Torturing the Toms
The best part of this experience was the part I didn’t catch on film. Fred put Tommy down on the table with the purple braids still on his head, and Tommy tossed his head back and forth like a headbanger at a concert. I thought I was going to pass out, I was laughing so hard.
Death of a Watermelon
3:30 PM: Nothing left but the rind. They’ll continue to pick at the rind until there’s nothing left but the skin. And then they’ll continue to pick at the skin ’til it’s either eaten or someone (ie, Fred) comes along and picks it up and tosses it on the compost heap.
Pics from around Crooked Acres
Fred put the baby chickens out in a “playpen”, because they like being outside. Maxi was watching them. She watches the chickens all the time and we’ve never had a problem. Five minutes later, Fred found her with a dead baby Rhode Island Red chick. Grrr.
Can’t really blame her, since she was just doing what cats do, but I’m not really thrilled with her right now. (We’ll be keeping a closer eye on her from here on out, and probably putting the “playpen” in the chicken yard from here on out.)
2007: They’re awfully sweet and awfully cute.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.