Category: Crooked Acres

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

Happy Gracie.

George, keeping an eye out for trouble. You know how those chickens can be.

There was a squirrel up in the tree, and Gracie wanted that squirrel to know that she was wise to his shenanigans.

This is the “I see something. Should I be concerned?” watchful look.

Sweet Miss Gracie. (Don’t worry, I gave her a kiss for all of you!)

Three broody hens, sitting on their eggs in the maternity coop.

Very young rooster, hanging out on the edge of the dogs’ watering bowl. It makes me nervous when they do this, but I’ve never seen one fall in.

Chicks, roosting on fallen branches in the pig yard. The little ones just LOVE the pig yard, for some reason, and all fifteen of them are almost always running around in there.

Some of our tomatoes got early blight, so I was spraying fungicide. I’m a fungicidal maniac.

As Fred’s been clearing pieces of the fallen tree from the chicken yard, he’s been putting some of the smaller pieces in the back yard for the cats to play on. Corbie thinks this will do nicely, thank you.

Elwood chasing Kara around the back yard. I think you can imagine how much she cared for this.

Kara highly disapproves of it when we’re out of the back yard. What if something happens and she can’t save us? BAD HUMANS.

I bought some of this fabric last week at Jo-Ann Fabrics. I think it’s utterly adorable.

Baby cucumber.

Baby zucchini.

Baby pattypan squash (I call them spaceships. “Go out to the garden and pick a couple of spaceships, will you?”)

Baby cherry tomatoes.

They’re pretty sure it’s time for the cookies.

“AH SMELL COOKIES!”

“GIVE US THE COOKIES!”

“COOOOOOOOOOKIES!”

Bold Pig gets her cookie.

Spunky Pigster gets her cookie.

And one for Hernia Girl.

Someone asked if the pigs are for sustenance. Yes, they are. They’ll be with us (and spoiled rotten) until around the end of September. Then Fred will load them up and take them off to camp. Then a few days later, in a completely unrelated incident, he’ll go out to run an errand and come home with boxes to fill up the freezer.

(We refer to it as “sending the pigs off to Freezer Camp.”)

They won’t all be going to camp in our freezer – one will be going to our freezer, and the other two will be going to freezers in other homes. One’s going to a former coworker of Fred’s and the other is going to be split between two of Fred’s current coworkers.

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So somehow I completely failed to mention in yesterday’s entry that the first thing Maggie did when we let her do some exploring around the house on Sunday was to start yowling and rubbing on the boy cats, and then doing the march-in-place “HERE I AMMMMMMM!” dance that cats who are going into heat do. It’s a special experience, really. She wasn’t constant with the yowling and the marching (seriously, I wish you could have seen the look of utter bewilderment on Corbie’s face when she was marching in front of him), just did it every couple of hours. I decided she wasn’t so much IN heat as headed in that direction, so Monday morning I called and made the appointment to have her spayed on Tuesday. I dropped her off first thing Tuesday morning, but they weren’t able to get to her ’til late in the afternoon, so she spent the night and I picked her up yesterday morning.

She was fine, she’s such a calm, laid-back girl that really nothing bothers her much. Her babies were happy enough to see her, but they didn’t crawl all over her and act like they’d been fading away from the sadness of missing her. Actually, judging by the way they ran around this house while she was gone, I don’t think they even realized she was gone.

Sleepy McMaos.

Princess Poutyface, off by herself.

“What you want, lady?”

Checking out Jake.

“What IS it?”
“I don’t know. BUT I DON’T LIKE IT.”

That’s Fergus Simon with the attitude.

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There are no pictures of this, to my dismay, so you’ll just have to imagine, in your head, how incredibly, amazingly wonderful it was to see. On Sunday evening, we let Maggie in to visit with the Spice Girls. We were curious what her reaction would be, would she growl and hiss and smack them? Would she ignore them? Would they be scared of her?

As it turned out, Maggie walked into the room, and Clove ran over to her. Maggie sniffed Clove’s head and then explored the room a little. Eventually, she flopped down on the floor by the door, and Clove – who was sitting in my lap – looked at her. I said “Go say hi!”, and picked Clove up and set her down near Maggie. Clove went over, and Maggie sniffed the top of her head again, then started washing her.

It was absolutely the sweetest thing, I wish I’d had the camera with me. Clove closed her eyes and raised her face to Maggie, and she looked so utterly happy and Maggie cleaned her, that I might have teared up a little bit. Cilantro eventually wandered over and was cleaned, too, but Coriander was mostly uninterested in what Maggie had to offer.

They snuggled for a few minutes, and then Clove nuzzled around and nursed – or tried to, I honestly don’t know if she actually got any milk – for a few minutes. Maggie finally stood up and walked over to the bowl of kitten food. Clove followed her over, and they ate together. Then Maggie stood by the door until I let her out.

I kind of wish I’d tried putting Maggie in with those little girls a week ago. Clove is such a tiny little thing and hasn’t been gaining weight as quickly as I’d like. She isn’t losing weight, and she’s eating fine and is bright-eyed and playful, but her sisters are several ounces heavier than she is, so of course I worry. Maybe she just misses her mama, and having a little time with Maggie is just what she needs.

I did let a couple of the McMao boys in to see how they’d react to the Spice Girls. They – Finnegan and Fergus Simon – sniffed around the room as though it was familiar to them, and when the Spice Girls approached them, they hissed and ran away.

Leapin’ Coriander! (LOVE the smile on her face!)

Coriander watching the feather teaser, while Cilantro smacks at her tail.

“I like frogs.”

Cori’s feelin’ sassy. (When she gives me this look, I call her “Sassafrass.”

Wee bunny Clove. (I call her “Little Bit.”)

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Cori loves a good ear rub.

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Smilin’ Jake. Looks very smug, no?

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Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: Spending the night in Dulles. WHO’S A LUCKY GIRL???
2008: I suppose I appreciate the lack of drama, but damn.
2007: No entry.
2006: Who else would put up with this sort of bullshit?
2005: Teen labor: I highly recommend it.
2004: The quarry.
2003: You can’t tell I’m PMS-ing with a vengeance, can you, with all this talk of food?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: So, have I mentioned that I’m an idiot?

Sights from around Crooked Acres!

Would you look at those lazy girlies, all piled up in their shelter, sound asleep in the middle of the day? I guess I can’t really point fingers on the topic; midday naps are pretty great.

Since they know that humans usually mean food, they came out of their shelter pretty quick, and skedaddled over to the trough.

“Where’s our food, lady?”

“You has food?”

“This is the trough, and you is s’posed to put food in it. How many times I gotta ‘splain it to you?”

“What you mean it’s not eatin’ time yet? Izzat a trick statement? It’s ALWAYS eatin’ time!”

We made ’em happy later, though. They each get a cookie every evening, hand-fed by Fred. They’re still kind of getting the hang of it, and half the time the bravest pig grabs her cookie and runs off, and the littlest pig chases after her.

(That loud noise you can hear every now and again in the background is our neighbors setting off fireworks. It was Memorial Day – or possibly the day before. Our neighbors will seize upon any excuse to set off fireworks. I’m just grateful that they stop at a decent hour.)

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George’s “wink” is cracking me up.

Happy pups.

Here’s a short video with some chickens, and then George and Gracie DYING for their snack. They get very excited at snack time, can you tell?

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Robin sitting on her nest in the front yard.

Pretty, pretty eggs.

Rose of Sharon abloom in the back yard (we didn’t plant it there, in fact at one point shortly after we moved in, I cut down all the shrubbery in the back yard, but this popped back up at some point. There’s honeysuckle back there, too.)

Volunteer tomato plant at the back forty fence line. We’re going to leave it and see how it does.

The compost heap is nothing but volunteer tomatoes. They’re super happy, covered in flowers, and thriving. We talked about transplanting them, but decided in the end that we’d just leave them for the summer and see how they do (I suspect they’re going to do very well, given how happy they are already!)

Some kind of pepper. Cayenne, maybe?

This may also be a cayenne, I’m not sure. Some kind of pepper, in any case!

The beans are doing well. I’m hoping we’ll be able to eat some fresh beans, soon! Frozen beans are good, but they’re not a tenth as good as the freshly picked ones.

One of the volunteer tomatoes I transplanted from the compost heap (before I started just leaving the volunteers where they were) already has fruit. I can’t wait ’til we get our first ripe tomato!

Squash is coming…

Grow little squash plant! Groooooow!

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“Outta my way! I got places to go, sisters to bite!”

“Wait. This did NOT turn out the way it was supposed to!”

I love it so much when they climb up the cat tree. It makes me want to squeeze and kiss them ’til they cry.

It took two days for them to get the hang of snack time. Now they know EXACTLY when snack time is, and they gather at my feet and howl ’til I feed them.

I love how Cori’s reared back in preparation for chasing Cilantro.

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McMaos in motion.

Please note that the toy is hanging behind him, but Finnegan is chasing the shadow on the closet door.

That toy, hanging from a brace at the top of the closet door, is the BEST TOY EVER, as far as they’re concerned.

Ciara in the sun.

Dance, monkey. Dance!

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I love that Dorothy gets along so well with the other cats. EVEN Miz Poo!

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It’s a Newt! In a box! A Newt in a box! What more could you ask for? Newt loves that box – in fact, he spends almost every afternoon sprawled out in it, sound asleep.

And, your last movie for the day. This is Coltrane, hanging out near the pig yard (outside the fence). He always likes to join us when we go out there to see the dogs and give the pigs their evening cookie. He has a very nasal “voice”, I think.

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Previously
2010: Up close and personal with Franco.
2009: I think Aunt Jodie and Uncle Kevin are douchebags for giving interviews pretty much to anyone who asks.
2008: I assume if I were on the verge of death, someone would have come running in to save me.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: “I like cheese, just not on a salad.”
2003: Now, how motherfucking stupid does the man think I am?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Today Fred turns 44! (It probably doesn’t surprise you to read that I had to stop and do the math to figure that out. One day last week I said “I’m forty… how old am I? Forty-two?”) Happy birthday, baby!!!

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Last weekend, we finally got our pigs for this year. We went with the intention of getting two, but a couple of people at Fred’s job expressed interest, so we ended up with a third. The man we get our pigs from is known as “Egg”, as some of you know, so here are some sights from around Egg’s farm.

Cute little baby pigs (these guys were too small to be separated from their mama yet. I did get a shot of their mama – who kept giving me the “Don’t you think about touching my babies!” eyes, but it didn’t come out.)

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Puppy, keeping an eye on the pigs.

Our pigs, not sure what on earth was going on.

What’s a farm without a barn cat or two?

White donkey, hangin’ with the cows.

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And, of course, sights from around Crooked Acres.

One little,

two little,

three little girly pigs.

Thus far, one of them will take a cookie from Fred’s hand, but the other two are too skittish. They wait ’til Brave Pig takes the cookie from Fred, then follow her around, trying to take the cookie from her. They’ll learn soon enough – they always do!

That’s Gracie in the front and George in the back.

“Hallo, shweetheart.”

Even though George and Gracie never come into actual contact with the pigs (the pig yard is fenced off), they still get excited when we get new pigs.

This is inside the pig shelter (before Fred added straw, not that it’s been cold enough for them to burrow down inside the straw lately, but still) a few days before we went to get the new pigs. This hen decided this was a good place to raise some babies, so she made a nest, laid a clutch of eggs, and sat on them looking angry when anyone came close. Fred moved her to the maternity yard, and she decided she didn’t want babies after all, and abandoned her eggs.

Mamas and babies.

They’ve hit their gawky stage.

If you look closely, you’ll see Gracie inside the fence and Coltrane outside the fence, on the other side of the ditch. He comes and goes constantly, and the dogs completely ignore him.

First fresh veggies from the garden for 2011 – baby romaine, purslane, and radishes.

Happy Hydrangea.

Pansies have taken root in the cracks on the front steps. I should probably pull them up, but they’re so pretty I don’t want to!

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Dorothy loves to pick fights with Jake, and he puts up with her shenanigans for far longer than you’d expect him to, but eventually he snaps and fights back. Then she gets all “Oh, wah! I am but a wee baby! Please save me from this horrible beast who would pick on a tiny helpless baybeeeeee!”

Dorothy is off to the vet today to be spayed and ID chipped and all that. I’d say y’all should wish her luck, but she will be perfectly fine, and I expect she’ll be racing around here tonight like nothing ever happened.

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Oh Cillian, how I love your worried little face.

If you couldn’t guess, I was waving the feather teaser around wildly, and they were pretty interested in what was going on.

He leaps! He misses!

This is a pretty good shot of all six of them.

And this.

Declan and his toes.

Ciara really likes to hang out underneath this cat bed for some reason.

Maggie’s been getting some alone time this week – not every day, but about every other day, I put her in the room at the other end of the hall and leave her in there for two or three hours. She doesn’t really care for it, I think it worries her to be away from the babies, or possibly she just doesn’t like being in a strange room. The babies don’t even notice that she’s not there until I bring her back in, which is when they gather around her like “Mama! We missed you! WE THOUGHT YOU WAS A TOAD!” and she gets a look on her face like “I wanted to come back in here why, exactly?”

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Snoozin’ Spanky.

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Previously
2010: “Zip it. ZIP it. ZIP. IT.”
2009: I HATE HAVING TO DEAL WITH STRANGERS, HAVE I MENTIONED THIS?
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: He’s such a liar.
2005: But by the time I was about three words in to the text message to the spud, I was using “u” and “2″ and “gd” with abandon, and it STILL took me 4-fckng-eva 2 get th gd msg typd n & snt.
2004: I started to answer her, when I realized to my horror that Fred was leaning forward, CUPPING HIS HAND TO HIS EAR to illustrate that he hadn’t heard what she said.
2003: “I breathe oxygen!” “Me too!”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Our first trip to G’burg.

Okay, those of you who use Google Chrome as your browser and use Google Reader as your, uh, Reader: are you having an issue with Google Reader freezing? I was having that problem, and I was about ready to unplug my computer and toss it out the side door (I am so not kidding), and after Googling frantically around the internet, someone somewhere (sorry to be so specific) said that it was an extensions issue. So I checked my extensions (wrench –> tools –> extensions) and found that Avast had installed an extension without my realizing it (or who the hell knows, maybe I installed it and didn’t realize it. What I’m saying is that I didn’t know it was there ’til I looked at my extensions.), so I uninstalled it. I won’t tempt the fates and swear that it solved the problem, but I’ll say that Google Reader hasn’t frozen on me since I did that yesterday morning.

Also in computer issues, over the weekend I got a new (to me) computer. Fred installed Windows 7 on the computer we used as a server last year, and I moved all my important stuff over to the new computer. The problem came when I wanted to print something and we realized that the “new” computer didn’t have a printer port. I ordered a printer port-to-USB adapter, but when it came and I hooked up the printer, the computer recognized the computer but it wouldn’t work. When I went to download the drivers from the HP site, it said “STUPID, the driver is already on Windows 7!” and I was all “But it’s not working!” and the site was all “DUH, update your Windows shit!” so I did, and got a great big fail-whale on the HP driver download. I tried it again, and still the FAIL.

So I said “Fuck you, you fucking printer, I am OVER YOU” and ordered a new printer that will be here on Friday.

The printer we had is probably close to 10 years old (if not older) and it’s worked well for us lo these many years, but it’s gotten slower and slower as time goes on, and it’s been past time to upgrade for a few years now. I ordered one of these because all I need is a black and white printer and I like the fact that it prints on both sides, which will save me some paper in the long run since I print way too much stuff out.

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Sights from around Crooked Acres.

We planted some grapes in the back yard. So far, they seem pretty happy. Maybe in ten years, we’ll be able to drink some of our own grape juice!

Squash flower! Maybe we really will end up with some veggies this summer. Fingers crossed!

Rooster, flappin’.

Mama chicken and some of her babies.

Meredith Gray, strutting with attitude.

Gracie’s always trying to goad George into playing. Sometimes he indulges her, sometimes he doesn’t.

Happy Gracie.

Can you tell there was some Furminating going on out here?

Silly girl.

Snack time!

Furminating in progress. Gracie LOVES to be brushed, and she’ll flop over on her back and roll around, she’s so giddy with delight.

“Nyah.”

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Yesterday I got word that Rufus was adopted on Tuesday! He spent a week at Petsmart, and honestly I don’t think that’s bad at all.

Yay, Rufus!

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Snackin’ Time for the McMaos.

Note that Maggie works her way down the line, elbowing kittens out of the way. Like I said to Fred the other night, “You know how they say a mother is a person who, seeing there are only 4 pieces of cake for 5 people, promptly announces she never did care for cake?”

“Yeah?” Fred said.

“Maggie is a mother who, seeing there are only 4 pieces of cake for 5 people, promptly announces ‘You kids don’t need cake, anyway.””

You can hardly blame her, I guess – the babies are almost 7 weeks old, and can still be seen nursing several times a day.

I still think it’s about the sweetest thing ever. We’ve talked about moving Maggie to another room for a few hours during the days just to give her a break from the kittens and to give them some idea that life goes on even if Mama’s not right there. I may start doing that this weekend and see how it goes.

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Miz Poo would like to know just what I think I’m doing out here in the back yard.

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Previously
2010: The many faces of Gavin.
2009: Sights from around Crooked Acres.
2008: With my bionic legs and arms I’ll just be able to prove it much more easily.
2007: No entry.
2006: And we might have expected Mommy/ Whatever to tell the Little Prince “no” and, well, we can’t have THAT.
2005: We’re foster parents.
2004: Because WHY HAD IT NOT OCCURRED TO ME TO THROW MYSELF DOWN THE MOUNTAIN TO AVOID THE CONCERT???
2003: The words “ass ugly” were invented to describe these shoes.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: She hasn’t claimed boredom since.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

We finally got a couple of blueberry bushes to go with the one we already had, and Fred planted them in the back yard. They’re still tiny, but it looks like we’re actually going to get a handful of blueberries this year! Too cool.

It looks like the tree would have eventually fallen on its own, tornado winds or no.

I thought for sure some or all of the baby chicks would have washed/ blown away in the storms, but no. Every one of them is present and accounted for!

The Rock Star. I think she is the most beautiful chicken, ever.

Pretty much every day is the best! day! ever! as far as Gracie’s concerned.

A roving band of tree-cutter-uppers showed up, cut up the tree which had fallen across the ditch from the church property next door, and then kept on movin’.

Chicken yard after we carried off as much of the greenery and smaller limbs as we could. Where those big logs are laying is what used to be part of the chicken yard. We’re going to need professionals to come cut up the rest of the wood and cart it off – Fred’s chainsaw is a good one, but not THAT good.

One of the burn piles. There’s another near the garden.

I can’t get over just how happy these pansies, growing on the compost heap, are doing.

The state of the garden as of yesterday. You can see about six shriveled looking tomato plants (the other 38 are completely gone). The peppers, in the middle of the picture, are hanging in there.

Honeysuckle growing in the back yard. This stuff smells heavenly.

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Hackleburg, Alabama is about 80 miles from us. They were hit hard by the tornadoes, and when I called and talked to the shelter manager about Dorothy and where she could have possibly come from, Susan joked that “Maybe she was blown up from Hackleburg!”

Imagine my surprise yesterday, when I was walking around taking pictures, to find a packing slip laying in the yard.

The VF Corporation distribution plant in Hackleburg was destroyed; one employee was killed.

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Someone asked at some point whether the babies are still hissing at me. They stopped hissing right around the time their eyes opened, and I haven’t heard a hiss from them (toward me, anyway) since. These days, when they see or hear me, they come running over, start climbing my legs, and howl their little heads off.

I’ll try to get that on video for you. It’s quite the cacophony, let me tell you.

I love how Ciara is flopped over the top of Maggie, getting to her food that way.

If you’d like to compare, here they are the day they were born:

And at three days old:

Deep in thought.

Cillian says “::thlurrrrp::”

Pouty Princess is all “WHAT is going on over there?!”

I love how Fergus Simon is keeping his eye on his brother, all “This is MINE, you get your own!”

“Come on in, the water’s fine!”

All teeth and claws at this age, I’m tellin’ ya.

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“How YOU doin’?”

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Previously
2010: “I YAM A FEARSOME MONSTER! HEAR ME ROAR!”
2009: And speaking of our house and smells, whoever thought it would be a good idea to put the air intake vent for the downstairs air/ heating system directly across the hall from the bathroom?
2008: If that man cripples me with the sledgehammer, y’all make sure he gets me the LUXURY wheelchair.
2007: No entry.
2006: “Motherfucker say WHAT? You wanna prance?”
2005: Did you know you could use it to relieve muscle soreness, as a plant fertilizer, and as a laxative?
2004: Okay, girlfriend? Just how fucking stupid ARE you?
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: God, please tell me when I was 19 I didn’t sound that much like an airhead…

I woke up last Wednesday morning around 4:30. The tornado siren was going off, and instead of jumping out of bed and screaming down the stairs, I rolled over and went back to sleep. The tornado sirens go off around here a lot, it seems, and most of the time it turns out to be nothing.

Fred came upstairs a little after 5 to say goodbye before he left for work. He told me that there were bad storms expected at various points during the rest of the day, but I was okay for at least a little while.

I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I got up an hour later and went about my usual morning activities, scooping and checking on cats, and doing my sweep of the downtairs looking for cat pee (you envy me my glamorous life, I know).

Around mid-morning, Fred called to see how the weather was, and I looked out the window and told him it was raining, but nothing too bad. As I talked to him, the rain picked up, and I reported that, then we hung up. I went into the living room and turned on the TV and watched the meteorologist show the lines of storms and where they were going. Fred called some more, we talked, we hung up, I started watching a recorded episode of Dr. Phil, and then I noticed that it was getting darker outside. I flipped back to the TV station and saw that bad weather was headed our way.

I decided it was time to go upstairs and bundle the McMaos into a crate and bring them downstairs to keep them safe, and stood up to do so when the wind outside picked up – and I don’t know how to describe it, but I have never seen or heard such violent wind, and it scared the crap out of me. I raced upstairs, (gently) tossed Maggie and the babies into their crate, and ran downstairs as quickly as I could. I stashed the crate in the closet under the stairs, and started calling cats. When they came to me, I put them in the closet, but as soon as I got them in the closet, they ran back out.

I finally gave up and stood in the doorway of the closet and hoped for the best.

When the wind died down and the rain slacked off, I ran and got the phone and called Fred. I was talking to him when I glanced out the side window and saw that a big tree on the church property had fallen across the ditch to our side yard. It fell perfectly, not taking down any power lines or hitting the garage. Then I walked to the back of the house and saw that a huge tree to the side of the chicken yard had fallen into the chicken yard. After the storm passed and the rain mostly stopped, I went out to see what exactly was what.

Y’all, I have never ever seen so much water back there. From the back of our back yard to the middle of the back forty was nothing but water. I stopped and shot a video from outside the corner of our back yard.

Then I slogged across the ditch (the bridge that goes across the ditch had floated away a bit) and though I was wearing my knee-high boots, the water was above that, so my boots were immediately full of water.

The tree in the chicken yard had fallen so perfectly – it missed the coop completely. Gracie ran over to me, but I didn’t see George anywhere. I called for him, but nothing. I wasn’t actually too worried that he’d been hit by the tree, because the dogs usually sit under the rain shelter at the front of the coop or inside the coop itself. I grabbed a few things that had floated away from the coop, checked inside the coop (the chickens in there gave me a look like “What do YOU want?”) and went over to talk to my next door neighbor.

This was from the chicken yard itself:

I had just opened my mouth to tell her we couldn’t find George, when she said “I see your babies are okay!” and I turned to see both George and Gracie standing there. We talked for a moment, and then I came inside to take the McMaos back up to the foster room. The babies were a little “What was THAT?”, but Maggie was pretty calm and went over to get a bite to eat.

A few minutes later, my neighbor’s son knocked on the door to tell me that my dog was out, and I ran to the back of the house, put on my boots, and went out to see George sitting near the back yard, being petted by my neighbor’s other son. I called to George, who excitedly ran over, and lured him into the back yard. I looked out to see Gracie in the chicken yard, told her she was a good girl, and went back inside the house.

I think at some point another line of storms went through, and I heard a meteorologist on one of the TV stations say that there was a line coming from Oklahoma that was going to make the morning’s storms look like child’s play. I reported that to Fred, and finally around 2:00 convinced him to come home from work.

Fred got home and surveyed the damage, went out to check on the chickens, and we talked about what to do about the dogs. The fence that the tree had taken out meant that the dogs could leave the back forty whenever they wanted. There were some branches down on the fence in the yard around the blue coop, but Fred went out and moved them and straightened out the fence, and we decided to put the dogs there until we could get the chicken yard cleared and some temporary fence put in place.

George, clearly upset.

After we got the dogs moved, we went inside and watched the storm coverage. Which is when it got scary. First they reported that the bad line of storms was going to go south of this. A few minutes later, they reported that it was going to go north of us. To Fred’s mind, that meant they were going to hit us directly. We brought the McMaos downstairs and put them in the downstairs bathroom, and I was standing in the doorway of the closet while Fred went to the front of the house and looked out, then went to the back of the house and looked out, then back to the front of the house. All the while, I was yelling at him to get his butt into the hallway (ie, the center of the house), and he did for a minute, then went back to the window.

“Come look at this!” he yelled. I went to the window at the front of the house, and we stood there and watched an EF-4 tornado go by a mile south of us.

I don’t mind telling you, we were a TAD freaked out.

The weather calmed down, and at some point we lost power. We got out the radio and the flashlights and candles, and sat in the living room and listened to the radio. After a few hours, we headed up toward Athens to see if we could get a signal on my cell phone so Fred could check on his parents and sister. Fred was able to get hold of his father, then called and left a message for his sister and asked her to call their mother (his mother and stepfather recently changed their number, and do you suppose we have the number written down or programmed anywhere? Of COURSE not.), and then we came home and checked the animals and the house, then spent the evening listening to the radio.

When we went to bed shortly after 9, we had no power. Fred told me that if the power was still out Thursday morning (which we expected), he’d get out the generator and fire it up. We bought a generator 4 years ago and haven’t needed to even take it out of the box. However, shortly after 9:30, the power came back on and didn’t so much as flicker back off again.

Thursday morning Fred attempted to go to work, but after getting part of the way there and hearing that most of North Alabama was without power, he turned around and came home. After I got up, he asked if I wanted to go drive out to where the tornado we saw had passed, and we went out and did just that.

Water does not belong here, for the record, this is a field where cotton grows in the summer.

I didn’t get more pictures because I was too busy staring and saying “Oh my god!” The pictures you see on TV – and the pictures you see above – don’t do it justice. It truly looked like a bomb went off.

We got home and went out to start clearing the tree from the chicken yard. I’d been concerned that a chicken or two might have gotten hit by the falling tree, but as far as we can tell, the chickens are all present and accounted for, including all the chicks.

Fred was out working on cutting limbs of the tree, and I was checking on the McMaos, when I heard a knock at the door. By the time I got downstairs, whoever was at the door had left, and when I looked toward where Fred was working, I saw our neighbor’s son walking toward him. I went out and Fred looked at me and called “Get a carrier!”

Meet Dorothy.

She showed up under a car in the driveway of our two-doors-down neighbor, howling. Our next door neighbor’s son lured her out with some meat, and he snatched her up and brought her over to us (we might have a reputation). She was a bit wild at first, but she’s pretty friendly now and the most playful little thing. We had her in the downstairs bathroom for the first day, then moved her over to the guest bedroom, where she’s currently residing. She’s going tomorrow for testing and possibly spaying (she weighed just at over 2 pounds; it depends on what the vet’s scale says); I’m guesstimating her to be about 8 weeks old.

By the end of Thursday, we’d gotten the tree across the chicken yard moved enough that we could get a temporary fence put up, and got the dogs moved back to the back forty.

I have to say that George and Gracie were absolutely amazing through this. It clearly bothered them a great deal to be away from their flock, but they behaved really well. They were overjoyed to get back “home”, that’s for sure.

I spent Friday doing my best to send and receive text messages to my family and Nance and getting word out that we were okay. I cleaned the house (we’d sent out the word that we had power and everyone was invited over to shower and do laundry and didn’t want them to see the squalor we usually live in) and spent lots of time with the McMaos.

Saturday and Sunday were spent hanging around the house, watching the TV coverage and reading. Our friends Jean and Robert came over to do some laundry and shower on Sunday, so we visited with them, which was nice.

At this point, it sounds like a lot of Huntsville and Madison has power back. Fred’s mother and stepfather don’t yet, and will be over in a bit to shower and do some laundry. Our internet and phone access is coming and going and I’m not honestly sure whether I’ll be able to get this posted, but we shall see.

In any case, I wanted you guys to know that we are just fine, that we were very very very lucky (not only that the tornado missed us, but also that we had power almost the entire time!) and all is okay here at Crooked Acres.

The hens never stopped laying.

A few people asked about the garden, which we just got planted last weekend. I don’t know. I haven’t been over there. I can’t stand to go look at it. Fred reported that the tomato plants are turning yellow, no doubt because of the water saturating the ground. I’m refusing to look at it myself until at least this weekend. This may be the year we just flat out refuse to do a garden. I don’t know.

I got word that Challenger’s House is okay (they may have power back now; I’m certainly hoping so). For those wishing to donate to relief efforts, I believe at this point that your best bet is to donate to the Red Cross. They’re coordinating everything and can always use money donations. Your thoughts and prayers for the families who have lost their homes and loved ones are always appreciated, too.

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During the time we were without internet, the McMaos have learned all KINDS of new tricks. They have learned:

1. How to use the litter boxes. I set up small litter boxes, filled with play clay (not clumping) litter. They’re not all using the litter boxes, and they’re not all using the litter boxes all the time, but the litter boxes are, for sure, getting some definite use. And this morning was the first time that I went in and saw that not only was there pee in the little litter boxes, but someone had pooped, too. Awwww.

2. How to climb. They’re climbing the little cat tree in the foster room like tree-climbing champs.

3. How to play with toys – Fergus Simon, especially, can bat the heck out of a jingly ball.

4. How to eat. Fergus Simon, Finnegan, and Declan have all been spotted eating some kibble and drinking water. They’re still depending on Maggie for most of their intake, I believe, but they’re certainly moving in the right direction!

I got a TON of pictures and videos for y’all, but for now I’m just going to post some of the pictures and get this posted. It’s getting late!

Assuming that our internet stays up, I’ll be posting as usual in the mornings from here on out.

“You come in here and have these babies crawl all over you and follow you around and bat at your tail, and then you’ll KNOW why I keep trying to slip out the door every time you open it!”

Cillian, keeping an eye on stuff.

Getting licked by kittens is like being kissed by angels. Until the biting starts, that is.

I love Macushla’s “frosted” look.

Hanging under the kitty hammock.

“Hey! Get over here! It’s time for the 10:00 meeting on the scratcher!”

“I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

They kill me with the cute.

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Joe Bob made sure the tornado didn’t get his scratcher.

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Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: The kittens’ eyes are slowly continuing to open.
2007: Nance knows that when she mentions something, I MUST immediately have one of whatever it is, too, because I am a lemming.
2006: I like my life to be conflict-free, thank you.
2005: …and then she smacks the shit out of him, and he closes his eyes and smacks blindly at her, never ever ever landing a single smack on the portly Poo.
2004: No entry.
2003: It appears that the mother of Crunchy, Chewy, and Cheesy had a hard-core craving for the Crunchy Gordita during her pregnancies, and thus (possibly when she wasn’t smoking crack with one hand and downing the hard liquor with the other, one assumes) named her children after it.
2002: We sure are some dish-using motherfuckers around here.
2001: As if the little bastard had said “Oh, can’t poo on Mom’s newspaper, don’t want to get it all nasty!”
2000: (Every entry won’t be a laundry list of my day, I promise. This not-working thing is still new to me!)

Lucky the cat has Eyelid Agenesis (that’s the same condition the True Blood 6 were born with) and needs surgery. Spread the word, won’t you?

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Sights from around Crooked Acres.

The Robins are everywhere right now.

Rooster stomping over to see WHAT in TARNATION is going on.

Another rooster.

This Golden Polish is by far our prettiest chicken (in my opinion). I love her coloring. She’s a couple of years old now, and her head feathers seem to be slowly turning white. Which just makes her prettier! We call her “the Rock Star.”

Meredith Grey is appalled at this treatment.

“Sir, unhand me!”

“I SAY, unhand me!”

I love to get shots that show how much smaller Gracie is than George.

Happy pups.

“Pups, look at me! ME! Good, Gracie! Now, George, look at ME, not off in the distance like you’re having deep thoughts. Can’t I get one shot of the two of you BOTH looking at me?”

Apparently NOT.

Last Fall, the pansies in the pot on the front porch seemed to be about dead, so I tossed them on the compost heap. Which apparently brought them back to life – I should repot them and put them on the front porch again!

Baby pears. God willing and the creek don’t rise, maybe we’ll actually get some fruit from our fruit trees this year!

Mister Bluebird likes to hang around the back yard.

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You’ll pardon all the pictures of the babies nursing, won’t you? I took, literally, over 100 pictures while this was going on, and it was really hard to whittle them down to the best ones. I could sit and watch baby kittens nurse FOREVER.

Maggie’s clearly thinking “I blame YOU for this.” What can I say? They get kind of excited when they realize I’ve come into the room!

“Seriously, I could use a mani/pedi and a massage.”

I wish they stayed this little and had those amazing blue eyes forever and ever.

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Coltrane’s on the other side of the ditch that separates the back forty from the front part of our property and he doesn’t appreciate having us so far from him. Who’s going to pet him?!

(I’ve mentioned this before, I’m sure, but I have some new readers recently, and wanted to say that the area of our property that I call “The back forty” is about two and a half acres (our entire property is 4 1/2 acres). It’s where the chickens and George and Gracie live (there’s a big chicken coop and at one point Fred actually built a big, solid dog house on the back of the chicken coop, which the dogs refused to use. It’s now the maternity coop. When weather gets bad, the dogs can go into the big coop if they want to. There’s also a rain shelter on the front of the coop. Of course, most of the time they prefer to hang out in the middle of the field. Rain doesn’t bother them.)

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Previously
2010: Bolitar’s in hand-to-hand combat, and Reacher’s got Jake’s tail.
2009: I wanted to station myself next to the display of bowls and if anyone looked particularly interested in buying the bowl, offering them $5 NOT to buy the goddamn thing.
2008: I KNEW SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY FELIWAY! GIVE IT BACK!
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I want to hear “Fine, thanks. Here’s your Supah-sized Diet Coke. Have a nice day!” Understood? I swear, I’m just going to STOP asking, that’s all.
2003: Some day I’ll create a housecleaning schedule and actually keep to it. Ha!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: So, my last official day at work. Ho-hum.

Psst! Over there in the sidebar to the right are links to Fred’s book on Kindle at Amazon and on Nook at Barnes and Noble. If you’re interested. 🙂

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Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Gracie (front) always looks amused.

Gracie runs the perimeter.

Vicious, vicious pups.

It always cracks me up when Gracie bites George’s butt. When he’s chasing her, he likes to bite her tail.

They love to cavort, these two.

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::ahem::

“I AM A STUD!”

“I AM A STUD!”

“A GREAT! BIG! STUD!”

Yeah, yeah. Keep crowing it, big guy. Maybe someday they’ll believe you.

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The movie: McMaos belly up to the milk bar. At the very end, if you listen very carefully and turn your sound way up, you will hear the sound of PURRING KITTENS, oh yes you will.

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I don’t remember who referred to what kittens do with all the squirming and crawling over each other as a “Kitten mosh pit”, but if that’s not an apt description, I don’t know what is!

The paws kill me dead every time.

As do the stripes.

They always get so sleepy after eating.

Ciara snuggling with mama’s foot.

Maggie was licking a kitten’s behind, and when she was done this is the look she gave me. I hear you, sweetheart.

Going…going…

::zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz::

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Spanky, laying on the scratcher in the sun. Have you ever seen such a happy boy?

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Previously
2010: “Hi, Mister! Hi! Whatcha doin’, Mister? You wanna play with us? We found a mouse and we was batting it around, but one of the big cats came and took it away from us, then hissed and smacked at us. That was mean, we just wanna play. You wanna play? Huh, Mister?”
2009: Am I alone in this belief, or am I the only one on earth who didn’t know that the Easter Bunny laid ten million eggs (and candy items) before delivering them to the bad little heathens of the world?
2008: Places where the Feliway bottle is NOT
2007: No entry.
2006: God save me from the permed ‘fro.
2005: Why do I bother to make New Year’s resolutions, I ask you?
2004: Bastard.
2003: “That’s right, you LITTLE SHIT, get the hell out of here!” I yelled, stomping at him.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Not much of an entry.

In case y’all missed it on Saturday, a note from the Challenger’s House shelter manager:

Thanks to all of you who participated in the kitten pool. The money you donated will cover leukemia/aids testing, spaying or neutering, & rabies shots for all 6 kittens plus a bit left over. I am always amazed at the response Robyn gets from her readers and I appreciate that most of you probably have local organizations that you support. We are lucky to have so many generous animal lovers who jump in to support the cause. And I love the name Fergus Simon. Thanks, Lori, and congratulations on being the name-the-baby winner.

Sincerely, Susan B., Shelter Manager

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And in case you didn’t see it on my Facebook wall on Sunday, Fred has made No Limit (the book he wrote and then self-published on Kindle last year, then took down after a few months) available again, in case you missed it last time around. It should be available on Smashwords in a few days, too.

I’ll add the link in the sidebar at some point, too.

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We had two nice, sunny days this weekend, which gave Fred the chance to get the grass mowed (it was getting realllly long), he got the fence put up around my raised beds, and this morning I’m going to plant my romaine, purslane, spinach, carrots, radishes and… is there something else? Oh, right, cauliflower and brussels sprouts are going in the last bed. I’ll wait ’til the threat of frost date (Friday) has passed to transplant the cauliflower and brussels sprouts (everything else is seeds).

I really feel like I’m behind schedule, garden-wise. I always feel that way this time of year, though, I guess.

Later, Fred’s going to till part of the big garden, and I’m going to get my onions and garlic planted. My tomato plants need to get a bit bigger (and the garden needs to get a bit dryer so Fred can till the whole thing with the tractor) before I transplant those.

I’m so anxious to get the show on the road I can barely stand it!

We have a big raised bed where I had planned to grow some of my tomato plants this year, but yesterday Fred and I drove to the Huntsville Botanical Gardens to visit the mulch pile, hoping to fill the back of the truck with mulch that we could then fill the big raised bed with. As it turned out, the mulch looked great from a distance but when we got up to it, there was a lot of garbage in the pile. Pieces of black trash bags, pieces of plastic, I saw a CD case. Fred started to shovel mulch into the back of the truck, but I stopped him and said “Look, I don’t really want to grow vegetables in this stuff”, and he agreed.

It would have cost over $100 to buy enough topsoil to fill the raised bed at Lowe’s, so in the end we decided that I’ll grow my potatoes-in-straw in that bed this summer, and then this Fall we’ll fill the bed with shredded leaves and let it compost over the winter. We did buy a couple of bags of gardening soil to top off my little raised beds, so hopefully the stuff I’m planting today will be happy.

Fred also put up a fence around my raised beds so that cats – NEWT, I AM LOOKING AT YOU – won’t use them as litter boxes. At some point this week I need to take a look at the pots we have, and get something to fill six of them with so I can get my herbs planted.

Perhaps I have mentioned that I love this time of year?

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When I was doing laundry yesterday, I pulled a load of towels out of the washer, and along with the towels came a (dead) red wasp. Now, how the damn thing got in there, I neither know nor wish to ponder.

(It’s bad enough that there was a wasp on Fred’s pillow when I went by his room Saturday morning and I went in with a piece of toilet paper to grab it, and it FLEW AT MY FACE and then behind the blinds. So I pressed on the blinds with my piece of toilet paper, and instead of squishing the wasp, it just kind of held the wasp in place, where it buzzed angrily, no matter how hard I pressed. So I let go and stepped back and it FLEW AT MY FACE AGAIN and I screamed and did a dance, and ultimately it rested on the end of Fred’s bed where I successfully grabbed and squished it before flushing it down the toilet.)

So I was pulling the towels out of the washer, and the red wasp fell off one of the towels and landed on the dryer, and I kind of shuddered and then went out to hang the towels on the clothesline. Later, I was headed out the door with the kitchen compost bucket, and I glanced at the wasp and figured I’d add it to the compost bucket. So I picked it up and NO it did not come back to life. Instead, every inch of skin I possess crawled right off my body.

I don’t know what it is about those damn wasps, but everything about them ooks me out and touching one – dead or not – with my bare fingers was especially bad. Fucking things.

Also, Sunday afternoon there was a yellowjacket that was buzzing angrily around the front room, and I grabbed the vacuum cleaner, and after some chasing and swearing (on my part) and angry buzzing (on his part), I finally vacuumed that fucker right out of the air.

Now there’s a very angry mortally wounded yellowjacket living in the vacuum cleaner bag, and I’m sure that when I’m asleep tonight, it will figure out how to escape and the damn thing will be looking for ME and I’m not sure I’ll sleep much tonight.

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First, your McMao video, entitled McMaos Belly up to the Milk Bar (bet you can’t guess what that’s about, huh?)

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And now? The names!

The kitten formerly known as Dark Nose is now Macushla. (This is the Americanized spelling of Mo chuisle, a phrase that literally translates as “my pulse”, but is used like “my darling.” Someone mentioned it in the comments to Friday’s entry (I think it was Friday), and I immediately loved it.)

The kitten formerly known as Dark Splotch Right Nostril is now Declan.

The kitten formerly known as Dark Nose with Pink Splotch is now Cillian (pronounced “Killian.”)

The kitten formerly known as Pink Nose is now Finnegan.

Of course you know Fergus Simon.

And the kitten formerly known as Little White Face (who is looking at Fred as if she’s saying “How DARE you? Unhand me, Sir!”) is now Ciara (which is pronounced “Keer-ah”). I’ve loved that name since I read it in an Andrew Greeley novel years and years ago.

Eyes opening, all over the place!

Check out Fergus Simon there, rolling around on his back.

Look at little princess White Face there in the middle all “What do YOU want, lady? Go ‘way!”

Little stripey-pants there on the lower right escaped the cat bed, but immediately turned around and went back.

“What IS this place?!”

Abandon ship!

Mama comforts.

“Oh, Kong Kickeroo, I love you so.”

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Rufus makes himself at home.

Comfy are we, little man?

::smile::

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Elwood, ever alert for the sound of the cat food can opening in the foster room.

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Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: All the cats have “J” as their middle initial, including the girls (Pootie J. Pooterson, Stanker J. Belle, and Miss Maxi J. Momma).
2007: The man loves nothing so much as getting his fret on.
2006: Smart man, that one.
2005: Back from Gatlinburg.
2004: No entry.
2003: I love Von, and questions answered.
2002: No entry.
2001: Miz Poo gives me a scare.
2000: My husband, the diplomat.

Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Aigs! We’re getting in the neighborhood of 3 dozen eggs a day these days.

Not actually here at Crooked Acres – this is up at the feed ‘n seed store we always stop by on our way to or from Tennessee.

Baby llama. This time he was friendly and wanted to be petted.

The Wisteria is abloom.

More Wisteria (and our house in the background.)

Peach blossom. Let’s hope we get more fruit this year than last.

The garden, tilled. Except for the tiny patch in the middle where a few cabbage (that I planted last Fall) are hanging in there.

Keep growing, little cabbage. One day perhaps you’ll be big enough for us to harvest and eat.

Corbie in the back yard, sitting on the compost container. That’s where I toss all the kitchen compost, including any paper towels I used. I used to toss it all on the big compost heap, but stuff would blow all over the place and look trashy, so I made this container for composting. Works pretty well – and it gives Corbie a place to sit and glare judgmentally at me when I’m outside the back yard and he can’t get to me. He likes to walk along under my feet and then stop dead and demand petting.

Rooster on the move.

White Silkie. Someone once pointed out that she looks like a Muppet, so now I call her “Angry Muppet.”

The red coloring on this hen’s face always makes her look like she’s been rolling in mud.

I love the coloring on her head and neck.

Rooster keeps an eye on his wimminfolk.

Places to go, people to see.

Prettiest flowers ever.

Playful pups.

“You has snacks for us?”

Gracie’s always startin’ somethin’.

It’s like watching two polar bears fight.

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As of last night, Rufus is out in Gen Pop 24/7. He went upstairs with us last night at bedtime and snuggled for a bit, then he wandered off. I don’t know where he spent the night, but it wasn’t with me.

He’s getting braver by the minute – at first he’d run if you walked in his general direction, then he’d flinch and look nervous. Just now, he was sitting in the guest bedroom doorway, and I walked by him, and he just watched me walk by. He’s more nervous in the rooms where he hasn’t spent much time – especially upstairs – but he’s come a long way, baby.

On top of the cat tree in the front room, accompanied by Alice.

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::SIGH:: NO babies yet. She perhaps ate a little less this morning than usual, but I can’t swear to that. She’s not laying down on her side and letting me feel her belly as much as she did last week. I try not to harass her about it, but it’s hard not to – I want to feel the babies moving around, Maggie! Give me that much, at least!

Several people have asked if I’m sure she’s pregnant. This is what I tell them: last year, Maura was never actually checked over by a vet before we got her. We believed she was pregnant because we were told she was. As it turns out, of course, she wasn’t and never had been. This year, Maggie was checked out by a vet who said that she is pregnant. We’ve felt babies moving (though of course, we thought we felt babies moving with Maura last year!), and the other night I could distinctly feel, at different times, a little head, and a tiny little paw. So yes, I am pretty sure she’s pregnant. Clearly she wasn’t as pregnant as I thought she was when we first got her, but in my defense, I’ve only had one pregnant cat before (Kara), and I hardly got a chance to get to know the signs of a pregnant cat before she wasn’t pregnant anymore!

(Feeling the kittens move around is very neat, but it also freaks me out a little bit. I don’t know why!)

Also, a note: tomorrow is April 1st, also known as April Fool’s Day. I PROMISE you all that I will NOT post that Maggie had her babies if she actually did not. That’s mean, and I know I’d probably have a ticked-off horde descending upon my house if I did such a thing. So you have my word that I won’t.

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“Wha? Why are my PAWS wet? What’s going ON?!” Not the brightest bulbs, these two.

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Previously
2010: The Problem with Warm & Sunny Days.
2009: (reCOOPerating, HA HA!)
2008: Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.
2007: No entry.
2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too.
2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently.
2004: A day in the life.
2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.