Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond (birdhousefrog) wrote,
Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond

We Now Return You....

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming and page layout.

Chickens do not understand time changes. As far as they were concerned, I was late this morning. Damned late. Complaining late. Where's the damned feed late. 7 eggs late. The sun's been up for an hour late. Peck at my shoes late. sigh. Everyone makes demands on me. Oh what a life, I say, throwing the back of my hand against my brow, the picture of quiet desperation.

Not really. It's a spectacular day. Going to be warm for Halloween and clear. Which means Mulan might not have to wear a coat to go out and score lots of candy. We have our neighborhood of townhouses pre-selected from last year's outing. Nothing to score around here in a bunch of 10 acre properties and no young kids.

Oh and on the subject of chickens of limited intelligence, we would have had an even dozen eggs the past 3 days if SOMEONE didn't keep laying an egg from the roost. Which means we're laying eggs in our sleep. Oops. Did I do that? Must have been some other chicken. And once they drop 5 feet into a pile of poopy pine shavings, they tend to break. Not that we're short on eggs. I'm still eating September eggs. But the October eggs are all sold and E is flush with cash in her flashy, bejewelled purse. It's just annoying to have one empty spot in the box.

Hmmm. Glad E is still young enough that she doesn't have ideas of what to do with September's eggs and Halloween night and houses that are dark and don't give out good candy. Just have to keep clever adults from putting ideas in her head, including myself. But I did think we might do an egg toss in the back yard with some of the spares, just for giggles and to see how far J and I can get back from each other. These girls lay eggs with good, thick shells.

I sent J under the deck to search for a skunk yesterday. ("Go look for a skunk," says I.) There is no sign of a skunk, no sign of any digging where the deck comes to the ground up near the house. So he filled up the mysterious hole with pine needles. 24 hours later, the pine needles are still in place. The skunky scent has dissipated quite a bit in a week, so we're hopeful it has moved on and decided there is too much commotion and not enough food.

J and E went up on the roof to clean the gutters. E was singing and doing some fancy moves up there. Gymnastics has made quite a difference in her confidence and strength. I didn't think my ankle was up to being twisted about so I stayed on the ground, wistful. Sitting and looking around is the best part of going up there, such a different perspective.

And if yesterday weren't bad enough, I'm watching Mrs. G ridge-run the roof right now, rubbing it in. She's patrolling the gutters. For what? Sometimes I think she just patrols the roof because she can. She's the only one who can jump that high from a sitting position. We had another cat that did this. It's a bit weird to hear your cat running on the roof at night. She's more light-footed than he was, but you get these disembodied meows like she's in trouble and then she just cheshire cats herself over the edge at you. Upside down. Disconcerting, to say the least.

Frog Out
Tags: farm

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