she is totally the bee’s knees, they were rubbing up against her and flopping onto their backs for belly rubs and giving her the puppydog eyes.
Speaking of Friday, it was my birthday, and the spud took me out for a birthday lunch. (All together now: Awwww!) We went to Logan’s Roadhouse and I had a really good cheeseburger and side salad and it was really quite nice!
By the way, thank you for all your sweet birthday wishes! I appreciated them.
I really kind of (not-so-secretly) hoped that Fred would surprise me with a G1, but I didn’t really expect it, so I wasn’t TOO heartbroken that I didn’t get one. Like he told me last night, it’s not the cost of the G1 that stopped him, it’s the two-year contract for $65 a month for the bare minimum.
A few weeks ago, Fred said “What do you want for your birthday?” and I said “Let me think about it”, and to him, that translated into “GET ME NOTHING.”
(He insists that I said “Let me think about it. Probably nothing.” WHICH IS WRONG.)
And then a few days after that, we started talking about going to Nashville overnight, since we have the dogs to watch the chickens and so we don’t have to be home at dark to close them up into the coop. “That can be my birthday present!” I said. I wasn’t able to talk him into taking in a show at the Opry, but there are other things to see in Nashville, so I was happy.
Last week, on a particularly rainy night (Monday, maybe?) Gracie escaped the chicken yard. We’re pretty sure that the water was freaking the dogs out because there was a LOT of standing water, and once we let them into the coop, they were calm and happy.
So a few nights later I said “Are we still going to go to Nashville, or would you be too worried?” about the dogs escaping when we weren’t around, and he allowed that he would likely be too worried, and I said that I would too, and we decided to put off the overnight trip (if any) until the summer. We’re planning on getting pigs in the next month or so, and we can’t really be away overnight, because the pigs have to be fed at night.
“You didn’t get me anything for my birthday, DID you?” I asked, the night before my birthday.
“You said you didn’t want anything!”
So, no. No birthday presents from Fred, no G1, nada. NOT EVEN A CAKE.
“You didn’t even get me a cake!” I said, on the evening of my birthday.
“I figured if you wanted one, you would have said something!” he said.
“NOTE FOR THE FUTURE: I ALWAYS WANT A BIRTHDAY CAKE!”
Before I yelled at him about the birthday cake, though, he suddenly asked if I wanted to go get some ice cream in honor of my birthday, and ice cream is about equivalent to cake in my world, so I didn’t kill him and bury him in the back forty.
THIS TIME.
(Besides, the dogs would just dig him up. Damnit.)
I did get a box of birthday goodness from Nance and Rick that included a buttload of Fiestaware, a lot of stinky stuff, and the coasters she sewed for me (when she posted the picture of fabric in this entry, I just KNEW it was gonna be for me. That adorable fabric is VERY “me”). My mother sent me a gift certificate so I can buy more Fiestaware next time I visit Nance and Rick.
My mother and Nance are all about feeding the addiction, obviously.
So, all in all, a very quiet, low-key birthday. And it ended with ice cream, so it’s all good!
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Hey, did I mention that I almost bought myself a GPS for Christmas? Only, when I went back to buy it, the model I wanted was all sold out.
Hey!
Guess what comes with a built-in GPS?
A G1.
It’s almost like the universe is trying to send a message…
(Okay, I’m shutting up about the G1 now.)
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Hmm. Fred DID make me a couple of bird houses last weekend, I guess I could consider that my birthday present. They came out really nice, and we have enough wood for a couple more. I’m going to get him to show me how to slap them together; that seems like a handy skill to have.
I painted them on Thursday, but they’re slow in drying (I just put some outdoor paint on them; the wood he used wasn’t treated, and we don’t want them to rot). Once they’re dry and mounted, I’ll take another pic.
(Tufted Titmice. Titmouses? Whichever, I love these little birds.)
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Hey, how about some chicken pics?!
This is Sassy. Every day, Sassy flies to the top of the chicken yard fence, jumps down to the ground, then struts over to the OLD chicken yard where her childhood home – the first coop Fred ever made – is located. She lays an egg in the old coop, then spends the rest of the day wandering around the property before finally flying back into the chicken yard just in time for a snack before bedtime.
If she ever started wandering too far, we’d clip one of her wings to stop her from getting out of the yard. But she stays right on the property, so we’re letting her be free. She truly is a free-range chicken!
Speckled rooster. Purty, no?
Rhode Island Red.
A few weeks ago, we realized that Michelle and the Buff rooster had gotten frostbite on their combs. Stupid us, we didn’t know that would happen – we thought that putting a heat lamp in the coop would be enough to protect them. We put stuff on their combs to prevent infection, and in the future if it’s going to get really cold (which it’s supposed to do in a few days), we’ll put vaseline on their combs to protect them. (The pics are post-medication – the purplish-black parts you see on their combs are post-medication.)
So far, they seem to be recovering nicely.
These little chickens are starting to get really pretty.
SOMEONE has a crush on Michelle.
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“Hey! You! I SAID NO PICTURES!”
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Previously
2008: No entry. 2007: I don’t know what it is about Lowe’s that makes me so gassy. 2006: Right now, Fred’s thanking his lucky stars that I don’t have this much Christmas stuff, because it would drive him NUTS. 2005: (YES, GODDAMNIT! I HAVE CONFIRMED THAT YOU CAN, IN FACT, BEGIN WRITING THE FUCKING CHECK BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HEAR WHAT THE TOTAL IS, YOU IN-MY-WAY MOTHERFUCKER!) 2004: I need to go crack open a beer, watch the game, scratch my balls, and think about what this means.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: “Yeah, so you‘ll be the one with the big head blocking everyone else’s view.” 2000: No, I’m not on any drugs, why do you ask?
