Hooligans

There is a new crop of babies down in the milking room.  This is one of the middling kids.  I really wanted a picture with a grownup alongside for scale, but the little ones get beat up if they hang around.  The size of the pellets give an idea of how small he is.  There are even more tiny ones running around, but they just do flash-and-hide games now and it's hard to catch a photo one-handed.  They say it takes a village to raise a child.  The whole mouse tribe schools the youngsters in proper etiquette and infractions receive immediate and harsh retribution.

Evidently I'm not the only one attracted to the fruity aroma from the Tropicana rose.  This is evidence of Thug Life on the farm.  I'd been worried about deer, but I suspect that this vandalism was caused by a furry four-legged hooligan.  I'm hoping that the petal confetti remains are an indication that the rose did not taste as good as it smelled and that the perpetrator spread the word.  No other blooms were damaged and no one came to chew up the leftovers.  Ground squirrels beware!  I'm watching you.

And the sunsets just keep coming.