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Archive for February, 2008

It seems like only last year when we were celebrating Miss Banana Head’s ninth birthday.  And look, here it is, the end of February and she’s already ten!

Finding just the perfect gift for Banana is such a challenge.  I spend nearly the whole year sweating over what to do for her.  But I think I found her the perfect gift.  She loves Little House and wants to be Laura.  So as soon as she gets here I give her her gift (the wagon and the pitch fork) and send her out to play…

…and the kid actually enjoyed herself!  Man, where’s the cloning machine when you need it?  I want more of her!

 

When she was done shoveling out the barn, I took her for a taco and let her play with my camera.  She pointed it every which way, snapping shots of houses and trees and cars…and the inside of her nose…

Happy Birthday, Miss Banana Head!

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Woman With a Past…

A while back…a good while back…Strawberry Lane tagged me.  Not with the usual ‘list all those stupid things about yourself that we’ve all be listing for the past umpteen years’ virus, but with a photo tag, where I am to post old photos of myself.  As it so happens, my parents recently sold their home and my mother, being the original shutter bug in the family, had albums upon albums of photos that needed to find homes.  Despite my protests Because I pleaded and begged, she sent them home with me.  All I can say is, God must have known about this upcoming photo tag, because now I’ve got something to share.  In fact, I’ve got so much to share, it may take up the entire rest of the week!  It’ll be just like going to great-Aunt Martha’s and watching home movies of her and Uncle Norbert’s vacation in Death Valley.  Only mine don’t move.

 I’ve been told Grandma Fitzgerald didn’t like babies to smile until after they had teeth.
I’m sure she just adored this photo!

 


The start of it all…
Obviously, my equine obsession began early in life.
I wonder if they’d had a vaccination against the horse bug, would my parents have given it to me?

 


Trust me, this is the last time I ever mopped a floor…

Good grief, Mother!  What were you thinking?
Did we live on the Good Ship Lollipop or something??


My Daddy loves me.  He bought me a turtle for my birthday.

It died.

That’s okay.  The saddle never fit very well and he didn’t go as fast as my rocking horse. 


My Daddy loves me. 

He lets me smoke his pipe.

Do you think Santa will bring me some Cuban Cigars for Christmas?


My Mommy loves me.  She wants me to be graceful. 

She sent me to ballet.
I was not cut out to be a ballerina. 

While other girls were doing graceful pirouettes, I was spinning
till I got dizzy and fell over.

 


I’m pretty sure I asked for a pony…how could Santa confuse that with a bike?
At least it went faster than the turtle…until I fell off.

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Jet and Pokey share a stall and paddock.  They don’t need to, but they seem to be quite content and therefore, I’m not going to mess with the arrangement.  Pokey was fine with Firecracker as a room mate as well, but Jet has a habit of busting into Bessie’s stall with the lambs in order to get at their food.  So, FC is with Bessie and Jet is with Pokey.  And all was well.

 

Until last night.

 This little Piggie went Oink, Oink!

 

Last night I went out to feed and Firecracker came in from the pasture at a leisurely walk, while Jet and Pokey raced to see who could get to the feed trough first.  I never thought of it as a feed trough until last night, but I swear I could toss pig slop in there and those two would duke it out for the first bite.  Last night, Pokey just happened to be closer, and he threw his woolly body over the top of the feed bucket, blocking Jet’s access.

 

“Mine, all mine!” is what he seemed to be saying in sheepie language.

 

Jet wasn’t about to back away from the challenge, and despite that big ol’ ram head blocking the way, she dove muzzle first into the alfalfa pellets and inhaled as quickly as possible.

 

Which was a problem.  She swallowed whole pellets rather than casually chewing them up like a good girl.  Evidently her mother never taught her good table manners, and this evening it was about to turn ugly.  You see, a horse can’t cough things back up.  They can’t vomit, so when something nasty goes down, it stays down.  And when it gets stuck?  Well, they can have a real tough time of it.  Jet began making little wheezing noises almost immediately.  She pawed the ground in pain and shook her head.  She backed up, thinking she could escape whatever it was.  But nothing helped.

 

Lucky for her, I was right there and pulled the grain pan out of the way before she tried eating more.  I also called the vet and they said they were on their way.  I couldn’t feel any blockage in the neck from the outside, and hoped that was a good sign.  I came inside to grab a glass of water, and when I returned?  Jet was whinnying for more food.  She was fine, with no sign that she’d been in pain five minutes earlier.  So I watched her over the next hour to be sure there was no problem, fed her a bit of hay late in the evening and went to bed.  This morning she’s just as obnoxious as any 5’4″ piggie would be, trying to knock me over in an attempt to get to her breakfast.

 

I do declare,  I ought to have named that mare Pork Chop!

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Is There A Prettier Sight?

Is there anything more beautiful than a big pile of gravel freshly delivered to your barn?

 

Well, maybe the tractor that’s shoveling the gravel that’s just been delivered to your barn…

 

…or the tractor’s driver who’s operating the bucket to shovel the gravel that’s just been delivered to your barn…

 

Then there’s that big post waving in your general direction as the tractor’s driver tells you to stop taking pictures and get back to work before the big post ‘accidentally’ collides with your camera…

 

I think I’ll put my camera down now and shovel that big pile of gravel into the stall!

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I shall call this, “Death of a Chocolate Bar”. 

“Hey, who ate the Snicker’s bar?”  City Boy asked.  He looked me straight in the eye, saying, “I know it couldn’t have been you, because you just told me you were going on a diet.”

“That’s right,”  I said, “I am!”

“Don’t look at me,” both kids said in unison.  Being that they’re not fans of peanuts mixed into their chocolate (unless it’s creamed peanuts, as in peanut butter), that pretty much let them off the hook.

“Hmmm…must have been a mouse,” said City Boy, although he was still giving me the evil eye.   “Seems it got the Reeses, too.”  The children went into immediate mourning over this news.  “Whatever shall we have for breakfast?” they cried.

“I’d better buy a mouse trap,”  said CityBoy.

“Good idea,” I replied.  Why was I still getting the evil eye?  And why was it now coming from those creamed peanut eaters?

True to his word, City Boy came home that afternoon with a set of mouse traps.

“Are you sure you want to do that to the poor little mousie?”  I asked him. “Mousies need nourishment, too, you know!”

“Hmmpf.  Chocolate is bad for animals,” he mumbled.

Looking at the set up, I thought perhaps it may have been a bit on the side of overkill. I could just picture fingers mousie all smooshed up into the chocolaty goodness inside that package, held tight at the knuckle neck by the spring loaded mouse trap.

 

The next morning, City Boy heard his traps snapping happily on the kitchen counter.  I was sitting here at the computer when he came running in excitedly.  And there it was…the poor little mousie.  No more to snitch chocolate bars from unsuspecting humans.  Never again to lick gooey caramel from his little mousie whiskers.  Instead, he lay there pinned to the death trap.  At least he’d died happily…the Snicker’s bar carefully removed and eaten before he died.

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Caption Contest

Name it, and I’ll stuff the cat in a box and ship her to you!
Okay, not really.
Just name it.  City Boy loves her more than me, so I’ll stuff myself in a box instead.
Okay, not really.
Just name it anyway.

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Darling Rides Again 
I got a call from Brigget asking me to come take a look at Elsa. She’d been reaching around and biting her sides, same place on both the left and right.  I was able to answer with an absolute no clue at all what it may be, but as long as we’re here, let’s ride her.  Elsa isn’t a very tall horse, but she’s built, as Brigget says, like a sofa.
While Darling was enjoying a leisurely ride combined with an afternoon nap in the sunshine, Brigget and I walked over to the old chicken coop.  She’d found something creepy, she said, that my blog reading, lovers of creepiness may like.  We dug and shuffled around in the fallen shingles, but never found what she was looking for.  It was determined that, as Skip the dog has a taste for creepiness, this little bit of something was likely long gone and being digested by now.
We walked around to the shady side of the future coop and breakfast, discussing this year’s chicken order and which breeds to purchase for egg laying.  My eyes traced along the outlines of the upcoming nettles and buttercups when I spotted something.
“Look!”
“Toadstools.”
“Oh, I thought maybe they were brains.”
“Well, this is the sheep graveyard, so they could be growing up through brains,” she replied, knowing my your love for creepy.  She’s sweet that way.
“Wait!  Look!”
“Sheep’s skull,”  she said matter of factly.
“But it’s got teeth on the top.  Everyone knows sheep only have teeth on the bottom.”
This gave Brigget pause and she pondered the skull before us.   Do sheep have teeth on the top?  This had the forehead of a sheep, it was the right size for a sheep…but why did it have teeth?
“Well, no matter.  This is a perfect photo opportunity.  Creepy sheep skull with top teeth, certainly something you don’t see every day.   I’m certain my blog readers will come pounding at your door to spend the night in the Coop now that they know it’s got it’s very own sheep cemetery right outside the door.”
Life just doesn’t get any better, does it?  Better book your stay right now!
Sweet Dreams! 

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