New fren
This girl was waiting for me at work today. Never seen her before. She was skinny, but I think she’s old. She seemed intrigued by her surroundings, so I have a suspicion she’s someone’s inside cat that managed to get loose. I kept checking for her through the day, but she didn’t come back.
I hope she’s safe and warm someplace – the weather is wild again today.
You, though – you need to get out and VOTE! VOTE LIKE THE WIND!
I understand machinery is on the blink in key cities and the news media has been calling it “totally normal” for the vote count to take days. How ever will we ever clean up the hot spots?
November 8, 2022 — 6:00 pm
Comments: 13
My poultry empire groweth
I fully intended to downsize my flock, but the boys have all hung on tenaciously and there’s one poor rooster whose housing is simply unacceptable. It was okay in Summer when he could swan around a sunny garden all day, but completely inadequate for the long dark nights and biblical levels of rain we’re having.
This is the cheap little house I bought and it’s just right for one adult bantam. It’s due here tomorrow. I suppose I can always use it as a hospital pen or a way of introducing baby chicks to the flock.
No more roosters, ever again. Sadly. I’ve enjoyed my boys, but they are a helluva lot of extra effort.
I reckon this will just fit between my first house and my second, making a sort of chickenhouse city skyline. Though I’m mighty tempted to put wheels on one end and roll it around the garden. (Some of the really expensive ones do that).
Oh! I forgot Jerry Lee Lewis died last week and I promised you a Dead Pool this week. Okay, okay…queueing one up now…DEAD POOL TODAY.
November 3, 2022 — 7:04 pm
Comments: 9
My lunch had a good life
Oh, Waitrose. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me. Did he have a winsome smile? A mellifluous squeal? Did he have a crush on the sow in the airy barn next door? At night, did he look up at the stars and…
Nah, screw it. There’s only so much I need to know about my lunch.
October 25, 2022 — 7:37 pm
Comments: 5
Poor Henry, lol
I know the feeling. I have three futile cockerels and two nervous hens.
Yes, it’s a real ad. No, I’m not cockerel shopping. Heaven forfend!
I was cancelling the paid membership to this site I forgot I had, and “cockerel” was the last search term in my history. This is when I still hoped to offload a few boys.
October 20, 2022 — 7:07 pm
Comments: 7
D’awww…
Follow the Twitter account @dailystoat.
That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.
Have a good weekend, all!
October 7, 2022 — 7:17 pm
Comments: 5
Stop it, Google
Every time I log into my Google photos, it proudly shows me years-old pictures of my dead pets. (Well, one of these chickens is still alive). I’ve just now got so irritated I learned how to turn that feature off. It’s in settings.
I read an article about what a terrible problem this is for people who have lost a spouse or child – Facebook floating the images up on anniversaries or birthdays.
I hadn’t thought of that.
I do sometimes think about all my many free email accounts (I keep separate accounts for separate activities). When I croak, they’ll go on collecting spams in their hundreds, day after day, until…I guess until they reach the storage limit. Then the warnings will start to accrue. The cloud is probably already stuffed with dead people’s junk.
My new power supply is due tomorrow. Expect swearings!
September 27, 2022 — 7:29 pm
Comments: 6
This one’s fambly
A village fête is not complete without the weasels. The ferret tent is a special place. A warm, smelly, special place.
Ferret keepers are of a type, too. I’m not sure how to describe them. Country people, for sure. They seem almost unaware that you’re there.
She described what was in the treat bottle…I don’t remember exactly, but it was a repulsive mix of fish oils and similar. She said he’d been licking at the upright bottle so long there wasn’t a scrap of the treat left.
He’s licking the distant memory of a treat.
September 1, 2022 — 7:55 pm
Comments: 5
I made another friend
Two, actually. A pair of lovely girls at a different village fête.
Brits are mad about donkeys. I’ve posted about it before. Uncle B says it’s because they began to go abroad and see the horrible lives donkeys led in faraway lands.
There are, like, twenty donkey rescues up and down the land and between them they’ve saved tens of thousands of beasts at home and abroad.
Donkey love long predates that, though. Donkey rides on the beach have been a staple of seaside holidays for little English children since Victorian times.
So very sad to hear our local donkey rides were closed down this year – I think she said because of insurance. I search tells me that they’re being cancelled all over the country for animal welfare reasons. Though one wag is blaming climate change.
Is there nothing it can’t do?
August 31, 2022 — 7:43 pm
Comments: 9
I made a friend
This cow! Sweet little heifer. He was leading her all around a busy country show and she didn’t flinch.
I asked. Her mother is a milk cow and her father is a meat cow, but they’re going to give her a chance to be a milk cow.
Weasel approves!
We’ve gone out of our way to buy their milk ever since. I mean, we often did anyway – it’s excellent milk – but like a lot of smaller dairies, their milk isn’t ultra-pasteurized, so it usually has a short date on it.
I suppose it’s time to check out farmer’s markets, too. The real ones, where farmers sell stuff in bulk. Not the twee ones, where middle class artisans sell specialty cheeses and bespoke gin to the middle class.
August 30, 2022 — 7:43 pm
Comments: 9
This guy!
Excuse late, I’ve been chasing a chicken ’round and ’round a sheep field.
Occasionally, one of my birds pops through the double fence and finds itself in the field next door. This is bad. They frequently can’t find their way back and, isolated from the flock, they’re very likely to get picked off silently by something carnivorous. So when somebody doesn’t turn up at roll call, that’s where I look first.
Unfortunately, it was Sam – my quickest and nimblest chicken. Bastard ran me ragged.
Worse, we’ve had thunderstorms all day. Every time I ducked under a hawthorn, it pissed down my back. Worse yet, I finally cornered him in a patch of stinging nettles. Yes, I was wearing shorts.
My shins are alive with the sound of music.
So I’ve had a hot bath and a cold gin and I’m off. Stupid rooster. Yes, he’s fine. Wet and sorry for himself, like me.
August 17, 2022 — 7:49 pm
Comments: 5