I'm Not Happy About It

Like the Good Steward I am supposed to be, I switched the bulbs in my house over from incandescent to CFL.  I have been disappointed on several counts over the last two years.  One being that they do not last the reputed "years".  And when they go, watch out.  A distinct electrical burnt smell fills the air.  Perhaps even some smoke, like I have experienced.  And then the blackening of the plastic at the top of the ballast as the plastic burns.  Yummy.  Normally this would be a cause for concern for me.  Not to mention that when the bulb in my kitchen went this morning it tripped a circuit breaker, which it is not supposed to do.

But, no, my fellow citizen, I am not to be disturbed by these things.  According to the National Geographic Green Guide: "Bulbs burn out when the ballast overheats and an electronic component, the Voltage Dependent Resistor (VDR), opens up like a fuse in your home's fuse box, shutting off the circuit and generating heat and possibly a small amount of smoke. This might sound dangerous, but the VDR is a cut-off switch that prevents any hazards. The melted plastic you're seeing where the glass coil connects to the ballast is simply a sign that the heat is escaping as intended in the design of the bulb."


Yeah.  I feel so much better.  Burning plastic, circuit breakers tripping, mercury hazards--all normal!
I'm glad I had someone to straighten me out on that!

Stormtrooper: Let me see your identification.
Obi-Wan: [with a small wave of his hand] You don't need to see his identification.
Stormtrooper: We don't need to see his identification.
Obi-Wan: These aren't the droids you're looking for.
Stormtrooper: These aren't the droids we're looking for.
Obi-Wan: He can go about his business.
Stormtrooper: You can go about your business.
Obi-Wan: Move along.
Stormtrooper: Move along... move along.

If There Is A Monster Under My Bed, I'm Eating It

 The chickens have a light on in their coop at night  It keeps their water from freezing and it tricks them into laying eggs without enough hours of sunlight.  The goats, living in the other half of the hen house, were used to the light, I reasoned, so when I moved them I rigged up an old brooder light to shine in their new quarters.

 When I went out after that first night the light bulb was off, and it seems that it had burned out.  Untroubled, I put in a new bulb and hooked it up again for tonight.  I went out after dark to put away the poultry and found the whole thing on the ground.  I hooked it up in a different spot and thought no more of it until I looked out about 10 PM and saw no sign of a light anywhere. 

I'm beginning to think that the goats don't want a night light. 



The pictured Goat Night Light is available for sale at http://www.etsy.com/listing/36879631/goat-night-light

Childhood Love

In case you haven't noticed, I love Beatrix Potter.  I bought a compilation of her favorite stories for the children when they were little, and when we cleaned out Craig's room recently he opted to discard it.  I said, "But don't you love Beatrix Potter?!"  He looked me square in the eye and said, "No, that's you."  Well, I was shocked!  But I took the book and it is now in my bookcase along with my treasured copy of "Pride and Prejudice" and dog-eared "Hobby Farm Home" and "Mother Earth" magazines. 

When I was a child our pediatrician had Beatrix Potter wallpaper.  It was the only comforting thing about a doctor visit, but I felt reassured by the presence of Jemima Puddle-duck, Peter Rabbit, Tom Kitten and Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. To this day, the simple sight of them makes me relax and smile. 

Tea and Sympathy

Goats and Chickens have some sort of symbiotic relationship. I do not understand it, but I know it exists because the chickens are unable to lay their eggs in their own house, in their own little handmade nests.  No, they must follow the goats wherever they go, making little nests in the back corners of their goat house and laying their eggs there.  They have complete trust that the goats will not break their eggs.  And that trust has never been broken. 

Mrs. Duck is jealous of this Goat/Chicken relationship and she follows the goats around hoping to develop a similar bond.  But no such luck for Mrs. Duck.  *hee hee*    I think she knows it, too, because she won't lay her eggs in the goat house.  She knows deep in her heart that they would break her egg.

I think Nutmeg would use it in a cake.  Echo would say, "No, thank you.  Just tea for me."  Echo is thoughtful that way.  But Nutmeg would eat the duck egg cake all by herself and lick her hooves.  I just know it.  And so does Mrs. Duck.   

Time To Break Out The Blankets

Today was moving day for the goats.  I moved them to under the stairs, making sure they had a nice bed of wood chips and straw, a hint of feed in the bottom of a pail so they knew it was home, a bucket of water and the hay hanger.  They seemed happy enough with it, and I was glad to get it over with. 

I then cleaned out their old quarters with a rake and a shovel.  Fragrant, beautiful straw and manure were shoveled into the wheelbarrow.  Two loads full.  I moved Compost Pile (version 3) to a far corner of the fenced area, mixing the two goat manure barrows with the chicken manure/wood shavings from the previous pile.  I've moved that compost pile three times now.  I don't think anyone else has this problem.  Anyway, it was wonderful to see the decomposition going on, and here's hoping this additional material will start it cooking.  Oops, forgot!  There's rabbit manure in there as well, and some waiting in the poop corner of the rabbit pen to join the whole glorious mess! 

I spread some new wood shavings in the chicken house and made them some little straw nests in the corner so they won't be upset when they realize that they can't go in the other side (again!) to lay their eggs.  I'm hoping they will see the little nests and just settle down and get to work.  They had just all started laying again--I got five eggs this morning, six if you count Mrs. Duck.  I know someone had snuck in the new goats quarters and laid an egg in the corner.  I hate when they do that, because I don't know when they did it.  It's an untrustworthy egg. 

I took half the straw bale and shared it with the rabbits.  A nice loose bed under their hutch, in the hutch, beside the old brooder box for the chickens, on top of the back door to their burrow.  They were in hog heaven!  I caught Mrs. Bunny, thinking she was Mr. Bunny, and noticed she had been fur pulling again....No wonder she weaned those little fluff balls and trotted them out into the world!  She's preggers again!  Mr. Bunny gets a bachelor pad this week.  Mrs. Bunny needs a break.  Seriously.  New lesson learned.  Boy, my lesson book is getting full! 

So, all the animals have new, clean blankets to snuggle down with as the temperatures drop.  I feel like I did my job well today.  Let's hope that carries into tomorrow. 

Official Notice

It's Official.  Despite countless recounts and long minutes standing outside the pen looking in, we are down to four baby bunnies.  I do not think they escaped and were eaten.  We even had one escape after all the new poultry netting was up, but he stayed around the area and was just trying to find his way back in.  We blocked up the space under the gate that I had overlooked with a big paving stone and no escapes since.  So, I do not believe the loss is due to escape but the harsh reality that they were in the weaning stage and some could not manage it. 

I'm not sure if I'm in denial about this.  I would actually rather believe that they had escaped and were eaten than think of two dead bunnies somewhere in the depths of the warren.  Whatever the case, I think that  the little bunnies will be put in the hutch in a few days when I am certain that they are capable of being on their own.  They will stay there for a month or so and then get harvested.  It's the best compromise that I can come up with between Ronny's desire for the rabbits to live naturally and my desire for an independent meat supply.  *sigh* 

On the Subject of Goat Hooves

Since first getting my goats I have struggled a bit with the hoof trimming.  Nutmeg's hooves were not in bad shape, but Echo's were just like little elf shoes, turned up at the end, grown over completely on one side so that her entire sole was covered.  Looking on the Internet for advice, many people offered the opinion that pruning shears or something similar are useful for trimming hooves.  After a continuing struggle with Echo's hooves, I got the brilliant idea to invest in an actual real pair of hoof rot shears that you buy at a farm supply store.  I know!  Who'd a thunk it? 

An Internet search yielded the following information:  Tractor Supply, formerly my favorite store in the whole world, was charging too much for their shears.  Burgon and Ball had an affordable pair, but if I ordered online the shipping and handling would bring it up to the TSC price.  I made a few calls and the reliable folks at Coleman Farm Supply in Appomattox had a very affordable pair.  This was convenient since I also needed goat feed. 

Upon my return with the aforementioned items, I trotted on out and bribed the goats with some sweet feed while I trimmed hooves.  I tell you now, anyone who says anything other than REAL hoof shears are useful or acceptable is LYING!  In 15 minutes I had done both girls, they were none the worse for the episode, and I was a happy goat keeper! 

So, save your sanity, folks!  They are only about 14 bucks, but they make the whole thing a piece of cake!  Lesson learned here. 

chart:  courtesy of  http://home.vicnet.net.au/~goats/dgsavictoria/hoof_trimming.htm

Form and Function

I am an old-fashioned sort of person.  I do things in an old-fashioned way.  Thus, when pressed by necessity into using Rapid Rise yeast last week, I was offended and stressed by both the process and the result, which while clearly an edible bread was not the quality I am used to. Yes, I am a bread snob. 

I was offended by only one rising, which was done in the pans.  I was shocked by no punching, no rolling of the dough to get out air bubbles and frustrations.  It was all convenience and no art. 

Although I make bread in the traditional manner, I stand by my um, stance, and defend it by saying that food is visual as well as nutritional.  There should be beauty to the eye as well as the tongue.  A soft texture, a nice crumb, a sublime aroma and taste.  And, of course,  the delicacy of the bread swirl. 

Mess-giving Day

Since, as Jehovah's Witnesses, we do not celebrate national or religious holidays, today is Mess-giving Day.  This means that I look around the yard at all the various messes waiting to be dealt with, give them a good talking to and take them to the dump or wherever else they may belong.  It includes all the junk left over from the Great Back Stairs ReCreation,

 (any questions on the Advisability of Goats Living Under Your Back Stairs will be passed on to the Head of the Household who holds the credit for the genius of this idea)

the Truck Repair That Was Never Cleaned Up,
and the Goat Induced Episode of the Compost Pile That Was Destroyed and Scattered.  (No photographic evidence of this is included due to the possibility of some being shocked and offended by the nature of the compost.)

Balance in required in the cleaning of these areas today as Rome was neither built nor destroyed in a day, and we have the Circuit Overseer tonight.  That's a whole nother mess-giving list, but we're working on it every day, folks. 

Bunny Escape Plan Thwarted

Yesterday, after Craig and I returned home from the Ministry, we were the unfortunate witnesses to several repeated escapes by various devious little balls of fluff.  Apparently, they had all read Peter Rabbit and were following suit.  This necessitated a visit to Lowe's for 75 feet of 1 inch poultry fencing.  This is serious stuff, people.  Thick wire, small holes, 2 feet high running the perimeter of the rabbit pen. Two hours and many finger gouges later, the pen was secure.  While this was not how I had anticipated spending the remainder of my afternoon, it is one of the responsibilities of ownership, so I put on my big girl panties and did it.  And I didn't complain once.  I complained three times, but I was much better after I made dinner and slurped down a big heap of Teriyaki noodles and green beans.  And a little bit of ice cream.  A girl has to keep her strength up, you know.

He Doesn't Have a Blue Jacket, But.....

The very bravest of Mr. and Mrs. Bunny's kits has taken as his role model the infamous Peter Rabbit.  He is the most daring, adventuresome ball of white fluff I have ever seen:  climbing up on large logs, leaping out into the air from his lofty perch, running off all by himself into the far corners of the pen, squeezing himself through the squares of the fence and then, giddy with the intoxication of such freedom,  brazenly hopping up to where I am working on the deck and saying, "What's up?" 

Mind you, I have no lettuces, French beans, radishes, parsley or cucumbers.  But my future dinner is running around unprotected and this cannot be allowed!  I immediately became Farmer McGregor and gave chase!  Unlike Peter, who could not find his way back out of the garden to save his life, this little bunny knew exactly where he had come out, returned to the scene of the crime and squeezed his little self right back through, across the pen, down the hole and then back up again to taunt me with his little rabbit raspberry:  "Thphthph!"  


Hmmm, anyone have a recipe for Rabbit Pie?  

Let's Practice Counting!

All right, boys and girls!  We have a bunch of rabbits in this pen over here.  Yes, there are a mommy and a daddy rabbit, Bobby.  What, Susan?  Well, the Mommy rabbit is very shy, but the Daddy rabbit is brave and proud.  See him sitting there like a king?  Good looking, Jane.  They do have babies!  Can anyone tell me how many babies they have?  I see two, no, wait, five....oops, there seems to be one over there...I'm confused now.  1,2,3,4, oh darn!  They're all running down that hole!  How many babies did you count, children?  Six?  Do I think there are more down in that hole, Bobby?  I'm not sure.  I'm just not sure. 

Image:  Ervinpospisil at wikimedia

Surprise!

Way back on September 29th of this momentous year, I left for your reading pleasure a post called "What does it Mean Mrs. Bunny?".  You may recall my excitement over witnessing the Marital Act between Mr. and Mrs. Bunny, then my subsequent jubilation over the fur pulling that Mrs. Bunny was engaging in.  Such hopeful signs!  Such an abundance of Nothing Happening After That!  Is this how men feel when they wait for their wife to find out if she is pregnant or not?  If so, I do not envy them. 

Tonight, just about dusk, I looked out the back windows that overlook My Domain and what do you think I saw? 

Visual Observation Confirms the Existence of Two Baby Bunnies!  There may be more, hiding in the burrow--that darned fascinating natural Bunny life burrow!  From my studies, I believe the bunnies may be approximately 4 weeks old.  They are still nursing, as evidenced by some quick snacks while Mrs. Bunny was enjoying some carrots.  I'll have to start putting out some greens for the little ones to try. 

Now we enter in the next unknown phase of our Meat Rabbit Project.  I must not become emotionally attached to future dinners.  They may not be given cutsie poo names.  They may not be brought surreptitiously into the house in pockets and played with on the carpet.  Their names must be purely utilitarian:  Lunch.  Dinner.  Roast.  Stew.  We must focus on the goal:  Being independent in our meat supply. 

Focus.  Focus.  Okay. 

Essential Information

I have been researching the breeding process of goats in anticipation of such an event, and being slightly out of my element, I went right to The Source of Goat Information, Mrs. G from Providence Farm and asked some pertinent questions:

Hi, Mrs. G.  I've been reading (a dangerous occupation) and although it seems that my goats would be capable of year round breeding, it would be better to breed them now and have kids in the Spring, don't you think?  So, what would be involved in getting them bred?  I've read "three pokes" is best, and this might take time or not, I'm not an expert in the sexual habits of buck, you know.  Anyway, the point being, is this something that we could try to schedule with one of your bucks?  Is there a stud fee?  Add in any other questions I should be asking here.  I look forward to your patient reply.  

Checking my email repeatedly, I was excited to see a reply:

Of course there's no stud fee.  They are possibly bred, but I don't know.  I used to always breed March 22 to have fall babies.  But this year I just had one freshen last week and who knows when/if the others will.  So if you'd like to borrow a buck, I have Don Juan who's completely unrelated- wait, there's a speck of relation through his mom and their grandfather, but very far.  And Bambi, who's their half brother, but with good breeding-he's orangish and white and Don in black and white.  I can't think of any other questions because I seem to remember that nature does her own thing and we don't have to manage it too much.  Bucks stink, so if you want one delivered, I can try to bring him in the truck while Danny's home.  We can plan to leave him most of a month, if you'd like, to be as sure as humanly possible that the deed is done.  Or you could wait a few months and see if they have kids in there already.  But I don't mind (and there's no harm in) lending one for a while just to be sure.

This would end the matter for most people, but I am unable to let a matter rest while there are still vital facts unknown.

I'll have to consult hubby on the buck.  The best thing to hope for is that they are already bred!  He's so resistant to new things!  You should have seen his face when I told him the French Toast he was eating was from homemade bread and one of Mrs. Ducks Eggs!  You would have though it was poison!  Baby steps, Baby steps...
How could I tell if they are already "knocked up"?  Is there something to look for?

And this is why Mrs. G is my Goat Hero: 

Laura, I always look for hooves coming out the back of the goat- that seems to be a sure bet that she was expecting.  Seriously, they should start making udders and getting an unmistakable tummy at least by 4 1/2 months.  Go with the udder as the proof though, because a tummy can lie.  Hopefully they're a few months already and you'll know soon.  Just let me know whenever you need a buck.  

I now am equipped with all The Essential Information Regarding Goat Breeding and Pregnancy.  My Gratitude and My Laughter Salute you, Mrs. G. 

Craig Sighting

The Craig is a normally reclusive creature, preferring to stay in his den with his video games, electric guitars, and a DVR full of "How It's Made".  Today we were privy to a rare woodland sighting of The Craig! 

 Notice the stillness of The Craig's movements.  He draws no attention from would-be predators.

 Using his natural camouflage abilities, he is virtually invisible. 

 Something has spooked our wary recluse!  His forward motions might actually be called "Running"! 

It appears he is heading back to his den.  Not one to let the sun shine too long upon him, he goes back to the dark comfort of his home. 

A momentous day for serious students of  The Craig !  These few existing photos will be studied by eminent scientists in the field, yielding the next generation of understanding of these mysterious creatures! 

Genius Is Messy

 Yes, it starts out simple.  Beautiful.  3 cups of grated carrots.

Some whole wheat flour.  Some spices.  Some sugar.  Some more sugar.  Oil.  4 Eggs.  SaltBakingsodaBakingPowderWalnutsRaisins!

 

Help!

 Ah, much better!  All ingredients combined in a beautiful batter. 

Now I just have to clean up....: (

Psychological Issues

After I shut the little chicken door for the night, escorted Mrs. Duck to her abode and fed and watered the Bun-Bun's I spent some time scratching Echo and Nutmeg's heads.  Right there, between the horn buds.  A little here, under the chin.  *burp* (that was Echo, not me)  She has the sweetest smelling burps.  I bend down for some face to face contact, where we read each others hearts.  Deep breath.  Goats smell so good. 

I think, yes, it's just possible, that I might have a problem. 

This Is Why I Love The Country

"911.  What is your emergency?"
"I have a cow in the road here in front of 925 Crews Shop Road."
"Is it a black cow?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Yeah, I've contacted the owner, Mr. Gilliam, and he's on his way."
"Oh, Okay.  Thank you."



Image:  http://www.pickmydecor.com/images/BLACK_ANGUS-2.PNG

Slightly Less Than Expected

Remember how I was secretly laying in wait to see Echo try to go in the chicken door that has now been reduced in size by over half?  Well, this morning, I was presented with a fabulous sight!

She was a persistent little cuss but she eventually gave up, sat down and drew up a list:
"I am a goat.  
Goats get into stuff they are not supposed to. 
I can't get through the weak spot in the fence anymore. 
I can't get into the chicken house.  
I can't get into the rabbits pen.  
But I'm a Goat and I will not be deterred!" 

(I know this because I found her diary under her bed.) 

Within 4 minutes she had found a new mission in life: 

                           "I Will Get Into The Big House or My Name is Not Echo!"

Overnight Guests

My Daughter and Her Husband spent Saturday Afternoon through Sunday Afternoon with us on their way to Hampton on business.  As usual, we did many exciting things such as eating brownies, making meatloaf, shooting at the old satellite dish on the roof of the house with an air rifle in our pajamas, and watching the barnyard antics through the Dining Room window. 

We accompanied them to Appomattox on their departure and spent a last hour together in the hallowed aisles of The Appomattox Walmart.  Ronny bought a belt.  I bought Rapid Rise Yeast.  Joey bought cough medicine and got carded.  Allison was insulted because she wasn't carded when she bought cough medicine and this launched a sorrowful wailing about how 'she was getting old' that was only ended when Joey, the most patient man in the universe, assured her that it was only that her cough medicine was not the meth-making kind.  Her confidence momentarily restored, we said our good byes in the parking lot and went our separate ways. 

When I came home I realized that the elves had been at work while I had been at the Kingdom Hall that morning, because I found this:

 The shoes that I had washed and put out on the deck to dry were carefully lined up by the front door, and the leaves had been swept away.  When speaking to Allison later I thanked her for her kindness and was happily surprised to hear that Joey had done the deck while Allison washed the breakfast dishes.  I love company that cleans up after me! 

Maybe they'll stop by again on their way back to Bluefield.....I have more chores that need doing.....

It's Gone

As I was laying on the couch contemplating the inside of my eyelids, I composed a wonderful blog post.  It was delicate and graceful and floated on invisible wings.  I had it in my head after I woke up.  When I  watered and fed everybody this evening.  But when I sat down to put it to "paper".....It was gone.  If it comes back again I will write it down.  Otherwise it will have joined the bottom of the "pocketbook of my mind" where the lost Tic Tacs, bits of crumpled paper and stray musings intermingle with cookie crumbs and candy wrappers.  *Sigh*  :(

And I'm Still Smarter than a Goat!

High on the elation of having outwitted Nutmeg in the matter of the weak spot in the fencing, I have attempted to outwit my little sneak, Echo.  She is wont to squeeze into the little chicken door in the hen house (15 inches x 14 inches) , eating their food and spilling their water.  To thwart all such efforts I nailed a 2x4 vertically directly through the middle of the doorway.

 Each side is just the right size for a chicken to exit or enter. 

 The Black Hen, who is my most faithful egg layer, heartily approves. (Although she wonders why I am sticking my head in through her little door.  Everyone else seems unconcerned.  I believe they are used to my strange behavior.)

I secretly hope to see Echo try and squeeze through that little doorway just so I can do my "I'm  Still Smarter Than A Goat!" Dance on the back porch. 

Night Owls

I've got a pair of giddy goats who are definitely night owls.  If you step out into the darkness that lies behind the back door you can hear them galloping and skipping and cavorting  away through the night. 

They pay for their antics the next day, however, when it is all they can do to find a sunny spot and curl up for a snooze.  It's a rough job, but somebody has to do it. 

It's a Case of The Megrims

About 11ish this morning, while out in the ministry, Craig was carsick and I was beginning to sense the beginning of a Migraine.  I came home, made everyone lunch, popped a couple of Acetaminophen in lieu of the preferable but unavailable Excedrin, and took a nap.  A rather long nap.  Happily, when I awoke the plague of the migraine had passed, and only a question remained.  I found a nice explanation in the pages of The Jewish World Review: 

"Dear Editor:
I suffer from migraine headaches. Can you tell me why they are called by that name?
L.P., Fayetteville, Ark.
Dear L.P.
The "migraine" story starts with the Greek noun "kranion," meaning "skull," which gave rise straightforwardly, via Latin transmission, to our English word "cranium." "Kranion" also entered English in phonetic disguise by a more roundabout route. Using the prefix "hemi-," meaning "half," (familiar to us from such borrowings as "hemisphere"), Greek formed "hemikrania" to denote a pain on one side of the head, and this entered Late Latin as "hemicrania." Old French dropped the "he-" and took up the word as "migraigne" or "migraine," using it sometimes in the original "headache" sense and sometimes in an extended sense of "spite" or "foul mood." English borrowed the word (in a variety of spellings) around 1400.
In modern English, "migraine" is still used, mostly literally, for a severe, often unilateral (one-sided) headache. An old variant spelling, "megrim" (pronounced "mee-grum"), has become established as a distinct word, occurring both as an uncommon synonym of "migraine" and, in its plural form "megrims," as an old-fashioned word for "low spirits." "Megrims" is not a word you'll often see, but our files do contain a recent magazine article in which a country kitchen's larder is said to include "jars full of fruits, pickles, jams, and jellies to stave off the megrims of those twenty-below-zero nights." "

I think from now on I shall not be content to suffer from migraines, but instead, be tortured with the far more romantic megrims.  

Image:  http://www.perret-optic.ch/optometrie/symptomes_diagnostiques/symptomes/symptomes_image/opto_migraine_ophtalmic.gif

Hay, Quit Hanging Around

After two weeks of puzzling and experimenting and researching the most effective, least wasteful way to dispense hay to goats, I believe I have discovered a solution.  Using a small roll of leftover fencing and some chicken wire,  I created a hanging hay feeder for the goats.  It fits right in the corner of their communal dwelling and the spaces in the fencing are the perfect size for nibbling, but not so big that hay gets pulled out and wasted.  I'm a genius.  Or a good copy cat.  One or the other. 

Neat Optical Illusion

Please note Nutmeg's leg in the right of the picture.  You would swear that you are seeing her whole leg, but you aren't because the wood in in front of her leg.  Her leg just happens to be positioned behind the very spot where the wood in discolored in a shade and shape which exactly matches her leg! 

An Extra Hour of Sleep is Hazardous to Your Health

Having gone to bed at 11:30 PM Saturday night, getting a magical extra hour of sleep from the Sleep Fairy, and then getting up at 8 AM on Sunday, I can safely say that we were well rested when we arose.  Apparently too well rested.  For while I was making French Toast (using homemade bread and Mrs. Duck's Fabulous Eggs) Ronny decided it was time to move the floor platform leftover from a collapsed shed into the Livestock Area.  This floor platform weighs an astonishing amount.  So when I peeked out the front door to call him in for breakfast, saw that he had it propped up onto the open tailgate of the Truck and was lifting it in, I called out "You're a Crazy Person" in a loving and supportive tone and shut the door.  He read this properly to mean that his breakfast was ready and, after driving the Monstrosity of Lumber around the house and to the desired area, he came in.  He ate, he went back out and took down a section of fencing to allow him to backup into Mrs. Duck's Backyard.  He dumped the floor, which will become the floor of Mrs. Duck's New House.  (Her old house started listing to one side, and this was not improved by the Goat Dances which Nutmeg holds on the roof.) 

Now, I had come out to "assist" him in this process, which ended up meaning that as he ran off to work I was left with refastening the fencing that he had taken down.  It is 8:45 Sunday morning.  I am in my jammies and muck boots.  The animals are all loose, having taken advantage of a downed fence to prance off into the front yard.  I am trying to hammer.  Echo and Nutmeg, having determined the exact metallic composition of the hammer and that this meets their daily mineral requirement, are licking the head of the hammer as I am trying to nail.  I have goats between my knees and chickens under my feet.  I have not eaten.  I have not bathed.  I have to leave my house in an hour.  I am bleeding from a minor fencing injury onto the fallen leaves. 

I have obviously gone over the edge from stress because at this moment I look at the dark drops of blood on the brown leaves that litter the forest floor and I say to myself:  "I should get the camera and take a picture of that for my blog." 

Thankfully, I was now done with the fence and I gathered all the animals calmly and serenely, not like a crazy woman running through her yard in her pajamas and muck boots waving her arms wildly and shouting "Everybody in!  Everybody in!"  Not me.  I went inside, made toast and tea, convinced Craig that actual clothing was required at the Kingdom Hall today as well as all other days, dressed and got to the Hall before the Song and Prayer. 

How was your morning? 

Something in Common

Faithful Readers may recall my fondness for Feed Bags.  Apparently I am not the only one. 

Fine Weather for a Cuppa

This morning when I woke and went to release all the animal inhabitants of Good Enough Farm from their overnight captivity I was met with joy from Mrs. Duck who ran about in the rain and flapped her wings in a joyous exhibition of Duck-ness.  The Chickens were slightly less joyous in their experience of the weather, but did hop out and examine the neighboring area for worms and other juicy bits.  The Goats, however, decided they would rather stay at home with a warm fire and a cuppa. 

But since they don't have a fire nor a parlor, they went next door to visit with Mr.  Tumnus.  If I could fit in his door I think I might pop in myself! 










Image:  Lucy and Mr. Tumnus by Molly Gibson