sweasel.com

Oh, yeah, and I hate bathing. Cannot stand getting wet.

That’s obviously a picture taken on a sunnier day. One of Uncle B’s, I think. Mad Mapp.

To be fair, commercial chicken welfare isn’t bad here. Probably the best in the world. Even the caged egg layers have a not too horrible life. I can’t bring myself to deal with the slaughter videos yet, though.

I don’t think they’ll be gross, but I’m still not looking forward to it.

Your last week of Chickenology? Already?

Will you get to cover Norse chicken mythology this week, or does that have to wait for an advanced level class?

We’re the opposite here in eastern Canada…been getting July-August heat in May…I’ve had my A/C going for a couple of weeks. We could totally use some of that rain.

There were stories back in the day, about kids in 4-H who were raising animals for show at the county fair. Some of them (girrrrlllls mostly) became quite attached to their animals. When the blue ribbon animals were sold at auction the 800-1600 dollars (that went towards the college fund) wasn’t much consolation for losing a pet.

So Ms Weasel, just skip the slaughtering. You aren’t raising comercial chickens for profit like the evil money grubbing capitalists do.

That is a great photograph by the way.

Commercial farming? I didn’t know you could farm commercials. Looking at regular broadcast TV does make ad slaughtering and culling an attractive prospect, I have to say.

Sorry to hear you’re feeling down, Mme. Ermine. Here’s something you might try: silk. I don’t mean the shiny crinkly kind, nor the rough nubbly raw kind, but I have a couple of silk shirts that are soft but not slick, have a texture but are not rough, and seem to be warm when the weather’s cool, and cool when the weather heats up. Putting one of those shirt on just about always makes me feel better.

This is why I’d never be a good farmer: slaughtering and culling. Couldn’t do it.

I hope you’re more cheerful this morning, at least, Stoaty.

That’s a lovely photo. I pinned it 🙂
A few weeks ago, I woke up depressed. It was surprising and profound, and I was weepy all day. No idea what set it off. So I holed up—watched baseball all day and catnapped. Was fine the next day.

Hey Swease, this sounds like it might be just your cuppa…
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http://www.theregister.co.uk/2016/06/02/geeks_guide_to_britain_book/

Thanks, one and all. I am all better now, though I still haven’t watched the chikken snuff films.

Deborah, there was a day many years ago when I woke up deeply depressed. It was so deep and profoundly illogical and not circumstantial that it was obviously some kind of chemical brain fart. Like you, I just holed up for a day and waited it out and I was fine the next morning.

Never forgotten it, though. It was like my head got flooded with badness for a day.

It was like my head got flooded with badness for a day.

I think that might be what clinical depression is like, except it’s not just a day.

My late Dad raised rabbits for meat for a while. Once, when I was up at their place in the Texas Hill Country, he showed me a rabbit he’d nicknamed Groucho Marx because the markings on the wabbit’s head looked like Groucho’s mustache. We teased him that naming a critter was a bad idea if it was for food. He didn’t think it would matter.

Next time we went up to visit, the wabbits were gone, along with the hutch. He couldn’t bring himself to off the critters once he’d named Groucho.

https://youtu.be/COMWwwv_MTk