Sights from around Crooked Acres.
I’m informed by Fred that these are Dewberries. They grow all around the back forty, but the birds usually get to them before we can.
George, standing in the pond and looking guilty.
The practically-dry pond. SIGH.
We were walking around the outside of the back forty fence (so we could see how many Dewberries were growing), and Maxi came along for the walk.
The irrigation system around the fruit trees and Muscadine vine.
The garden in progress.
Mid-April.
May 3rd.
June 2nd.
And on June 2nd, from the other side.
Female Robin on the fence the pole beans are growing up. She’s got some sort of bug in her beak.
The okra are coming up, under Maxi’s supervision.
Butterfly (?) in the garden.
Stopping for a rest on one of the tomato plants.
Lemon squash. We were finally able to pick one. We ate it last night with dinner. It tasted… like summer squash. There’s a surprise, no?
Bug in the garden. I swear, I never knew there were SO many different types of bugs.
Happy pup.
You can see one of his dirty feet, which comes from standing in the pond watching the bugs flit around.
Try to be happier, George, okay?
One of the many mamas and two of the many chicks in the back forty at the moment.
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Darwin would like you to know that that surgery was no big deal, thank you. (Picture taken pre-surgery, or you’d be seeing a shaved belly.)
Please note that Newbery is utterly relaxed, and Miz Poo is pressing her face into the side of the cat bed so she doesn’t have to deal with the fact that there’s a kitten RIGHT THERE.
Newbery and Razzie, fighting.
Newbery’s all “Let’s snuggle up and watch the light, Sis.”
Razzie licks her nose contemplatively and reflects that it is, in fact, a strangely mesmerizing light.
The pickup at the spay/ neuter clinic went just fine. I don’t think I was in the clinic for more than three minutes, just long enough to tell them who I was picking up, and to take the carriers. Razzie meowed her husky little meow at me, and then they were all quiet on the way home. I put them in the guest bedroom and gave them a snack, then let them out into the house. They played and slept, slept and played, and basically acted like nothing had happened at all.
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“What?”
Several of you pointed out that Norland looks like a grumpypants. He certainly has that grumpy look down pat, but underneath he’s just a sweet little snugglebug. Fred came into the foster room while I was taking pictures, and Norland herded him across the room, rubbing against his leg the entire way. What a sweetie.
“Furminator, you SHALL NOT have any more of my floof!”
I love the look on Kennebec’s face. Like he’s in a musical and staring earnestly off into the distance about to start singing. Wouldn’t he make an excellent Valjean? “God on high/ Hear my prayer/ In my need/ You have always been there…”
Do you see that little monster in the background, biting his sister on the butt?
Stop! Flehmen time!
Simply amazed by everything, Miss Agata.
“Sure wish I had a catnip shake to use this straw on…”
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Hey! Riddle me this, catman.
Are you listening?
See if you can get the correct answer to this.
What’s better than three orange tabbies. Anyone? Any idea.
That’s right.
FOUR of them.
Meet Cicero.
“Why you starving me, lady?”
“HALLO, I AM HUNGRY.”
Tuesday evening, the neighbor two doors down knocked on the door. Her oldest daughter had rescued this wee kitten from a dog down the street, and could we take him? Well, whatcha gonna do, right? This is the same neighbor whose daughter rescued The Cookies several years ago, by the way. The neighbor initially said that she thought he was six weeks old.
I don’t think he’s six weeks old, I believe he’s more like four weeks. He’s underweight, but I’ve been able to get a decent amount of formula into him. I’m going to start trying him on food in the next few days.
He is a little lovebug and all you have to do to get him to purr is to barely touch him. He loves to be held and petted.
Fred got to name him – apparently Cicero is a type of potato, who knew? I had to talk him out of naming the kitten Flava. Heh.
He’s too little to join the Taters, even though we gave him a Tater name, though perhaps after two weeks in solitary I’ll change my mind about that.
It kinda looks like it’s shaping up to be a Summer of orange tabbies for us, doesn’t it?
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Rufus Rupert makes himself at home on the front porch. (I owe you a Joe Bob picture!)
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Previously
2011: Trapped!
2010: Are they not the happiest little monkeys?
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Guess what? New fosters!
2006: No entry.
2005: When will these little monsters let me snuggle them?