Yes, I'm borrowing from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland, but that snippet is the only piece of poetry (if that's poetry) that I know, and I kept repeating it today, "Chins" being the way I was saying the shortened breed name for my new rabbits.
I know, I know. I mentioned I was installing new fences last week, but with the chaos of that day, I didn't really appreciate what I'd managed to make happen. Now that a week has passed, I think...I hope...no, I'm certain this was exactly what I always wanted.
This Gambel’s quail was sitting on top of the desert olive bush in the back yard, looking back at One and me and asking the question, “do you really want to try to get me?” well in response I shot him and One was frustrated by her inability to climb up through the safe haven of that bush.
I intended for my new chicks to arrive a few weeks ago, but their delivery date coincided with Oak Creek making its foray onto my property. Fortunately for me, I heeded the warning of the USGS and put off delivery until "sometime in early March." "Sometime" turned out to be Friday.
Before I get to the dog part of this story, I thought I'd update you all on my newly completed brooder coop. At last, after sorting through all the many bits and pieces of this and that cluttering my barn, buying as little as possible and when necessary from Restore, the coop is done and the barn is clean.
If you remember, oh plucky reader, the last time I got chicks--the Brahmas--was two Januarys ago. For their first two weeks they lived in an old cast iron tub that had dirt in the bottom and was covered with several hardware cloth-filled frames to prevent cat intrusion. This worked really well. Not only did the cast iron tub have round corners, thus preventing chick death from all of them trying to squish into a square corner (a strange chick behavior), but the heat lamps warmed the cast iron which radiated even more heat back at the chicks. However, with thirty chicks they very quickly outgrew that small space and I soon moved them outside the barn into a thrown together pallet-and-baling-twine built coop inside a chicken run.
I once again have seven cats living on the farm, courtesy of the new guy in my life. Molly is a Somali Cat, which means she looks more like a fox than a cat.
The conversion of Lonely Girl from pig to sheep is now complete, at least in her mind and much to Tiny's complete aggravation. That aggravation is complicated not just by Tiny's certainty that Lonely Girl isn't a sheep, but because the pig (She-ig? P-eep?) treats her the way Lonely Girl and her porcine sisters treated June the Cow.