Sights from around Crooked Acres.
I was sitting at my desk the other day, and something flying through the yard caught my eye. I looked up and found that it wasn’t actually a bird. It was a bat. In the middle of the day. It landed on the pecan tree in the side yard and huddled there. I snapped a few pictures, but actually had to go outside to get a decent shot.
When he looked at me, I decided to stop snapping pictures and get my butt back inside. Then I called all the cats in and shut the door.
I did some looking around on Google and found that bats in daytime aren’t necessarily dangerous, but if they “look” ill or are foaming at the mouth, to… I don’t remember what it said. Call someone, maybe? Stay away from it? I don’t know if this one was ill (Google says only 2% of bats have rabies, FYI), but it swooped back and forth over my car for a few minutes, and then disappeared. I thought maybe it was a young bat who was lost, but who knows?
PS: I think bats are adorable, but I wouldn’t try to pet one or anything. Maybe a tiny kiss between the ears, but that’s IT. Stop trying to charm me with your cute fuzzy looks, bats.
Toasty the rooster, keeping an eye on his wimminfolk.
“WHERE OUR COOKIES?”
Fred finally got tired of the ducks standing in, and gunking up, the water dishes that are meant for the chickens to drink out of, so he put chicken wire across the top of the dishes. The chicken water stays clean (they have no problems getting to it), the ducks can’t stand in the water, and they’re spending more time on the pond. I call that a success!
I think this is a dragonfly. It’s shaped right, anyway.
It’s certainly a pretty color.
Chicken butt.
The young chickens like to nest in the dead grass by the pig fence. I’m making this one nervous by looking at her.
I love her pretty markings.
Someone’s enjoying her rawhide bone an awful lot.
::thlurrp::
Happy pups.
The Muscadines are super-duper happy right now.
The jalapenos, too.
One of the pumpkins that was growing in the wild area of the garden – once Fred harvested the corn, we let this section of the garden get pretty wild. Several pumpkins and watermelon grew, and this past weekend Fred picked them and then tilled the garden. Not much growing in the garden right now except for tomatoes, okra, peppers, and…. I think that’s it, actually.
We’ve pretty much hit the part of summer where we’re tired of this whole garden thing. Happens every year – in February we cannot WAIT ’til it’s time to plant, in May we cannot WAIT until we can harvest veggies, and in mid-August we cannot WAIT to be done with this garden nonsense.
These are Hickory Tussock Caterpillars (or Lophocampa caryae, if you prefer their fancypants name). They aren’t poisonous, but if you touch them, they’ll cause a rash. Not that I know this from personal experience, you understand.
There were a lot of them.
I should have called this the creepy-crawly episode of Crooked Acres Thursday!
It totally looks like that giant Croc slipper/ bed is a boat, Polly’s the captain, and Percy’s the deckhand. Cap’n Polly at the helm! Anchors aweigh, y’all!
Tony Rocky Horror Pickle thinks that this here is a pretty neat little basket. He approves of the fact that I spent $1 on it at Target.
“Hey! That MY basket! You give it back!”
“You stepped out. It’s MINE now.”
“I’m gonna tell on you!”
“YOU STEPPED AWAY FROM THE BASKET. What are you going to do, CRY about it?”
“POLLY, HE IN MY BASKET.”
“Give him his basket back, Percy. It’s his.”
“NO. He left the basket, by the rules of the universe it’s MINE.”
“You get out of that basket OR ELSE.”
“Am I going to have to smack you? You KNOW I’m the Princess Sheriff of this room! What I say goes, and if you think I won’t arrest you for being mouthy to the law and usurping Picklepants’s basket, YOU KNOW NOTHING.”
“He’s just a big baby. I don’t know why I can’t use the basket, too. ::pout::”
(Please note the way Tony Rocky Horror Pickle is paying close attention to this conversation with his front paws braced on the edge of the Croc boatshoe. Cracks me UP.)
“Is MY basket. So there.”
Tony Rocky Horror Pickle began training.
He trained diligently.
He trained and trained and trained some more.
Once he figured out exactly what it felt like to BE in a box, the real training was going to start. And Tony Rocky Horror Pickle was going to be the BEST mime the world had ever seen!
The Weeds are doing well. Dandelion is a bit leery of me because I’m sure she feels like every time she sees me, I’m putting stuff in her eyes or her ears or trying to clean the food off her face. On the other hand, it’s even worse for Thistle, and she still runs right over to climb in my lap.
“This my slappin’ paw.”
“I likes to keep it clean.”
Dandelion’s favorite place to sleep. Usually when I walk in, she’s curled up with one of the other girls.
Fight! Fight!
They sure are fierce little things.
She has a box.
Ugh, those ears are a mess. (Picture taken before I cleaned them.)
Dandelion picking a fight with Purslane, who’s all “What the-?”
I love the white scattered among Thistle’s black fur.
Crooked Acres Cover Girls week continues!
Sheriff Mama is such a pretty girl.
But she has NO use for those ridiculous boys.
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Previously
2011: “Wush up, guysh?”
2010: I guess that toy knows who the boss is now!
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.