I'll say this for Himself, the local Lothario, he doesn't give up easily. Sadly for him, the ladies remain unimpressed. I find it interesting that the fanned-out tail seems to be on a swivel. Standing perfectly still, he turns the fan left and right, showing off his attributes. When none of the girls accepts his advances, Himself folds the fan and the tail droops like his spirits.
Yesterday was spent in a flurry of cleaning and, yes, dusting. The chairs I'd ordered were being delivered days early. The old pair were just that, old. Old, and rump-sprung, lopsided and frayed. The slipcovers collected every dog and cat hair and did not fit. I was anxious about the sight-unseen new ones, particularly if they would be wide enough to hold me and the household menagerie. Bessie Anne immediately gave them her seal of approval, and I'm pretty darned happy with them, too.
Going out last evening, I caught the murderer just after the act when I saw a hawk standing in the chicken pen surrounded by mounds of feathers. I'd wondered why the white leghorn had died so suddenly recently, but there was no doubt what had happened to the sex-link hen. In the eighteen or so years I've had chickens, there have been problems with dogs, coyotes, and even a skunk in the hen house once, but never has there been death from the sky. I, and the chickens, I'm sure, feel so vulnerable to attack.
To end on a lighter note, my son Dave sent me this photo, saying that his buddies had sent it to him with a note that compared it to Dave riding his motorcycle. Anyone who has met Dave knows that he is a big guy, 6' 4-5", and massively built. (He was 9 lbs. 1 oz. at birth.) This bear on a trike is a bit of an exaggeration, but I'm sure Dave's look of satisfaction is just the same.