• Mood: bitter

Eggs In My Pocket Like Grains of Sand

Egg production is definitely down. But as I'm no longer wearing heavy padded flannel shirts with capacious pockets, this is a good thing, maybe. Six eggs in my sweat pant pockets and I start looking weird and they start falling off. I suspect one of the girls is laying eggs under a tree because she's too lazy to go back to the coop. And they wonder why I don't let them out as early.

Meanwhile, the killing machine was toying with a baby chippy, something I don't approve of. It was darting up a tree and she was knocking it down. Nearby in the grass was a bird carcass. Oh joy. I walked away from the carnage. Just couldn't face it on such a beautiful morning.

Yet another 'missing' iris has shown up. yippee. This one is pale cream on top and light purple below. Very different.

Looks like I could be attending Bittercon this weekend, though the banner needs an update. Wish I was going to be at Wiscon. I might not even be at Balticon, which is supposed to be the reason I'm not at Wiscon. Balticon was supposed to be a family affair, but that's not going to happen. E and I might go for the dealer's room on Saturday but the jury's still out on that. Something about needing to make a trip to the landfill.