Animal Farm

Frank has always come around for a swipe or two when I've been brushing out Bessie Anne.  He finally figured out why Bess has been getting so much attention lately, so he came in covered with burrs and signed in for an appointment.  I was able to squeeze him in between Bessie brushings and so assuaged his feelings of jealousy.  Pearl either has more emotional equanimity or she just hasn't found the right burr patch yet.

I'm laughing as I write this.  My last dream before waking this morning was filled with animals (none of my current residents), all needing to be fed, one needing an emergency visit to the vet, baby birds showing up in cupboards.  There's no escape!

I had to do a double take in the garden.  I knew I had planted carrots.  Slow to germinate, they were finally taking off and the leafy tops were up about six inches.  I couldn't believe it when I looked in that barrel...not one carrot!  Not one.  There was barren ground that looked as if it had never been planted.  It must be the same critter that ate down all of the cilantro.  When this persnickety purloiner likes something, it likes it a lot!

The new bedtime routine is working well.  Last night Peggy had already gone into the coop, but came running out to stand at my feet, waiting to be picked up.  What goes on in that little chicken brain?

I sit on an overturned bucket to give Twenty-Two his bottle(s).  He's developing his own pattern.  When his tummy is as tight as a drum, he rests against my leg while I massage his back and shoulders and stroke his head.  Otherwise as bouncy as a rubber ball, he gets so relaxed his eyelids start to droop.

George Orwell had his version of Animal Farm...I've got mine.