Sights from around Crooked Acres.
That’s right, y’all. Delores is back! She disappeared for a couple of weeks, and then reappeared looking like she’d been belly-up to the fly bar (I swear she’s twice as big as she was), and then it rained and she was all “Forget this!” and left again. I’ve checked every day, but she hasn’t come back yet. Come back, Delores! (Delores is an Orb Weaver.)
Some butterfly-moth type creature who stopped on the outside of the window, looked me over, and found me wanting.
First red leaf of the late Summer/ Fall!
Toasty keepin’ an eye on you.
Crested Polish hen. I’m calling her Cruella De Vil these days.
The pigs sure do like their daily cookies. Check out the drool on pink pig’s face.
I’m starting to think there’s just the one Damselfly out by the pond and s/he’s always there.
These pigs are getting huuuuuuge.
Gracie’s worried that I’m planning to take her rawhide bone away (I never have, but it doesn’t stop her from worrying!)
The Rock Star retires early. Usually when we go out to feed the catfish around 6, she’s all tucked up in the coop waiting for nighttime to come. Then she’s gotta jump down off her roost to come get the scratch I toss out for the chickens.
We have such pretty roosters.
Part of the flock, partaking in scratch.
When we find an egg with a crack in it, we toss it to the pigs or the chickens (yes, chickens will eat eggs). They fight over the shell, and invariably one of them grabs a big ol’ piece of shell and runs off with it, like this one did.
She ran for the coop, intending to run under it and savor her piece of egg shell. But unbeknownst to her, one of her sisters was hopping down out of the coop…
Even after her sister landed on her, she never dropped that egg shell, and after a dirty look and a shake of her feathers, off she went under the coop.
Meredith Grey (in the front), disapproves of such shenanigans, as do her judgey cohorts.
Seeing her sisters get into a tussle, Purslane ran for the safety of her Croc bed.
Dandelion was all “You get back here and let me bite your butt!”
And Thistle was all “No way!”, and just kept running.
Purslane wandered over to the little plastic basket and sat in it, just because she could. It was a bit of a tight fit, though.
“I guess I’ve grown up too much for my awesome purple basket!”
“Stop sniffing my head, or I’ll bite you!”
Dandelion leaps for higher ground.
She tried biting Purslane, but Purslane wasn’t having it.
Today’s nickname: Mister Magoo.
Petey Pickle has pretty peepers.
Pretty Polly in the sun.
“Mr. String, you come here and let me bite you!”
I love that they still use those stairs to get on and off the bed, even though they could easily jump onto the bed from the floor.
Percy, on the top platform of the cat tree.
Oh, how Mister Magoo loves his red string.
Sweet Joe.
Polly loves the boa on her Winnie’s Wish kicker.
Keepin’ it clean.
Joe Bob on the stump in the back yard. They love hanging out on that thing.
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Previously
2011: They were all just like ::shrug:: “yeah, it’s Buster. So?”
2010: God, Corby. I wish you’d learn to relax a little. You’re stressing me out!
2009: I told Fred the other night that if we were going to keep Sam (which we’re not), I’d have to rename him Tigger, because he bounces! all! over! the! place!
2008: No entry.
2007: Later, when I relayed the experience to Fred, he said “You realize that during your entire story, the Benny Hill music was playing in the back of my head, right?”
2006: Meeting Maddy.
2005: What is it with kitties loving to chew on wet hair?