One of the girls continues to escape and act gratified when a chicken god appears to throw her back in. Which means she's been out for a while. There are a few rips in the temporary fence, but most are too small, one would think. We were also back to 12 eggs yesterday. And I successfully installed the replacement DVR all by myself, though the engineer was back in the house had I suddenly blown a fuse or something.
J went home over the weekend to lay his uncle to rest. I remember him as a big man, all mustachioed. He was a harbor pilot and had served in the Merchant Marine in WWII, on the supply run to the Soviet Union through the dangerous Baltic. He was apparently known as 'Last Minute Larson' for his habit as a captain of stepping onto the tug at the very last minute, just as it was about to cast off. His former apprentice said that you could feel his step on the boat, set your watch by it. It was a deliberately built mystique. He apparently read a paper and drank a cup of coffee nearby and then adjusted his stride for the time so that he stepped on the boat as it was scheduled to shove off. Someday I'll build that into a spacefaring captain's character in his honor. RIP Uncle Bob.